Page 218 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“Come in.” Jane ushered me into the house, then closed the door firmly behind me. “Eric’s upstairs making sure the baby’s asleep, but he’ll be down in a second.”

“How old is…the baby?” I’d almost said “it.”

Jane grinned. “Three months going on thirteen. I swear, if she’s going to scream this loud because she doesn’t like her pacifier, I don’t know what’s going to happen when I tell her she’s not allowed to wear shorts that show her ass cheeks.”

I giggled, enjoying Jane’s candor. “Yeah, that could be a problem.”

I followed her into a great room just off the main foyer of the townhouse. It wasn’t at all what I expected. Xavier had money like the de Vrieses, inherited from generations of family wealth. But the pictures of his estates in England were so formal, even more so than Huntwell Farm. Jane and Eric’s home was modern, full of eclectic art and vintage furniture that was as comfortable as it was interesting.

“How is Nina doing?” Jane asked. “I hear she’s on bed rest, poor girl.”

“Due any day, I think. I’m pretty sure they’re in their own little world up there. Matthew hasn’t been to New York since she went on bed rest.”

I wished I could have told her more. Between two months of wallowing and the fact that Matthew had been holed up with Nina for months, making sure she didn’t get up for anything but the bathroom, I hadn’t seen my brother since he helped Nonna move out.

“Poor thing,” Jane said. “That last month is murder. Can I get you a drink? I was going to make myself some green tea.”

I nodded. “Thanks, that would be great.”

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She disappeared into a kitchen on the other side of the floor, leaving me to sit on one of the couches and observe the rest ofthe room. I was up almost immediately, however, when I spotted a small painting on the other side that drew my eye.

I didn’t know enough about art to identify the artist, but it was definitely an original made of gold and paint, a curious panting of a couple embracing, one of whom was wearing ballet slippers.

“Like it?”

I startled, then turned to find Jane’s husband, Eric de Vries, entering the room.

Like his wife, he didn’t exactly look like a billionaire CEO. When I’d met him before, he’d worn a sleek, tailored suit that matched the immaculate grooming of a man of his station. Right now, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, as rumpled as any new father might be.

Then he smiled exactly like my sister-in-law, and I was immediately more comfortable.

“Hi,” I said. “It’s nice to see you again. Thank you for having me.” I gestured toward the painting. “Who painted this?”

“Oh, that’s a Gustav Klimt. A gift from my late grandmother to Jane. Glad you like it.”

“My boyfriend has one kind of like this. Well, sort of. Just in that, it’s a ballerina painting too.”

“A Degas?” Eric gave a whistle. “Impressive. Hunt must appreciate art.”

I smiled. “I know he likes that one, anyway.”

“I’ve met Dr. Hunt a few times,” Eric said as I followed him back to the seating area, where I sat on one large couch around an enormous fireplace, and he sat at another. “It was hard to get a read on him, but he seemed decent.”

“Nathan tends to be kind of shy,” I admitted. “Well, maybe shy is the wrong word. But he doesn’t say much at first.”

Eric nodded. “There’s something to be said for that, honestly. Especially given the fact that his brother talks too damn much.”

I assumed he was talking about Carrick. And honestly, I had to agree.

Jane reentered, carrying a tray with a teapot and some cups. Eric immediately got up to take it from her, but she turned away.

“Jane—”

“I’m not an invalid, Petri. And since I’m no longer pregnant, you can let me carry things again, all right?”

Eric grumbled at his wife’s seemingly harsh words, but the sparkle in his eyes told me he kind of liked them. I liked her too. Theirs seemed to be a marriage of opposites—him the staid, solid type, her the brash, outspoken one.