“Christmas?”
“I was thinking of Halloween. Will the castle be celebrating it this year?”
“Halloween? I...” First, it’s hard to believe that it’s already Halloween. It’s also terrifying. I’m trying not to worry about not having the lightning, while at the sametime, I’m falling even deeper in love with each of my guys. “What have you done in the past?”
“In recent years, the kitchen has made food and passed it out to a few children who come begging at the door.”
“It’s not begging Leo, it’s trick-or-treating.”
His head cocks to the side.
“Not begging. It’s cute. I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure the children liked it. What did the kitchen make?”
“Raclette in ramekins.”
“Potato and cheese in small casserole dishes?”
His bushy gray eyebrows shoot up.
“And they like that?” I can’t help the quirk of my lips. Maybe the kids did. If that had happened back in my neighborhood at home, the sidewall of the castle would have been covered in rotten egg yolks, and smashed ramekins of potatoes, but these are Swiss children. “Perhaps we could buy some candy or make some cookies. Give options. I didn’t realize trick-or-treating was a thing here.”
“It’s relatively new here,” Leo says.
“Well, it can be a lot of fun, and it might be a good way to make up for some of the bad PR the guys have in the village. We could do a haunted house?”
The smile that spreads across Leo’s face isn’t what I expected at all.
“I’d be happy to help.”
“I would like that.” Leo steps toward the kitchen.
“Leo, there’s something else I’d like to ask you...”
Ijust need a sweater. The weather’s broken, and the collection room at 68 degrees no longer feels as wonderful as it did back in August. I quickly step to the back of my closet and grab one of the pieces of clothing from the other realm. I shouldn’t, but the fabric is so much more comfortable, both soft and stretchy, warm and cool.
I’m punching my arm into the sleeve when a splotch of color catches my eye. It’s not a splotch of color. Not at all. It’s the Monet, the one from the guys’ office. It’s hanging on my wall. I sink to the rug and stare up at it. There’s a Monet in my bedroom. In. My. Bedroom. How am I supposed to sleep at night now? I head back down to the collection in a daze.
All afternoon while I’m working, I keep thinking about the haunted house for the village kids. And how much fun it could be. I’m making good progress with the collection. The reality I’ve come to accept is that proper conservation of a mass of art this big would take me a lifetime. Heck, it could take two of me two lifetimes. A good half of the room has been put in the new cabinets, and the rest of the paintings are at least stacked properly. But I’ve yet to open the large boxes from galleries. I’m just counting on the fact that a gallery knows how to send a painting and it’s safer in there than out here—unlike a hundred of their stranded friends.
I’m eating my lunch when Wren texts.
Wren: How is my happy sister?
Me: Happy. But it’s weird because I am.
Wren: How are your bosses?
Me: I don’t know.
I add a shrug emoji, and hit send.
Mostly because I can’t think of what to say. That Evander’s tongue is better than a flower vibrator? Or that I came twice while Roark rode me across the bed last week? Or that Kieren and I have the best conversations before dinner and he’s made me look at kitchen counters differently?
Wren: I’m guessing that means complicated?
Me: Very.
Wren: And?
