I grab the bottle of red and head out. This was not how I planned on spending my evening.
AS I WANDER UP THE path to Sal and Moya’s idyllic family property in West London—complete with a neatly trimmed lawn, box plants edging the front garden, and a spotless block-paved driveway, the door flies open and Sal’s little girl, Mia, appears, dressed in . . . I don’t know what. She looks like she’s been bathed in glitter.
“Uncle Ty,” she shrieks, bombing toward me.
“Hey, Mia.” I kneel and get ready to catch her, holding the bottle of red to the side. She crashes into me and throws her chubby arms around my neck. “That’s a pretty dress.”
“I’m Elsa,” she sings as I rise to standing with her attached to my chest.
“Elsa? Your name’s Mia.”
“No, silly. I’m Elsa from Frozen. This is her dress.”
“Ohhh,” I say, walking us into the house. I have no clue what the fuck Frozen is, and by the sounds of it I should. “Where’s Mummy and Daddy?” I place her down and brush some glitter off my suit jacket.
“Mummy’s in the kitchen and Daddy’s getting alcohol. You’re all sparkly.”
I grunt and brush off more glitter from my trousers. “Let’s go see Daddy first.”
“Okay.” She’s off, zooming through the house like a tornado. “Daddy. Uncle Ty is here!” Mia disappears into the garden, screaming and shouting on her way.
“Mia,” I hear Moya yell. “Mia, I said no trampoline until Daddy’s cleaned it. Get off now!” There’s a loud bang, followed by a high-pitched scream from Mia.
“Jesus,” I breathe when Sal approaches with a beer for me and the hard stuff for himself.
He takes a sip of his Scotch and sighs. “You have to tolerate it for a few hours. Be grateful. This is my life.”
I might join him with the hard stuff. “You just got home?” I ask, pointing my bottle of beer at his suit. It’s gone seven, and he left the office as soon as the meeting wrapped up.
“Oh, I’ve been home for over an hour, but fixing Mia’s dollhouse and hoovering the lounge was more important than me getting a shower and into something more comfortable.” He shakes his head. “But no. Hissy fit ensues, and Daddy has his tools out.”
I give my partner a sympathetic look and throw my arm over his shoulder, walking us through to the kitchen. “And you’ve still not gotten any?”
“The fucking chance would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?” he grumbles, but the second we enter the kitchen, he changes. “Look who’s here, sweetheart.”
Moya whirls around, an oven glove on each hand. “Ty. Come here, you scoundrel.”
I place the wine on the side and go to her. “Hey, babe. You look as stunning as ever.” I’m being polite, masking my shock. She looks absolutely drained, her usually glossy hair limp and lifeless, and her usually glowing complexion pasty. And the clothes? Her trademark skinny jeans that hug her curvy hips have been replaced with . . . I don’t know what. Tights? What’s happened? It’s only been a few weeks since I last saw her.
“I don’t see you enough these days,” she moans, pulling out and brushing at the shoulder of my jacket. I look down and spot a massive greasy mark. On my two-grand suit. “Oh.” She waves an oven glove in the air. “It’s only gravy. It’ll come out.” She moves back toward the oven and shuts the door, while I scowl at my grey suit, brushing at the soggy patch.
“No problem,” I mutter. “Glitter and grease is all the rage.”
She laughs loudly, swiping up a huge glass of red and having a healthy glug. “Is that for me?” she asks, pointing to the bottle I placed on the side.
“Yes.”
“Oh good.” She necks the rest of her glass, a whole half glass, and immediately tops it back up.
I toss Sal a questioning look, but he just shrugs it off and necks his Scotch. I’m not being intuitive, since Sal has told me there are issues, but maybe I’ve underestimated them. There’s some serious unrest in the Walker household.
“Mia,” Moya screams, making me jump and Sal wince. “I said get off the trampoline.”
“I’ll see to it.” Sal sighs, heading out into the garden. “Mia, come on. Daddy has to sweep off the soggy leaves.”
Two seconds later, all hell breaks loose, Mia screaming and Sal shouting. I flinch repeatedly at the ear-piercing screeches coming from Sal and Moya’s tiny little girl, and Moya’s jaw visibly tenses as she slams a basket of bread down. “Oh, can’t he do anything properly?” she mutters, going to the door. “For God’s sake, Salvador, don’t wind her up!”
“I’m handling it, Moya,” Sal shouts. “Mia, come here.”
Another scream. And another, this one drawing out for-fucking-ever. I put my hands over my ears to protect my drums, my wide eyes on Moya’s back as she waves her arms frantically, slamming stuff here, there, and everywhere.
I’m stunned. It’s fucking anarchy here. How the hell does Sal live like this? When I think it might be safe, I slowly remove my palms from my ears, hearing the screams have stopped, but they’ve been replaced with crying and a chiming sound coming from the front of the house.
“Oh, that’s the door,” Moya says, slipping her oven glove back on. “Would you mind, Ty?”
“Sure.” I head for the door. “Who else are we expecting?”
“Sal’s new assistant,” Moya calls.
“What?” I blurt, spinning away from the front door to face an empty hallway. I couldn’t have heard her right. “You mean Lainey?”
“Yep,” Moya shouts from the kitchen. “I told Sal it was about time I met her.”
“Oh fuck.”
“And Gina couldn’t make it.”
They asked Gina, too? I would question why my assistant neglected to mention that, but I know. Mac. He was getting ready to impress. He has a date with Gina, and she didn’t want me to know.
I look between the kitchen and the front door. Part of me is delighted, since I get to see Lainey, but a bigger part is dreading dinner even more now. How the hell am I going to play it cool? Keep my eyes to myself?
I dash for the door and swing it open, slipping outside quickly and pulling it shut behind me. I knock a stunned Lainey back in the process, the plant she’s holding crashing to the ground. I ignore the smashed pot and piles of soil surrounding it, and instead grab her and snatch a quick kiss.
“What the hell?” she cries incredulously, pushing me away. “What are you doing here?”
My lips straighten. “What are you doing here?”
“Sal’s wife wants to meet me. If I’d known you were here I would have tried harder to worm my way out of it.”
“Sal didn’t mention I was coming?”
She looks at me, panicked. “He’s not exactly chatty at work.”
Oh God, this is going to be the worst kind of hell. “Any ideas?”
Lainey quickly looks at the door, then to me again. And before I can usher her along for an answer, she dives at me and smoothers my lips with hers. Okay, so not what I had in mind, but I’m damned if I’m going to deny her. I hum and gather her up, deepening our kiss while mentally talking my dick down.