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“Oh?” My chest flutters. “What would you say my best feature is?”
His lips quirk, his gray eyes playful. “I’ll be happy to show you later.”
“Are you trying to get me riled up before I meet your ex? Because that’s low.”
He turns my hand to press a kiss against my palm. “I’d call that karma.”
“I’ll show you karma, you—”
My words die off when the door we’ve just stepped up to swings open before we even have a chance to knock, a tall, willowy woman with jet-black hair and cheekbones that make her bright smile seem even wider beaming at us from the entryway.
“You made it!”
“Kind of the point of RSVP’ing,” Ian chuckles.
The woman, who I know is Mei from her pictures, slaps him on the chest. “Don’t be a jerk.” She turns her attention to me, her smile widening. “And you must be Delilah.”
“Dee is fine,” I tell her. “Everyone calls me Dee.” I peek over at Ian. “Except this one.”
Mei’s eyes have a knowing look about them, but she just gestures us inside. “Come in, come in. I hope you like empanadas. Bella is cooking.”
“That sounds amazing,” I tell her as we step inside.
Their house is huge; even the foyer is immaculate with its gleaming tiled floor and its high ceiling that boasts a sparkling chandelier. I can see a wide living room in the other room with cream-colored couches and warm-burgundy throw pillows, and I can only assume that the put-togetherness of it all is Mei’s handiwork, given that she’s the artist.
“Your house is beautiful,” I comment, still looking around, a little awestruck. “Ian said you guys just moved in?”
“Just before the wedding,” Mei tells me as we take off our shoes. “Bella insisted on doing a lot of the work herself, which meant it took a little longer.”
“Your wife helped build it?”
“She’s a general contractor,” Mei tells me. “Which means she gave anyone we tried to source out jobs to hell if they didn’t do everything just right.”
“Excuse me for wanting to make sure the place was perfect,” a slightly accented voice calls from the other room. Mei rolls her eyes as she takes off in that direction, and we follow her. A woman several inches shorter than Mei but with the same inky black hair is at the counter, arching a brow at her wife. “She likes seeing me in a tool belt, so it all evens out.”
Mei huffs. “Bella.”
“Is this your girl?” Bella glances at Ian, but then her dark eyes flick back to me. “What are your intentions with our Ian?”
“Bella!” Mei gasps.
I look over at Ian for help, but I notice he’s covering his mouth with his hand like he’s trying not to laugh, so I take a shot in the dark. “They’re terrible,” I tell Bella. “Just the worst.”
Bella nods seriously, the slightest tilt to her mouth when she says, “I like her.”
“You’ll have to forgive my wife,” Mei says exasperatedly. “She thinks she’s funny.”
“¿Perdón? No te ríes cuando uso mi boca para—”
“Callate,” Mei hisses.
“I know enough Spanish to know I don’t want her to finish that sentence either,” Ian mutters.
“I wish I didn’t know enough Spanish,” Mei sighs, but there’s a pink tint to her cheeks, so I have a feeling she isn’t as irritated as she acts.
“I only know French,” I offer. “So I’m blissfully in the dark.”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to learn French,” Mei gushes. “Ian told me you studied in France?”
