Nine
By the time they reached the Badgertons’ private lane, Valerie was so jittery she felt as if she’d shoved her finger into an electrical socket.
The Badgertons were richer than she had anticipated by at least an order of magnitude.
Perhaps several, although learning about the bespoke heraldry should have tipped her off.
It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did.
A bad traffic snarl had put them behind schedule and Nico told her they’d be arriving during the Badgertons’ traditional predinner drink hour.
Valerie usually adored all the little rituals that set one family apart from another, be it movie nights or Sunday pancakes, but she was less than enthusiastic at the idea of walking into a room of people taking sherry or savoring aperitivos.
She checked her lipstick in the sun visor for the thousandth time as she jiggled her knee to release some nervous energy, causing her skirt to open at the split.
On any other occasion she would have teased Nico for the way his gaze kept drifting down—the gap only revealed her knee, nothing naughty—but she was too unnerved to do anything but give the fabric a sharp tug.
Nico’s eyes flew straight ahead and she stared at the trees overlapping the lane to create a magical dappled effect.
It was like they were entering another world, one where it didn’t matter how long your driveway was because you weren’t the one shoveling it.
As usual when she got nervous, she started talking. “Does this place have a name? Badgerton Acres?”
“They call it the cottage.”
“How about Badgerton View?”
“The cottage.”
Valerie’s leg was numb by the time they came out of the trees. A circular driveway lined with carelessly parked luxury SUVs curved in front of a huge boxy stone-and-wood building.
It was go time.
Nico turned to her. “Remember, you can leave whenever you want, no questions asked.”
“Right.” This reminder that she was in control didn’t help because she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Roger high and dry. She’d agreed to this and she was going to see it through. Also she’d already sublet her apartment and spent Roger’s money.
The front door loomed like a gate that was about to release the lions, and she steadied herself for an attack as they got out of the car. None came. Nico glanced at his phone. “Roger says they’re all out on the boat.”
Valerie had spent half the drive dreaming up increasingly soap-opera-ish scenarios that began with some light insults and ended with fainting fits, theatrical slaps worthy of a pro wrestling fight, and a full dance number.
She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the reprieve or resentful the climax had been drawn out.
Nico put down her third suitcase with a wince. “Let’s take these to your room while we wait.”
“How are you so cool about this?” she asked, hoping the answer was something like Drugs, you want some?
“Because the worst-case scenario is that we drive back to Toronto.”
“That’s not the worst-case scenario. What if someone attacks me?”
He looked pained that she could think a Badgerton capable of such uncouth behavior. “That won’t happen.”
“What if someone freaks out?”
“That’s for Roger to deal with. Not you.”
She blinked. It felt bizarre to simply cede responsibility but Nico was right.
His straightforward approach had a calming effect as they went through a side door and climbed a small staircase, where she refrained from making a (probably accurate) joke about the servants’ entrance.
When he ushered her into a beautiful sand-and-ivory bedroom with linen curtains billowing out from the warm breeze, her apprehension over the next two months was momentarily forgotten. “I’m in a Hamptons fever dream.”
Nico piled up her luggage near the wall—covered with a textured taupe paper that looked like woven grass then rubbed his shoulder. “Do you want to see the house while we wait? I can show you around, or you can explore on your own.”
“You, you.” She didn’t hesitate to claim his company because Nico had become her ally.
Plus, he’d offered, and encountering a Badgerton while snooping around their place was not an experience she relished having solo.
Nico didn’t say anything but she assumed from his nod that he was fine with her choice.
She was starting to learn his more subtle communication cues.
Where she would exclaim, he might comment.
Her theatrical groans were his slight eye rolls. Her laughter was his smile.
A horrifying thought came to her. “Wait, oh my God.” She grabbed him, too tense to properly appreciate the strength of his arm, although she totally noticed. “I can’t believe we didn’t talk about this. What do I call him? Roger? Dad? Pops? Big Daddy?”
“I don’t think Pops or Big Daddy.” His face twisted in dismay as he said the last. “Do you want to call him Dad?”
“Dad.” She tried it out. “It feels wrong.”
“Go with Roger,” he advised.
She followed him into the wide corridor.
