I venture in. Since the door is open, I’m not being a busy body.
The space is bright—too bright for it to be a reading room. It’s also too neat and organized to be a study.
This is a family shrine.
The aroma of fresh flowers tickles my nose. There are bouquets in every corner of the room, adding a spot of color to the gray-on-gray décor. Save for a couple large armchairs,there’s a row of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with glass doors filled with awards, old books and mementos. The rows of picture frames tell the story of a family––a legacy.
There are several black and white photos, and many colored ones that seem to have faded with time. I squint as I take in Phoenix’s great-great-grandparents, great-grandparents and grandparents.
I spot the official photos of Phoenix and me from the HEEA and I smile.
The König Hotels cleaned house that night. They won an embarrassing number of awards compared to the competition. Brock and Marie-Clémence’s sullen expressions were priceless. They didn’t get a chance to step on stage to represent Ripley Madigan’s hotels. Boo woo woo.
I stroll to the wall of photos that caught my eye.
My gaze peruses the many photos of four smiling boys and a teenager. I recognize Phoenix, Slate, and Wilder. I’m guessing the shortest boy is Roman. The tall teenager must be Barron. My eyes move to another photo of him as a man. He was as handsome as his brothers.
Yup, it’s in theKönig genes.
I check out photo after photo of the four surviving König men. Each time I land on one of Phoenix’s, my ovaries explode.
Damn.
I cradle my stomach, wondering not for the first time what our babies would look like.
Sigh.
“There you are, Michaela.”
I jump in fright at my father-in-law’s voice.
I turn around to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. With his hands in his pockets, he approaches.
Since Soren is as tall as his sons, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“I thought you’d got lost. Arguably, the house is massive,” he says.
No joke.
“Either that or you got bored with our sports talk.” He laughs.
“This wall caught my eye as I was leaving the bathroom. I didn’t notice it two weeks ago when I was here last.”
“It was your wedding day, sweet girl. There was a lot going on,” Soren says.
“True.” Guilt gnarls at me. “Maybe I shouldn’t be in this room,” I say, afraid I’ve made a gaffe.
“Nonsense. You’re a König. Youbelongin this room.”
Thank God he’s not upset I’m snooping around.
“Speaking of which, congratulations, Mrs. König, on your two-week anniversary.” Soren winks.
“Thank you.” I wink back.
The rest of the Paris trip flew by in a blur. A lot like the last week and a half since we’ve been back in LA. There are so many perks to being married. Copious amount of sex tops the list.
