Jamie tilts her head up in response to my question. “This old thing? He has a new toy now. Honestly, we should never let them shop together.”
Damien and Ryan both now own the latest Teslas, not yet available to the general public. But I don’t believe her about it being open season in the Hunter family garage. Ryan babies that Thunderbird—and he knows damn well that Jamie isn’t the most careful driver on the planet.
“You snagged the keys the second he left for London this morning, didn’t you?”
She bats her eyes innocently. “He left them in the back of his desk drawer, behind the box of stamps. That’s practically an engraved invitation.”
I refrain from responding. I need to set a good example for Anne, after all.
Jamie falls in step beside me, then puts down her hand for Anne to grab. “Hey, there, cutie. Did you miss your Aunt Jamie?”
Jamie’s not actually related to me, but we’ve been best friends forever, and we’re definitely family.
“We’re going to have such fun this weekend,” she tells Anne, who jumps up and down, clearly excited to see Jamie.
“Big plans?” I ask.
“We’re going to have a girls’ weekend, aren’t we, Princess?”
“Pinciss!” Anne repeats, and Jamie winks at me.
“See?” she says. “We’re going to have a blast.”
“Just don’t corrupt my kids, okay?”
Damien doesn’t know it yet, but I’m whisking him away for a romantic weekend. And since that’s pretty much impossible with two little girls in tow, Jamie volunteered to babysit. To say I’m grateful would be an understatement, because about an hour after I’d finalized all my arrangements, our live-in nanny, Bree, asked if she could take a long weekend to go to Vegas for her sister’s unannounced, elopement-style wedding.
Fortunately, Jamie’s husband is in Europe through next week checking in with all of the heads of security for the various European divisions of Stark International. Jamie didn’t go with him because she was supposed to work, but when her schedule freed up, she volunteered to babysit in what was either a legitimate moment of female solidarity or a complete and total shift into insanity.
I’m going with solidarity.
Whatever her reason, I’m grateful. And even though Jamie can be a spazz, I also know that she’ll watch my kids like a hawk and guard them with her life. Best of all, Jamie agreed to stay in the house, which is decked out with top-of-the-line security, baby monitors galore, and a well-stocked kitchen and wet bar. The latter being more for Jamie than for the kids. Plus, Jamie knows the place well. She’s stayed in our guest house a number of times, but of course that’s Bree’s place now. So this weekend, Jamie’s staying in the first-floor guest suite, which isn’t too shabby if I do say so myself.
As we open the front door, I’m almost bowled over by the high pitched “Mama!” that emanates from Lara’s almost four-year-old lungs. She barrels toward me, her short legs pumping, then clings to my leg. “I missed you, Mama! I love you!”
I reach down and scoop her up. “I love you right back, baby girl. Did you have fun with Miss Bree today?”
“We painted,” Bree said, smiling from where she’d halted at the base of the stairs.
“I thought maybe,” I reply with a smile. My little girl’s shoulder-length coal black hair is dappled with yellow at the tips, and there’s a blob of green right on the end of her nose.
“It’s water-based,” Bree assures me. “It’ll wash right out.”
“Well, if it doesn’t, that’s fine. I think it’s a fashion statement.”
Bree laughs at the same time that Lara notices Jamie and releases my leg in favor of the prodigal aunt. As Jamie navigates both kids—I figure she might as well dive into the weekend now—I head over to Bree.
“When are you going?”
“Now, if that’s okay. I’ve already packed my stuff into my car.”
“That’s fine,” I assure her. “Drive safe and congratulate your sister for me.”
“Will do. And I’ll be back late on Sunday, so I can get the kids up on Monday morning. Do you need me to do anything for tomorrow before I go?” Bree had helped me make some of the arrangements for my surprise, but now I just shake my head.
“It’s all under control.”
“Sweet,” she says, then grins mischievously. “Have a good time.”
“That’s my plan.”
As soon as she’s out the door, I turn my attention to the girls. “Daddy’s home soon. Should we make snacks?”
“Teddy Grahams!” Lara squeals.
Jamie cocks her head. “I was hoping for the adult variety liquid snack.”
“Gotcha covered. And as for you, little rugrat,” I say as I scoop Lara up and hang her upside down, “I think apples and cheese for a little girl, and something a little more interesting for Daddy. Okay?”
She tries to bob her head, but since she’s upside down, she just shimmies in my arms.
The house boasts a huge, commercial grade kitchen on the first floor, but I never use it. Instead, we climb the massive free-floating staircase to the third floor, then cross the open area to the smaller, normal-human sized kitchen that was originally intended as prep space for caterers.
It’s still used for parties, but for the most part, the smaller kitchen has become the heart of our home, and as soon as I put Lara down, she scrambles to the breakfast table where her coloring books and crayons are scattered.
As she scribbles madly, Jamie pours wine, and I slice up fruit and cheese, then toss some crackers into a bowl. When Damien arrives, I’ll pull out olives and some chicken salad I picked up at the deli. Not wildly extra
vagant, but nice enough to accompany the bourbon I’m sure he’ll want.
I’ve just popped a cube of Wisconsin Cheddar into my mouth when my phone chimes, signaling a call from Damien. “Hey,” I say through a mouthful of cheese. “Are you in the car?”
“Actually, I’m stuck here. It’s been one of those days.”
“Oh.” Disappointment crashes over me, along with the fear that my plans for a long weekend are going to be swept away in a flood of work crises. I draw in a breath and catch Jamie’s eye, her expression sympathetic. “Well, Jamie’s here. She can watch the kids, and I could come stay the night at the Tower Apartment.” Stark International is based in Stark Tower, one of LA’s downtown high rises. Damien’s private office takes up half the top floor, and his—now our—private apartment takes up the other half of the space.
“That’s tempting, but no. I need…”
As he trails off, that knot of worry in my stomach starts to tighten. “What?” I whisper, hoping that now, finally, he’ll tell me what’s the matter.
“I need to deal with this.”
“Damien, please—”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise. I love you. Kiss the girls for me. And I’ll see you later tonight.”
I hesitate, waiting to hear those familiar words: Until then, imagine me, touching you. But there’s only silence, and I swallow rising tears. “I love you, too. Do you want to talk to La—” I begin, but he’s already clicked off.
I draw a breath and stare at my phone before lifting my head and meeting Jamie’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “But honestly, Nicholas, the man pretty much runs the entire known universe. Of course there’s stuff on his mind.”
She’s right, and I draw in a breath, suck it up, and force myself into a good mood as we change into swimsuits, then take the kids onto the back patio. Lara’s becoming a little fish, so I let her put on her floaties and splash in the shallow end as Jamie and I dangle our feet in the water, our wine now in plastic cups. We talk about everything and nothing, the way best friends do, as we watch my oldest giggle as she blows bubbles in the water and leaps fearlessly off the side of the pool. Behind us, Anne plays with a LEGO Duplo set quietly in the shaded activity pop-up, not yet ready to brave the pool.