“Oh, yes, the front hall is quite grand, but I promise when you get to the apartment, it’s very much like a normal house,” Arabella says, looking a little embarrassed. “Anyway, we’re going to Arthur and Tessa’s. The babies—well, they’re toddlers really, but I can’t seem to stop calling them babies—should be asleep by now, and since they don’t have a night nanny, we need to go to their place if we want to see them in the evenings.”
“Brilliant. Who else will be there?”
“Don’t worry. Just Gran and Father. I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too many of us at once.”
We start down a long, wide hallway lined with enormous paintings of people who I assume are Arabella’s ancestors. On the right, we pass by a library (obviously, because who doesn’t have a library in their very normal house?), next comes a room that I imagine is called a conservatory or something. The other doors are closed, and when we get to the end of the hall, we stop and Arabella pushes an elevator button. “Now, there’s no reason to be nervous. Everyone is going to love you.”
“Sure, right,” I say as the elevator doors slide open. Am I sweating? I am. These boxes are surprisingly heavy and this stupid wool sports jacket is insanely warm.
“No, seriously,” she says, stepping on and pushing the three. “You’re thoroughly impressive. As soon as the show starts, they’ll get a chance to see you in action. Quite an advantage for a man meeting his girlfriend’s family for the first time, really.”
I highly doubt that.
A few minutes later, we’ve finally reached the tall white doors that serve as the entrance to her brother’s ‘apartment.’ Two guards stand on either side, dressed in black suits and matching deadpan expressions. I give them each a nod and say hello but neither responds.
Arabella knocks, then opens it without waiting for a response. When we walk inside, we enter a foyer with tall ceilings that leads to the main living area, which is riddled with toys. Huh, that is kind of normal. There’s a large blue velvet sofa with a matching love seat, an enormous ornate fireplace with a huge flat screen television hanging above it, and a large grey pig walking towards us.
Arabella sets the bags down on the floor and crouches down when the pig stops in front of her. “This is Dexter. He loves everyone.”
She scratches him on the chin. “Who’s a good boy? You are, Dexter. You’re a very good pig.”
He steps closer to Arabella and rubs his head against her leg.
“Hello, you must be Will,” a woman on an exercise bike behind the love seat says with a wave. “I’m Tessa. Lovely to meet you. I can’t stop pedaling though. According toThe Weekly World Newsand a bunch of other media asshats, I’m too fat.”
Arabella stands. “You are not! You’re lovely.” Turning to me, she asks, “Isn’t she lovely, Will?”
Okay, this is awkward. “Yes, very. It’s wonderful to meet you, Your Highness.”
Tessa sips from the water bottle in her hand. “Nope. Just Tessa, okay? Are those for the children?!” she asks, gesturing to the boxes I’m carrying. “Oh! They’re going to love those! The Bounce and Spin Puppy especially.”
I set the boxes down against the wall and stand, just in time for Dexter, the pig, to mosey over to me. He sniffs my new shoes, then works his way up to my crotch.
“Dexter, don’t bug,” Tessa says.
“That pig is a total ball-sniffer.”
I turn to find the source of this shocking comment, only to see a tiny, old woman in a purple tracksuit. She shakes her head at Dexter while she walks toward me, looking surprisingly spry for someone so wrinkled. “Jesus, he looks like he’s going hunting for truffles. Dexter, stop that!”
Yes, I do wish he’d stop that. Being aggressively crotch-sniffed by an enormous pig doesn’t exactly make it easy to focus on the conversation.
When she reaches me, she holds out one hand. “I’m Arabella’s grandmother.”
“Princess Florence, it’s an honour to meet you,” I say, bowing a little as I shake her hand. Was I supposed to kiss her hand? Bowing and shaking seems wrong somehow. Why didn’t I ask Pierce about that? “Arabella’s told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you,” I add, trying to dislodge the enormous snout from my inner thighs.
The Princess Dowager offers me a wry smile. “Well, the only thing she’s told me about you is you’re great in the sack.”
“Gran!” Arabella says, turning bright pink. “I told you no such thing.”
“You should have though, because I can tell by looking that he is,” she says, giving me a wink.
Oh, God. Can I go home now?
“Will’s brought you your favourite gin,” Arabella says, handing the gift bag to her gran.
“Ooh!” Princess Florence says. “Let’s crack that shit open, shall we?”
She walks over to the bar area, yanking the bottle from the bag.
