Thankfully, Britney had turned him down.
Now she was puttering around, pulling things out of her boxes and finding new places for them to reside. She still had a small stack of them in the hallway and was slowly bringing them in and unpacking. Gabe was thankful the majority of her stuff was finding its way into her room, however there were exceptions which he didn’t particularly enjoy. He had made the condo his home and now he was having to share which was something Gabe wasn’t used to.
Trying to ignore Britney, he concentrated on his laptop, running the numbers again. Gabe frowned, highlighting an area for further investigation. Since he had learned the family businesses had be used for a front to launder money, Gabe had been meticulously going over the accounting to ensure there wasn’t any odd activity going on in the past eight years. The FBI was still going over the company figures in the ongoing investigation and Gabe didn’t want any surprises he would have to explain during his tenure as head of Ramesly HMC. He would scrutinize the business now and be prepared for any eventuality.
Glancing at his watch, Gabe realized the time. Shutting his laptop, he set everything away for the next morning and checked to see if he had any messages or texts a moment as he got up to get ready for bed.
Gabe abruptly looked up from his cellphone. Something was wrong. His peripheral vision had picked something up that hadn’t been there before. Turning his head slowly, he surveyed the room to find the kitchen counters cluttered with all sorts of small appliances in bright red which hadn’t been there before. Tightening his jaw, Gabe narrowed his eyes, “Brit!”
“What is it?” Britney asked offhandedly as she walked from the hall towards her designated bedroom with yet another box in her arms. She didn’t even look toward Gabe as she walked the short distance.
“Why are there these things in my kitchen?” he demanded.
“What things?” she asked, her voice muffled as she put the box in the bedroom.
“Things,” clarified Gabe, waving his phone at them. “On my countertops.”
“Things?” Britney had a little laugh as she came into the kitchen. “What things?”
“These,” Gabe pointed. “All these gadgets.”
“They are kitchen appliances. They belong in the kitchen?” Britney raised an eyebrow, half amused at his antics.
“They can’t be here,” he told her tersely.
Britney folded her arms and cocked her head to the side. “I’m moving in. I have stuff. It needs to go someplace.”
“Well it can’t go here,” reiterated Gabe, glaring at a red stand mixer. “You can leave it in storage.”
“No, I’m not going to put it in storage as I plan on using these appliances quite a bit,” sighed Britney. “Is this about you not wanting me to move in?”
“I agreed to your moving in,” Gabe gestured at the countertop. “I did not agree to allow you to clutter up my condo.”
“Gabe,” Britney stepped in front of him so he had to look at her. “We agreed I would move in so my condo could sell. I am moving in. We are about to get married. This means my stuff will be your stuff and your stuff will be my stuff. When we are married I will be moving into the master bedroom with you. It is how these things work. You had to know this was coming.”
“You have too much stuff,” he worked out while taking in a steadying breath to try to tamp down the panic.
“We will be getting a house,” Britney shrugged, unconcerned. “It will have more than enough room for everything we have.”
“A house?” echoed Gabe, his stomach bottoming out. What would they do with a house? Visions of chaos of kids and a dog running through with mud on them were conjured by his brain.
“Stop looking so pale and like you want to throw up,” she rolled her eyes. “A baby means even more stuff and we need at least three bedrooms. This place is just too small. We will get a nice house, preferably somewhere near a park and a good school.”
“A house,” breathed Gabe in distress. “We are not getting a house. What do you mean ‘near a good school’? This kid will be a Ramesly. All Rameslys have gone to Livingston Academy since the institution opened.”
“I was thinking perhaps we could break with tradition,” Britney pertly told him. “According to recent studies, most children are happier being brought up middleclass. I want our son to be happy so I think a nice middleclass neighborhood and school would be perfect.”
“No. Just the security ramifications would be a nightmare,” breathed Gabe. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t you want your son to be happy?” asked Britney, slightly annoyed at his flat refusal of her plan.
“I want him or her not to be kidnapped,” retorted Gabe. “Like it or not, people of a certain class are targeted. It is the reason we pay for security.”
“You can’t buy safety,” reasoned Britney. “No one can be bubble wrapped all of their lives. It’s just not realistic. Look at your cousins. Many of them have done all sorts of thrill seeking adventures and have come back more confident, more mature. Max lived on the streets for a while and he was perfectly fine. He and Piaget live a middleclass lifestyle. Their boys are perfectly happy. They even share a room.”
“Morgan and Ryder go to Livingston Academy,” Gabe quickly pointed out. “They go to school with their cousins. Going to a proper educational facility sets the groundwork for higher education opportunities with Ivy League schools.”
Britney frowned. “Do you hear what a snob you are?”