The floor was light pine and the stylish irregularities of the thick area rugs broadcast their handwoven origins to even the uninitiated.
A single glance confirmed that the most saturated color was a deep mushroom.
The showstopper was the main room. Naturally, it was open concept.
The kitchen had a white marble island big enough to seat sixteen, topped with a single wooden bowl filled with citrus fruit so perfectly matched it looked fake.
A green espresso machine with La Marzocco badged on the side added a curated note of deliberate whimsy, as did a set of matched white-and-yellow porcelain patterned with petals that looked like suns.
Not a single cooking smell lingered and every counter was spotless.
“Where are the pots and pans?” asked Valerie.
“All the cooking takes place in the downstairs work kitchen,” he explained. “This is the entertainment kitchen.”
“Oh.”
The show kitchen merged into a living zone dominated by huge bouclé sectional couches grouped around a low table of reclaimed driftwood with a book of tree portraits and an assortment of white pillar candles that smelled like a high-end perfume counter nestled in mounds of turquoise pebbles.
On the wall was a massive painting of a summer landscape made of overlapping spheres.
Nico saw her looking. “The art service changes that out once a month to another work from Penny’s gallery.”
Valerie nodded, a little distracted because her attention had been commandeered by the floor-to-ceiling windows framing the lake as if the view itself was another thing to be enclosed, commodified, and admired as one’s own.
She dared Tourism Ontario to find a more sublime scene to feature on their website.
The deep green of the pines contrasted with mottled gray stone that rose in smooth curves from black water that sparkled in the sun.
A single white Mariposa chair waited in noble solitude at the end of the dock by the boathouse, ready for its owner to take their throne over the domain of water, stone, and trees.
In the distance sounded a faint thwump-thwump as a helicopter passed by.
“Holy shit,” said Valerie. This wasn’t the classiest thing that had ever come out of her mouth, but the view deserved nothing less.
Then came the attack she’d been worried about since arrival, and so unexpected it made her jump.
“Nico! How sweet of Roger to let you bring your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” she whispered to Nico, looking around to see where the woman’s voice was originating.
He seemed unusually flustered and she liked how it looked on him.
Nico was normally so even-keeled and serious that it was a kick to see his cheeks get pink.
However, she could only admire this for a moment because the door opened to reveal a scene worse than the lions of her imagination.
Penny Badgerton-Willis stood revealed in her full glory, dressed in a flowing gray cover-up and holding a flute of sparkling wine that Valerie assumed would be champagne and not prosecco.
Valerie instinctively stepped closer to Nico, no doubt inadvertently confirming the girlfriend thing.
Penny lifted the brim of her straw hat and tilted her rectangular sunglasses down to see better. “And who do we have here?”
“Penny, this is Valerie,” said Nico. “She’s not…”
Penny gave a little wave to silence him and stepped forward. “I’m Penny Badgerton-Willis. You may call me Penny.” She bestowed this privilege like a gift, then leaned in to stare into Valerie’s face. Her own had been massaged to a lymph-free smoothness. “Have we met?”
Valerie put on her biggest, friendliest smile. “Thank you so much for having me but I’m not…”
“You said it’s Valerie?” Her hostess apparently had an allergy to letting people finish. “What’s your last name?” Penny’s gaze skipped from Valerie’s hair down to her sandals. Should she have left her shoes off? She tried to look surreptitiously at Penny’s feet.
“Peng, and I should mention…”
“What do you do, Valerie? Wait. Peng?” Penny’s social smile was fading fast and Valerie wondered if she’d made the connection between the Valerie Peng in front of her and the Valerie Peng she’d threatened to sue into oblivion a few days ago. “How do you spell that?”
“It’s P-E-N-G.” Roger finally appeared and Valerie felt intense relief that she could off-load this conversation to someone more equipped to deal with it. “She’s not Nico’s girlfriend. I asked him to bring Valerie up.”
Penny’s face blanched. “Dear God, tell me she’s not your friend. How old is she?”
Valerie gave a little squeak of alarm. She might prefer the WWE slaps after all. Nico took a small step forward and she desperately wanted to duck behind him.
“Don’t be disgusting. Valerie isn’t anyone’s girlfriend.”
“Then why is she here?” Penny spoke as if Valerie wasn’t in the room with them.