Sophie arrived at the penthouse the next morning with a bag of pastries from Marlene's and absolutely no idea what she was walking into, and I hadn't told her about the gigolo misunderstanding. Not because I wanted to keep it secret, but because I knew that once Sophie found out the reaction would be explosive and unstoppable and probably loud enough to shatter glass, and I needed to be physically present to witness it. Some things were too precious to experience through text messages.
She found me in the living room still wearing my unicorn pajamas and nursing my third cup of coffee. Lucas had made it before retreating to his study with the ficus, and his ears were still carrying traces of yesterday's burgundy trauma. Martha had gone back to his apartment to "rest and reflect," which I suspected meant she was replaying the entire conversation in her head and cringing just as hard as her son.
