"Earl Grey, please."
She nods and I watch her move around the pristine kitchen, opening drawers without knobs. "He informed both me and Steven," she says.
"Right. And his lawyers."
She nods.
"I'm sorry, I'm sure what you must think of me. I promise you I'm not- "
Bonnie holds up a hand. "I don't think anything, dear. I think you're a talented assistant, the best he's ever had. I think the both of you found yourself in a position to help one another. It's only fair that you get compensated for that. God knows he's not the easiest to work with, and now you're married to him! As far as I'm concerned, you deserve every penny."
The frankness stops me dead, and then I burst out laughing. Bonnie joins in. "I can't tell that to him, though," she stage-whispers, a fond smile on her face.
I smile at her. "What would he do without us, do you think?"
"Without us keeping his world in order?"
"His blood pressure would spike," she says, pouring piping hot water into a mug. Steam curls in the air above it. "No, I don't think he could survive without us."
I accept the warm mug from her. "Thank you."
"I've been wanting to meet you for a long time," she says. "I never imagined it would be under these circumstances."
"No, I didn't either. But I've wanted to meet you too."
"Thanks for emailing me about the switch from still to sparkling water the other month." She moves to the refrigerator and opens it with a flourish. "I make sure we're always fully stocked when he wants it."
The refrigerator is a piece of art. Everything is stacked, labeled, organized. It belongs on a curated Instagram feed. It belongs in a frame.
"Bonnie," I say.
"You're a magician."
She laughs, shutting the stainless-steel door. "No," she says. "I'm the domestic version of you."
"Well, I have to thank you, too, for emailing me about Reubens. I added that to his lunch rotation at work."
"Did he like that?"
"Good. I've been trying to get him to eat more variety for years. I cooked a dish with quinoa two weeks ago, and well…" Bonnie gives me a half-smile. "I'm not doing that again."
I laugh, because it's all too easy to imagine. "I don't think he has any idea how much we smooth his way."
"I think he does, but he doesn't know how to acknowledge it." Bonnie has a seat opposite me and reaches for the breast pocket of her black shirt, pulling out a notepad and a pen. "Now, I want to know what you'd like to make the guest room on the second floor feel more like your home. Steven and I are here to help. Do you want us to come with you and pack?"
Steven and Bonnie are in a league of their own. Bonnie chats. Steven is stone-faced. But between the three of us, we pack up most of my things in cardboard boxes that Steven had stocked inside the trunk of Victor's car.
It's clear that he only hires the best, and with the two of them, he's found the cream of the crop.
"This is lovely china," Bonnie says as she packs the vintage green set my mother had bought for me at an antique sale. It's going in the boxes for storage.
Storage, because I won't need most of this for an entire year.
I'm trying to think of it as a gap year. A fun, experimental year, as I fold linens I won't need and decide which books I won't read for the coming year. Like going to camp. A camp led by an asshole with a personality disorder, but a camp nonetheless. Business camp. I'll finally get my start-up off the ground.
"The men are here from the moving company," Steven says. He's rolled up his sleeves, but otherwise he looks as emotionless as usual. I wonder if Victor is his role model.
"Excellent," Bonnie says. "Should we start with the couch?"
I nod. "Yes, sure. Do you need help? Oh. No, okay then."
Steven bends and lifts at the same time as a mover walks in, bearded and with two other men to help him.
It takes them fifteen minutes to have all my furniture out of the studio and inside a moving van. It takes Bonnie and me half an hour to pack the rest, the things I'm bringing to Victor's apartment.
And just like that, my old life is sealed up, all in one day.
"Please let me buy you guys pizza," I tell both of them in the car. "You took time out of your day to help me. Please."
Steven shakes his head and Bonnie's voice is firm. "Absolutely not. We're working, dear."
"Even so? I can't tempt you with a slice of pepperoni?"
She chuckles. "No. Not unless you'd rather eat that for dinner instead of the food I've prepared at home, in which case I'll gladly order you pizza. Just let me know if there's a restaurant you prefer."
I sink down in my seat. There's so much here I haven't considered. That they're staff. That I'm… not, not anymore. I'm their employer's wife.
I can't even think that thought.
"We'll eat at St. Clair's," I say.
Steven drops us off outside the apartment building that is now my home. He idles, turning around to look at me. "I'm heading to the storage facility to see that everything's gone all right with your delivery. Would you like me to take photos of the unit they've assigned you to while I'm there, Mrs. St. Clair?"
I blink at him. "Um. Yes, please. I appreciate it. But I'm not Mrs. St. Clair. Please call me Cecilia."
He gives a hesitant nod that makes it clear he'll do no such thing.
I spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking in my bedroom. Putting my toothbrush in the marble en-suite and hanging up my clothes in the giant closet. My eyes keep flickering to the view of Central Park from this angle, the forest of trees with their leaves ablaze in color. I can't believe this is my view now. From my bedroom. In my boss's apartment.
It's late when I venture downstairs. Bonnie is cooking, a black apron around her waist. She smiles when she sees me. "Is it feeling more like a home up there?"
I nod, sitting down at the kitchen counter. "Yes. This smells amazing. What are you making?"
"Lobster ravioli."
"Lobster ravioli?"
"Yes. It's one of St. Clair's favorites."