You Were Made for Me Page 22

  “You go on in,” Paul said. He popped the trunk. “Your tuxes are in the garment bags, yes? Leave them in the trunk. We’ll take them to the cleaners to be freshened up.”

  “Thank you, Paul, but that isn’t necessary,” Quinn told him. “It’s just dinner, so we’re going to wear suits, and if Mother brought our clothes here, it will be a simple matter to change into them.”

  “Uh… she was counting on you wearing your tuxes. She… uh… said everyone was going to dress up. She’d be really disappointed if you don’t show up dressed to the nines.”

  “Okay.” The last thing we wanted to do was disappoint Quinn’s mother.

  “Cool.” Paul handed us two sets of keys. “The code for the alarm system is 021028. She said you could change it once you got settled in. The alarm is in the coat closet by the front door. We’ll be back as soon as the tuxes are ready. Don’t do the laundry—just leave everything in the laundry room. We’ll take care of it when we get back.”

  “We can do our own laundry,” I informed him.

  “I know, Vince. But you want to be fresh, don’t you? Now go on. Go.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Not a problem. We’ll see you later.” Paul exchanged grins with Spike, then turned the huge grin on us.

  Quinn and I got out of the car and went to the trunk to retrieve our suitcases. I slammed the lid shut, then stepped back and waved them off. Paul and Spike waved back, and Paul drove down the curved drive and out onto the street.

  “Did that strike you as odd as it did me?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wonder what’s going on.”

  “Hell if I know. Come on.” I glanced at Quinn. “Let’s go see what Portia and Theo have done to our house.” Quinn and I had both been so busy we hadn’t had time to do much more than drive by to see what the outside looked like.

  He smiled up at me, a soft smile, as if I’d given him the best gift in the world.

  “What?”

  “It makes me so happy when you call this our house.”

  “Well, it is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed my shoulder. “Now I believe you said something about exploring?”

  We climbed the steps onto the veranda and crossed to the door. There was only a single lock on the set of double doors, and I sighed and shook my head.

  “You can add more locks.”

  “First thing in the morning.” I unlocked the left-hand door, pulled it open, and stepped inside before Quinn. Old habits died hard, and I had no intention of letting him walk into what could be a dicey situation, even if it was going into the house that would be our home.

  I should have known it would be okay. Sam was there, guarding the entryway. I rested my hand between the cocked ears.

  “Do you know what the code represents?” Knowing Portia, I was certain they weren’t just a set of random numbers.

  “It’s my father’s birthdate. Do you think we need to change it?” He opened the closet and keyed in the code.

  “First, what are the odds anyone knows it? Second, why would they think we’d use it for our code?”

  “That’s true. I do think we should change it periodically, though.”

  “Yeah, that’s only smart.” We left the suitcases by the staircase to the second floor and strolled through the house. “Is this another closet?” I opened a door further down. “Oh. I guess not.” It turned out to be an elevator that went up to the third floor. “Huh.”

  “Mother always regretted the house in Great Falls didn’t have one.”

  “I can understand that, especially after Novotny had to make sure she had a stair lift.”

  “You had to use it as well.”

  Yeah, after I’d been shot trying to help Pierre de Becque, Quinn had brought me home to recover, and Portia had insisted I stay in the Tudor at Great Falls. One evening, Quinn came home and caught me riding the stair lift up and down the stairs because I’d been bored out of my mind.

  “Come on. Let’s see the rest of the first floor.”

  We passed a small library, my study, and Quinn’s study, where his great-uncle’s map to Confederate gold was framed and hanging above a fireplace. The dining room, which Portia told us had originally been at the front of the house, was now at the back, off the kitchen, and the buffet from my condo was against one wall. Theo had also brought my hutch and china cabinet, and Quinn’s sideboard had been taken out of storage.

  The cabinets in the kitchen—

  “Whoa, how the fuck did we wind up with a white kitchen?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Are you telling me you do?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  According to Theo, most of the cabinets had been refurbished, in keeping with the period of the house, although some were in such bad shape they’d had to be tossed.

  I shook my head. But if that made Quinn happy…

  “Come look at this.” Quinn took my arm and urged me to follow him.

  I could see what made him excited. Just off the kitchen, a glassed-in space—his wine cellar—housed all his wines.

  “Very nice.”

  This kitchen had more bells and whistles than I’d expected—an overhead pot rack, a pot filler above the range, a crumb catcher, a warming drawer, a lazy Susan in the lower cabinets, and in addition to a walk-in pantry, the butler’s pantry had been renovated as well.

  I grinned at Quinn. “It’s good to be married to a rich man.”

  “Of course,” he said in a snooty tone. Then he bumped my shoulder, and we both laughed.

  The kitchen was large enough to accommodate not only an island in the center of the space, but a peninsula as well. The appliances were fire-engine red and appeared to be top of the line. The gas range had four burners and a griddle in the center. The fridge was a huge side-by-side affair with an ice maker on the door. I tugged it open.

  “Wow. Would you look at this?”

  “What is it?” Quinn asked.

  “Beer and soda. Milk, eggs.” I opened the meat tray. “Bacon.”

