Georgie raises her hand again, and I brace myself for whatever’s coming next.
“What if you’re attracted to younger men?” she asks with the kind of hopeful expression that suggests this is definitely not hypothetical and possibly involves specific individuals she’s already scoped out—who happen to be present and dressed as waiters.
“Age is just a number,” Matilda declares, “but his bank account balance is a fact with decimal points. A twenty-five-year-oldtrust fund baby is infinitely preferable to a fifty-year-old struggling artist, regardless of what romance novels might tell you. Youth and money are the perfect combination—like chocolate and peanut butter, but more expensive.”
I’m simultaneously horrified and impressed,the thought comes from Mom’s direction.She’s like a relationship advice tornado—devastating but oddly mesmerizing and probably leaving a trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts. I’m so glad I don’t care about money.
That’s when Buffy raises her hand, and something in her expression makes me pay closer attention. She looks like she’s about to ask something that actually matters.
“What if you keep choosing the wrong type of man?” she asks quietly, and there’s something vulnerable in her voice that cuts through all the comedy like marshmallows melting in cocoa.
Matilda’s expression softens slightly—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen from her all day that doesn’t involve dollar signs. “Stop shopping in the clearance section of the dating market, dear. Quality costs more upfront but saves money in therapy bills and box wine purchases.”
Ouch,Fish mewls.That one hit close to home. Bizzy, it’s time to dump the big oaf with the badge.
Sherlock simply growls in response.
“How do you know when to give up on someone?” Buffy continues, apparently deciding to go full vulnerability in front of this circus.
“When the cost-benefit analysis shows you’re investing more than you’re earning—emotionally or financially. Relationships should enhance your life, not drain your bank account or your will to live. If you’re doing more emotional labor than a therapist and getting paid less, it’s time to close that account.”
For a moment, actual wisdom seems to peek through the gold-digging advice like sunlight through storm clouds, and I find myself wondering if there’s more to Matilda than hermaterialistic exterior suggests. Maybe she’s been hurt, too, and this whole thing is just elaborate armor made of money and attitude.
Then someone asks, “How do I tell if my neighbor’s cat is plotting against me?” and we’re right back to Crazy Town, population: everyone in this room.
Wait.Sherlock lifts his head.Did that person just complain about cats in a room where someone’s cat has mysteriously disappeared?
That’s either the world’s worst timing or someone is fishing for information,Fish replies grimly.
Matilda handles the question with her usual aplomb, treating it as seriously as she did the marriage advice, but I notice her smile becomes slightly strained when the wordcatcomes up—like someone just stepped on her emotional landmine.
If something happened to Fish, I’d probably lose my mind, and there would be no way I could host anyone or dispense any kind of relationship advice.
Hey? Maybe that’s why everything coming from her lips seems to be financially minded and terribly off topic. But then again, she is the millionaire, not me. So, there’s that.
“Cats are naturally mysterious creatures,” she says carefully. “If you suspect plotting, perhaps it’s time to reassess your relationship with said feline. Sometimes the best solution is simply... distance.”
That was weird,Fudge muses.Even for a hooman giving relationship advice about cats. And that’s saying something, considering everything else that’s happened here.
And strangely enough,Sherlock gives a soft woof,Jellybean and Matilda have quite a bit of distance between them at the moment.
I sink a little in my seat because he has a good point.
“Now,” Matilda announces, glancing at what appears to be a diamond-encrusted watch, “let’s take a short break to allow you all to explore our home. Please, wander freely through thedownstairs, enjoy the refreshments, and don’t forget—Sleigh Bells & Wedding Bellswill be available starting tomorrow!”
She holds up the book again, and I swear the glitter on the cover sparkles under the ballroom’s chandelier lighting.
As the audience begins to disperse—some looking dazed like they’ve been hit by a relationship advice truck, others frantically scribbling notes like they’ve just attended the seminar that’s going to change their lives and possibly their credit scores—I notice Matilda stepping down from the stage and suddenly looking smaller somehow.
The confident persona seems to deflate slightly like a balloon losing air, and for just a moment, she looks like what she actually is—a worried woman whose beloved cat is missing and who might actually care about something that can’t be measured in dollars and cents.
Now’s your chance,Fish advises.She’s got her guard down and her wallet-based armor is showing cracks.
“Want some backup for whatever you’re planning?” Buffy asks quietly, appearing beside me with the kind of perfect timing that suggests investigative instincts run in our family like a genetic disorder.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say with an assured nod.
I like this sister,Sherlock announces approvingly.She pays attention and doesn’t seem completely insane.
