Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to tear you away from your children either, Jamie.”
“So we’ll figure it out,” he repeated, more firmly this time.
Yes, we would.
With my lips tipped up, I reached out and touched his strong chin.
Then I said, “I’m going to dash and make a drink.”
“Stay still,” he ordered as he pushed out of the sofa. When he was on his feet, he looked down at me. “What do you want?”
“I’m feeling a gin gimlet tonight, darling.”
“Coming up,” he murmured, and sauntered from the room.
After the glory of the vision of him was out of sight, it struck me that change was good, but it wasn’t always easy.
In the end, though, I knew Jamie was right.
We’d figure it out.
And then it would be just fine.
I had this thought not taking it further and realizing, change wasn’t good for everybody.
For some, they’d strike out at those who were affecting it.
Some would do that spitefully.
And others would do it viciously.
CHAPTER 13
CHLOE
Nora
“This is mildly disturbing,” my son mumbled.
“Shut up! She hasn’t even allowed me to touch her yet, but still. I love Heiress,” my youngest snapped.
“Not the cat, the cat bed,” Nico corrected.
I sat on the sofa in my living room with my legs crossed, a Perrier with lemon and lime in hand, my eyes on my newest dearest darling, my beloved Heiress the cat, lounging on her cream silk, ruched-back, circular cat bed that had jeweled nailhead trim (it even had its own tiny toss pillows!).
She was licking a paw, pretending she wasn’t basking in the attention.
She was life.
Evidence of this: the instant the delivery men set that bed down on Friday, she’d daintily stepped into it, and then rightfully claimed it as her throne.
I was considering buying one for every room.
I didn’t share that.
No, I shared something else.
“I’m trying to find one of those small-animal carriers so she can go on the town with me,” I declared. “Sadly, they all seem to be designed for dogs, which I find offensive. I had no idea the prejudice against felines in the fashion world. It’s disgraceful. And Lagerfeld even had Choupette!”
My son and daughter (and daughter-in-law, though, Archie was grinning) both stood there staring at me.
“Fortunately,” I waxed on, “she and I did some exploration in my closet, and we found she fits in my Chloe Woody bag, and she can stick her head out of the top. I just need to get a little pillow sewn to put in the bottom so she’s comfortable in there.”
Dru, sitting across from me, laughed softly.
Jamie, seated across the space on the bench of the grand piano, legs spread, elbows on his knees, looking delectable, chuckled.
Both my children (and daughter-in-law) kept staring me.
Archie was still grinning.
Yes, it was Sunday.
Yes, it was time for family lunch.
Yes, I loved Dru’s laughter, my children’s usual horror at my very existence and everything I did with it, and Jamie looking so handsome in his lightweight gray sweater and medium-wash jeans, an outfit he took from our closet where his wardrobe was now situated.
I loved all of this so much, I decided to have a family Sunday luncheon at least once a month.
Jaclyn could have Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I would have this.
“You can’t take a cat on the town like you can carry around a dog, Mom,” Valentina proclaimed, going to plop down in the armchair next to Dru.
“I can do anything I like,” I retorted.
“It’s not good for the cat,” Felice shared dourly as she moved to sit across from me on the sofa.
I looked to her. “Dearest, she was in a cage three days ago.” I swept a hand toward Heiress—who, on Thursday afternoon, had taken precisely five seconds to recognize she’d finally found her true home—currently had her little nose in the air and was pre-nap blinking. “Now she’s lying on a bejeweled cat bed. She’s not dim. She knows precisely how good she has it, including picking the Chloe, which goes with her coloring, over the Fendi, which did not.”
Felice aimed a long-suffering gaze at her husband in response to my pitifully bourgeoisie ways.
Per the protocol I’d created after I’d come to understand my son was serious about her, I ignored her.
Felice’s attention wandered, and she noted, “That’s a new piece,” toward the glass sculpture on the plinth across the room.
“Dad and Nora found that at a vintage store last night,” Dru announced.
I watched Felice’s eyes widen at the news I’d entered a vintage store, then her face blanked, not only as if she couldn’t process this knowledge and make sense of it, but she had no desire to try.
“It’s a Seguso,” Dru continued. “Gemma and Jadyn were thrilled Nora bought it. They were worried they wouldn’t be able to move it. It’s not exactly at a price point they’re used to stocking.”
If the smirk that was now on her face was any indication, Felice appeared to be able to process that without any problems.