  “And the pantry is fully stocked.” Quinn had been doing a little exploring of his own.

  “Did Portia do this?” We had enough to last for the rest of the week.

  “Most likely it was Gregor. He always does the grocery shopping.”

  I’d have to thank him. Quinn came back and patted my shoulder.

  “Want a snack, babe? There are cold cuts in the meat tray, as well as the bacon.” We’d had a late breakfast but wouldn’t be having dinner until six or so. We’d need something in the meantime.

  “A sandwich would be nice.”

  “Sandwiches it is.” I pulled out a couple of French rolls, ham and Swiss, and hot mustard, while Quinn got us two bottles of water.

  He set out placemats and coasters, and once the sandwiches were made, we sat down at the dining room table. Quinn unscrewed the cap on the water, waiting until I did the same before he tapped his bottle against mine.

  “To our house.”

  “To our house.”

  “Mark.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips against mine, and then we set to work on our sandwiches. “Can you believe it?” he asked around a bite.

  “Your mother and Theo did an amazing job. Tomorrow we’ll go back to the condo and see what else we need to bring here.”

  “We’ll have to bring our cars here too. We should check out the carriage house.”

  “Good idea. Want to do it now?”

  He nodded, and we finished our sandwiches, brought the empty plates back to the kitchen, and left them in the sink. A rack by the door held a pair of remotes for the garage door. I took one, and we went outside.

  “The yard looks great.” Quinn looked around at the mature oaks and maple trees our landscaper had managed to preserve. We also had dogwood and magnolia trees. Portia had mentioned they were for color and fragrance. “That tree over there—” He stopped.

/>   “What about it?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I lost my train of thought.”

  “C’mon, Mann. Spill the beans.” I could tell he was keeping something from me.

  He sighed. “I was thinking it would be perfect for a treehouse.”

  I studied the tree he’d pointed out. “You have a point.” I didn’t know if he meant for kids—that possibility was up in the air—or for us, but it was something to consider. I slung an arm around his shoulders and urged him forward. “We could talk to Theo’s architect about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Jesus, Mann. Have I ever said no to you? Now, move your ass. I have plans for it, and I’d like to get to those plans before Paul and Spike get back.”

  “Yes, Mark.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled at me, and he hurried me toward the outbuilding.

  The carriage house/garage was about fifty yards from the house. The outside was exactly as it had been at the turn of the twentieth century, when it had been used to keep the family’s carriages.

  “What happened to the stable?” I asked.

  Quinn shrugged. “From what Father told Mother, it was torn down about fifty years ago. Grandfather claimed to have no use for it.”

  “Well, I guess he had a point. The neighbors would have objected to the smell.”

  “Yes.”

  The garage was a large building that could house at least six vehicles.

  I pressed a button on the remote, and as soon as one of the doors slid up, we walked in.

  “Oh!” Quinn sounded a little choked up. His Jag and my Dodge were parked side-by-side in two of the available slots. “That… that was so kind of them.”

  It was. I had no doubt it was Portia’s idea. Both cars were gleaming, as if they’d recently gone through the carwash.

  I glanced around at the cavernous space. The floor was concrete, and there were windows on three sides, which provided plenty of natural light for the interior. Above, there was a loft area for additional storage.

  Aside from our cars, at that moment, the entire building was empty, and there wasn’t much to see. “What do you say we go back to the house and finish the tour?”

  “Sounds good.”

  I pressed the button on the remote, the garage door lowered, and we walked back.

  “Let’s see what Mother did with the formal parlor.”

  The fireplace in the formal parlor had been cleaned up, the raggy wallpaper had been removed, and the walls painted in soothing neutrals. Quinn’s elegant sofa was toward the rear of the room, flanked by a couple of easy chairs. A coffee table with a vase of fresh flowers had been positioned in front of the sofa, and end tables, also bearing flower vases, were on either end.

  “Really pretty,” I said. The coffee table would be perfect for the large art book The Boss had given me to replace the one that had been ruined when my apartment in Forest Heights had been destroyed.

  “Yes. Oh. I was wondering where Mother would put my piano.”

  In the space to the side was Quinn’s baby grand piano. Its black veneer had been buffed to a high gloss, the bench was tucked neatly beneath the keyboard, and sheet music was open on the music rack. I walked over to take a look.

  “Did you do this, Quinn?”

  “Do what, select the music? Actually, I didn’t.”

  “Then it was Portia?”

  He joined me, studied the notes and words on the page, and smiled. “I think she may have, but I never mentioned to her that this is our song.”

  It was a copy of “At Last.”

  “Do we have a song?”

  “Of course. My mother and father did—‘It Had to Be You.’ And we know ‘Isn’t It Romantic’ is Theo and Matheson’s song.”

  “Y’know something, babe? Your mother is one classy lady.”

  “Thank you. I think so as well.” He gazed around the room. “But somehow…”

  “What?”

  “As warm as Mother tried to make it, I don’t think we’ll use this room very much.”

  “Unless you’re playing the piano, I have to agree with you.” As the name implied, it was a very formal room.

  We left the parlor and entered a smaller room. “Now, this is more like it.”

