They get to her place

The limo glides to a smooth stop in the wide circular driveway in front of Sofia’s house. Even with the long stretch of the SUV, the driver makes the turn effortlessly. I think to myself how insane it is that there’s so much space that he can do a U-turn without touching the grass. I stare out the window, suddenly realizing just how big this place really is. It’s one thing to drop off food at the door; it’s another to see it like this, lit up at night, from the inside of a limo, almost coming across like a small resort than someone’s home.

Sofia notices me checking it out and gives my hand a squeeze. “It’s a lot, I know.”

I shake my head. “Yeah. It’s… something. Should I be scared of your husband?” I ask, wondering how someone even affords a place like this legally.

“No, baby,” she consoles me. “He just comes from money, and he’s really good with it. That’s all.” She smiles softly, then reaches for the door handle. “Come on.”

She climbs out first, and I see the silver dress start to shimmer when the interior lights come on as she steps out. I follow on unsteady legs after everything that just happened, topped off by the muscles not being used to dancing. As I stand up, I glance down and see there are small, glistening drips on the floor in front of where I’d been sitting and a few more on the edge of the seat. My brain goes into overdrive trying to figure out if that’s from her saliva dripping down or… from how wet she got while she was on her knees?

I swallow hard, and hurry out before I bring attention to it or myself.

She’s already talking to the driver who’s holding the door open for me, while fishing out several crisp hundred-dollar bills from her small clutch. She hands them over with a polite smile, and the driver takes them, glances at the bills, then back at her.

“Ma’am, are you sure? This is-”

“Absolutely,” she says firmly. “I’m sure my husband would insist.”

The driver’s eyes flick to me as I step up beside her, then back to Sofia. A grin spreads across his face. “Well… thank you very much, sir,” he says to me, nodding his head. “And again, happy twenty-first.”

Sofia wraps herself around my arm, pressing her body close against my side, then looks up at the driver with a mischievous little smile.

“Oh no, dear,” she says sweetly, “he’s not my husband.” And with a wink, she starts to drag me toward the house. “Come on, birthday boy. Your night’s not over yet.”

I turn to glance back at the driver and see his eyebrows shoot up. His grin widens, darting his eyes between us like he just figured out the punchline to a joke. He doesn’t say anything else, just gives me a thumbs-up, then shuts the door and walks around to the driver’s side.

I glance back at him one last time as he climbs in, grinning and shaking his head incredulously.

Sofia leads me through the front door where the foyer opens up to high ceilings, marble floors, and a chandelier that probably costs more than my car. I’ve seen this area a dozen times, but I’ve never felt like I had the opportunity to just check everything out without feeling like I’m casing the joint as I delivered food. I still try not to gawk, but it’s impossible. The place feels like I’m walking into a spread in a magazine.

She glances up at me with a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sense of inadequacy. “Just… taking it in.”

We head straight for the kitchen where I took the food the day of her son’s birthday party. She lets go of my hand to grab two glasses from a cabinet, fills them with ice from the fridge, then pours water from a pitcher.

She hands me one and leans back against the counter, taking a long sip. I do the same, suddenly realizing how thirsty I am after the night’s festivities. We stand there for a minute, and I suddenly feel awkward now that we’re back in a more normal environment that we’ve interacted in before, and reality starts to set in. My eyes start to wander to occupy myself.

The open-concept layout lets me see into a room with a plush sectional, huge TV, and kids’ toys scattered across the rug. There’s also a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table and I wonder if that’s how she passes the time while her kids play. The whole place feels lived in, even if it does feel like it belongs in a magazine.

She catches me visually exploring the place and laughs softly. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like a tour?”

I shake my head quickly. “You don’t have to. I’m just… I’ve never been in a place like this. It’s insane. Sorry if I’m distracted,” I offer up, knowing I should be paying attention to her and not the house.

She waves her hand and sets her glass down. Stepping closer, she slips her hand back into mine. “It’s fine. Come on.”

She leads me through the main floor first, pointing out various rooms. The living room, which wasn’t actually the room I’d already seen but was apparently just some sitting room, has a massive stone fireplace. Then the formal dining room she says they almost never use, the home office that I’m pretty sure is mostly hers with a big desk and shelves of books and photos of the boys.

She apologizes for the toys everywhere as we go. “I wasn’t expecting a guest tonight,” she says with a sheepish smile. “It’s a lot to constantly clean up behind two boys. As soon as I put something away, they’ve got something else out.”

I laugh. “I couldn’t even imagine. Your home is still probably cleaner than my place,” I say before feeling like I just told her I live like a slob.

She skips some rooms as we go, but shows a couple of guest rooms and a gym that seems as if it’s set up for her and not him, then we head upstairs. The staircase is wide and curves with a wrought-iron railing. Skipping all of the doors along the way, she pauses in front of a set of double doors.

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