Page 32 of Angels Are Falling

But Amelie was too distracted to notice the gifts on the coffee table. Her expression dimmed as she took in the house. She hadn’t seen it yet, and her eyes tracked the living room furniture. “Um. Where’s all our stuff?”

I returned home before her and hired a moving company. They dropped off our measly belongings from the old home. “Upstairs. I put everything away,” I answered.

She tsked. “I meant the living room furniture. Where’s the vintage mirror and my gray armchair?”

The question made me chuckle because I thought she was joking. When I realized she wasn’t, I said, “That mirror’s falling apart, and we bought the armchair off Craigslist. I didn’t have the movers bring that stuff because we don’t need them.”

“Why would you think that? It was our stuff, and I want it.” Amelie watched me with disbelief, and I found myself watching back incredulously. This place looked like a piece of art. Why would she want to bring ragged furniture into a house full of designer items? What purpose would that serve?

I glanced over her shoulder at Kai, hoping he would weigh in. There was no way he’d be okay with secondhand Craigslist furniture in this million-dollar home. But Kai had checked out of the conversation and texting someone on his phone.

Amelie placed a stubborn hand on her waist. “I swear to God, Stefan, you’re sleeping outside if you threw away my things. I’d been measuring Bella’s height on the brown cupboard since⁠—”

“The furniture will be dropped off tomorrow,” Kai interrupted in a bored tone.

We glanced at him, surprised. We didn’t think he was paying attention, let alone taking proactive measures to pacify Amelie.

“What?” she asked, baffled.

“I texted my assistant. Your old house hasn’t been put on the market yet. He’ll have someone move the furniture tomorrow.”

I couldn’t help the huff that came out of me. “Come on, Am. There are throw-up stains on our sofa from when the twins got sick.” I waved a hand at our new home with white furniture and shiny, marble floors. “That stuff doesn’t go with this house.”

I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it. I saw my wife’s wrath in her flared nostrils before she even spoke. “That stuff is years’ worth of memories⁠—”

“They can go on my side of the house,” Kai cut in to mollify her rising hysteria.

Once more, Amelie and I were dumbfounded. “You want the broken furniture?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kai.

“Doesn’t bother me.” He glanced at Amelie. “Feel free to decorate my side however you want.”

My wife seemed on the verge of picking another fight, but she couldn’t find a hole in Kai’s diplomatic solution.

“Now that the furniture tragedy’s over,” Kai said when she didn’t put up a fight. “I’ve emails to answer. We’ll have dinner in an hour.” He didn’t wait for a response and strolled through the double doors.

It wasn’t much of an invite, more like an order, and while it sounded like he expected both of us at dinner, I knew he only wanted Amelie. Their honeymoon might be over, but they were still a newly married couple.

I had planned on inviting her out with some friends tonight, but I nixed the idea. Eating dinner alone would contradict what Kai wanted out of this arrangement, and he had already done me a solid by diffusing Amelie’s anger over the furniture.

Amelie and Kai drafted a prenuptial agreement to negotiate the terms of their marriage. I wasn’t a part of that discussion because Kai wanted to keep their marriage separate from ours. As for how it’d work among the three of us, we discussed our arrangement verbally. Instead of setting a fixed number of days that Amelie would spend with each partner, we opted for a fluid, flexible schedule. It made the most sense as Kai traveled frequently for work. He expected to see his wife and kids whenever he was in town, and I was expected to give them space.

I stared at the shopping bags. I had forgotten the true price I had paid for our new lives. I was in a love-hate relationship with it, but still, I had no regrets. I could withstand anything as long as Amelie had a better life than my mother.

My self-pity ended when the doorbell rang, and my phone beeped.

Matt: Here.

Will: Let us in.

Amelie frowned. “Who’s here so late?” The irritation in her voice hadn’t subsided. We had just reunited and barely recovered from our argument, only to be interrupted.

“Some friends from work,” I explained, making my way to the front door. “You’ll love these guys,” I added, excited. “I met them during the Africa expedition.”

We were always too busy with work and the kids in the past to host friends, but things were different now. Suddenly, I had time for friends. Not only that, but we also had a home fit to entertain guests.

I opened the door to familiar faces and exchanged warm greetings with three men. The first to enter was Will, who looked like Mr. California with his shaggy blond hair and surfer-dude attitude. Next was Marcus, the quiet intellectual of the group, with dark curly hair and a tall frame. Matt was last through the door, someone I knew before starting my new job. We attended the same private school. I was surprised to find out that he was now the creative director at Obsidian. There was a bit of history between us, mostly well-timed jokes at my expense because I was the scholarship kid and his father owned a line of luxury clothing stores.

However, after trekking the Great Migration in Tanzania, I had let bygones be bygones. Spending a week in harsh terrain had bonded us for life, and the four of us had become good friends. They also knew of my polyandrous marriage and had been shockingly open-minded about it.