  “Ah. The den.”

  “Is that what you call it?” I’d never had a place with enough rooms that one could be designated a den.

  “Yes.”

  My flat-screen TV was mounted on one wall, while the framed sword that had once belonged to Hollywood’s best swordsman was on another wall. A loveseat was angled in front of the television. In one corner was a bookcase that contained Quinn’s hardcovers and my paperbacks, and in the opposite corner the bookcase held his DVDs, the DVD Portia had given me of the movie Hondo, my VHS tapes, and CDs that belonged to both of us. I had the feeling we’d do most of our TV viewing in this room, as well as listening to music and reading.

  Portia and Theo had made this perfect for us. Although…

  “I don’t know about this loveseat, Quinn.”

  “It’s pretty. Don’t you like it?”

  “It is pretty, but it’s never going to fit both of us.”

  “Of course it will. We’ll sit side by side…” He caught my expression and covered his mouth to muffle a laugh. “Sorry. I must be overtired.”

  “Yeah, you must. Come on, I’ll take you up to bed.”

  He stayed put though, studying the room.

  “Problem?”

  “I think so.”

  “What?”

  “Your passion pit won’t fit in here.”

  It wouldn’t. The couch in the condo was huge—so huge an orgy could easily have been held on it, hence the name passion pit—and it would have to remain there. “We’ll go shopping for something soon.”

  “I’m going to hate getting rid of the loveseat.”

  “We’ll find a place for it. But you know what? Sam is going over there.” I pointed out a spot beside the bookcase.

  “Yes. It will be perfect for him.” He linked his arm with mine, and we walked back into the parlor. He paused there. “We’re going to need a live Christmas tree this year, and we’ll put it near the French doors.”

  “Whatever you say, babe.”

  We picked up our suitcases and climbed the stairs to the second floor. In addition to the master suite, a number of the original bedrooms had been combined to form three larger bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms.

  “Dunno what we’re going to do with all these bedrooms,” I muttered.

  “We can use them as guest rooms.”

  He honestly expected us to have that many guests coming to stay with us?

  “We may have to accommodate people from my publishing house.”

  “Okay. But frankly, I think we should put them up in a hotel.”

  He gave me a sideways smile. “Of course, Mark.”

  We walked into our bedroom, and I came to a dead halt. “Did you know our bedroom was a suite?”

  “No, but I like it. Don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but…” The attic apartment I’d lived in before I moved to my condo was smaller than our master bedroom. Hell, it was even smaller than the sitting area in a nook by the windows. We walked into the closet and dropped our suitcases. A glance around it revealed organizers similar in style to the ones I had in my condo. Just like those, they were filled with underwear, handkerchiefs, socks, and sweats. Button-down shirts and suits hang from racks, and a pair of shoe benches held all our footwear. “Somebody was busy.”

  “Are you upset?”

  “No, I think it’s a thoughtful wedding present, something we could use more than a toaster oven or a Crock-Pot.”

  “But we have those. Why would we need more of them?”

  “Exactly.”

  He shook his head, and we walked back through the bedroom and into the master bath. It was as large as the master bathroom in my condo, only in this one, the john had its own little room. It also had a stand-alone shower with rainfa
ll showerheads, a Jacuzzi tub, and a long vanity with a granite countertop and dual sinks. One of the most important things… the towel warmers on one wall.

  “What’s this door?” It was low down on the wall in a corner.

  Quinn walked over to it, stooped, and opened it. “It’s a laundry chute!”

  “That’ll be convenient.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m glad Theo offered to decorate.”

  “Yeah.” We left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

  “Does the color of the walls bother you?”

  “No.” It was a pale blue, and it felt… I wasn’t sure how to express it… maybe relaxing? And on the wall opposite the king-sized bed brought from my condo, Portia had hung the print of Degas’s The Young Spartans Exercising. I’d given it to Quinn as a thank you gift for letting me stay at his town house after Sperling blew up my apartment—the Forest Heights one, not the one in Theo’s home.

  “It works very well in that spot, don’t you think?”

  “It does.” I walked to the sitting area, paced it off, and nodded to myself. “Y’know, we could always put the loveseat here.”

  “That sounds like a good idea, babe.” Quinn looked pleased, and I was glad I’d thought of it.

  I took off my suit jacket and returned to the closet to hang it up. Quinn had already removed his jacket.

  I began unbuttoning my shirt. That bed was calling our names.

  “Before you get too comfortable, what do you think about taking a quick look around the third floor?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Whatever you want, babe.” I slid a hand around the base of his skull, drew him close, and stole a quick kiss.

  “The door to the elevator should be around here somewhere.”

  We pulled open various doors and came across linen closets, a concealed staircase to the third floor that must have been the servants’ stairs at one time, and a door that opened onto a balcony. Finally we found the door that hid the elevator. We opened the metal grate, stepped into the good-sized space, and rode up to the third floor.

  “It looks like this will go up to the attic as well,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah. Did we ever find out if the attic space and basement are included in the square footage?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll have to check with Theo’s architect.” Quinn opened the elevator door and stepped aside, and I got a look at the third floor.