Page 78 of Frequency of Attraction

“How about we look for some places when I’m there this weekend?”

He nodded. Not that there was a large rental market in Victory. He’d already checked. Certainly nowhere he’d want to raise a family. Another eighteen months until he was eligible to buy a house. For now, he needed to find a less-shitty rental.

“We’ll have fun at the villa. The pool, my old bedroom, no Tate. The possibilities are endless.”

He smiled at the twinkle in her eye. He appreciated her attempt at levity and decided he needed to lighten up. “How mad would Tate be if we christened every room in that place, including his?”

She laughed, eyes wide. “I’d agree to his shower because it’s the size of a small apartment, but I draw the line at his bedroom.”

“Tate’s shower it is.”

“Mon Dieu, that’s so naughty.” She giggled.

“I can’t wait to see you,kiska. Get here soon, yeah?”

“Only thirty-two hours to go,mon amour.”

Tate’s villa was heaven. Vadim loved the isolation of the hills and the views that went on forever. The darkness at night was total. Out there, he felt closer to space. He did not want their weekend away to end. Epic shower sex had almost nothing to do with it.

Quinn fidgeted while he made breakfast Sunday morning: sausage omelets and homestyle potatoes from scratch. She was uncharacteristically quiet, sipping her tea in silence and wandering between window and barstool like it was her job.

Finally, his curiosity got the best of him. “What’s up? Regretting sex in your cousin’s shower?”

She squirmed on the barstool.

“Quinn?” Since when did his little blonde not share what was on her mind?

She clutched her mug closer. “I do have something on my mind. Nothing scary, though. Okay, it might be scary. We’ll go for a drive later and have a talk.”

He frowned. He hadn’t been in the best mood that weekend because they’d found nothing suitable for rent in stupid Victory. For the foreseeable future, they were stuck on his couch. Or he’d be forced to beg Tate to stay more often at Rosie’s in San Diego. He hoped his mood didn’t have her rethinking their arrangement. “Go for a drive later? Really?”

“You can drive Tate’s Mustang.”

Vadim switched off the gas burners on the drool-worthy Bertazzoni range. “We’ll talk now or there’ll be no breakfast.”

Her mouth popped open. “Don’t you hear my stomach? You know how I get when I’m hungry.”

“Overdramatic. What else is new?” He kissed her on the forehead. “Think you can out-stubborn me?”

She let out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. But we have to talk in the car.”

Weird, but at least he’d get to drive the Mustang. Quinn slipped her hand into his and they made their way to the garage at the back of the house.

Vadim had moaned out loud when he’d pulled into Tate’s garage two days before. The room was heated, with spotless rubber flooring. There was space for half-a-dozen cars down there. Tate’s classic Mustang was gone, but the new one? The loud, sexy beast of a muscle car sat there taunting him.

He should have been giddy as they roared down the villa’s endless, winding driveway, but his girlfriend was keeping secrets. Once he hit the nondescript highway, he looked at Quinn. “My choice or yours?”

“Take a right and then the third right. That’s about four miles down.”

Oddly specific and not nearly far enough for this beautiful piece of American machinery. Vadim followed her instructions but not the speed limit. Three minutes later, he pulled off the dusty highway onto a dustier side road that seemed to stretch forever. The path wasn’t nicely landscaped and lush like Tate’s. It was raw and bumpy. He was going to have to wash Tate’s damn car. They ascended until the land plateaued and he couldn’t go any further. Hills surrounded them.

“New make-out spot?”

Quinn smiled at him apprehensively. “Yes, actually.” She pulled her iPad out of her giant purse, swiped it open, and handed it over. Vadim took the tablet, staring at the sketch on the screen. He could tell the rectangle in the middle was a house. There was a kidney-shaped pool in the back and green lawn out front. A square sat on the left of the property, with a gray squiggle leading from the road. So, the square must be a garage. A big one. He swiped through more drawings. Then the drawings turned into renderings, clearer pictures from every angle of what the home could be. There was a porch that wrapped all the way around. A gazebo in the front yard. A swing set. A backyard kitchen like Tate’s. Everything anyone could ever want in a home.

The garage had two apartments above. Full apartments. Like a compound. Like a solution to most of his problems. “Quinn?”

“I bought some land. Hired Rosie. I took a leap of faith toward our future without asking you. We’ll have a home here and one in Boston. Or, if Mila wants to move here with us, I’ll sell the brownstone. I just wanted a home of my own. Now, with you, and with her, I have one.”

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