I head downstairs and come face-to-face with a woman in her mid-fifties. She’s dressed smartly in all black, her blonde hair in a short perm.
She smiles when she sees me. “There you are. I hope I didn’t wake you from an afternoon nap?”
“No, not at all. Bonnie?”
“That’s it. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Cecilia.”
I shake her hand. “Likewise. From all of our emails, it feels like I know you already!”
“Well, you do! It’s a good thing he’s had the two of us to organize his life for him. You’ve been one of his best assistants, you know.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” Bonnie says. “The ceremony was quicker than I expected. I trust it went well?”
“Uh, yes. It did.”
“It’s okay if it was difficult,” she says. Her smile is professional, but there’s genuine kindness in her eyes. “I work for St. Clair, and I’m loyal to him, which means I’m loyal to you too now. But that also means I won’t inform on the two of you to each other.”
I sink down on one of the kitchen chairs. My limbs feel heavy, too much adrenaline and excitement for one day. “You know why we married, then. I wasn’t sure what he’d told you.”
“I do. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“Earl Grey, or herbal?”
“Earl Grey, please.”
She nods and I watch her move around the pristine kitchen, opening drawers without knobs. “He informed both me and Steven,” she says.
“Right. And his lawyers.”
She nods.
“I’m sorry, I’m sure what you must think of me. I promise you I’m not— “
Bonnie holds up a hand. “I don’t think anything, dear. I think you’re a talented assistant, the best he’s ever had. I think the both of you found yourself in a position to help one another. It’s only fair that you get compensated for that. God knows he’s not the easiest to work with, and now you’re married to him! As far as I’m concerned, you deserve every penny.”
The frankness stops me dead, and then I burst out laughing. Bonnie joins in. “I can’t tell that tohim,though,” she stage-whispers, a fond smile on her face.
I smile at her. “What would he do without us, do you think?”
“Without us keeping his world in order?”
“Yes.”
“His blood pressure would spike,” she says, pouring piping hot water into a mug. Steam curls in the air above it. “No, I don’t think he could survive without us.”
I accept the warm mug from her. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,” she says. “I never imagined it would be under these circumstances.”
“No, I didn’t either. But I’ve wanted to meet you too.”
“Thanks for emailing me about the switch from still to sparkling water the other month.” She moves to the refrigerator and opens it with a flourish. “I make sure we’re always fully stocked when he wants it.”
The refrigerator is a piece of art. Everything is stacked, labeled, organized. It belongs on a curated Instagram feed. It belongs in a frame.