Page 42 of Diego

Because that is exactly it.

I had not put it into those words myself, but she has.

There is something appealing about the houses she showed me earlier, particularly the way she made me picture my family in them. Leonardo running through the yard. Cecilia eventually doing the same. Whatever children come after them filling up spaces that would otherwise belong to no one. But the fact remains that at the end of the night, everyone goes home.

I would still be there.

Alone in a house built for twelve.

Blair walks around the island, running a hand lightly over the stone. “This kitchen is a little more compact than the one at the lake house, but it’s laid out very well for everyday use. You’ve got double ovens, an oversized range, two dishwashers, wine refrigeration, and a separate pantry.”

I glance at her. “You approve?”

“Very much.”

Considering she already told me she cooks, I trust the assessment more than I would have yesterday.

“Then I’ll take your word for it.”

She smiles. “You should.”

Then she gestures toward the dining room.

“The dining room would seat all of you comfortably without making it crowded. And you could always expand into this living space if you ever needed more room.”

The dining area flows into another sitting space closer to the windows, smaller and more intimate than the main living room. Blair points out that the layout would let people spread out when the apartment is full without dividing everyone into completely separate rooms. The sightlines are open enough that someone sitting near the fireplace can still see the dining area and kitchen, and I immediately picture the family taking over the entire floor without anyone feeling like they have disappeared into another wing of a house.

“There’s also a media room through there,” she says, nodding toward a doorway off the hall. “Which could be useful if the kids want to watch something while the adults are out here.”

“You really are determined to sell me a place based on children who aren’t mine.”

“No, I’m selling you a place based on the fact that your family seems to be part of your life.”

That shuts me up for half a second.

She says it without sentimentality, without making some grand point about family or acting as though she knows more about us than she does. It is simply another practical consideration to her, as relevant as parking or security.

Again, Randall never asked.

Blair moves toward a set of glass doors at the far end of the living space. “And before you decide the penthouse means giving up outdoor space entirely…”

She unlocks the doors and slides them open.

The terrace is large without being absurd.

It wraps around the corner of the building, giving me views in two directions, but Blair was right to call it a terrace rather than the outdoor ballroom Randall tried to sell me yesterday. There is enough room for a dining table, a seating area, and several large planters, with a covered section near the doors that would make it usable even when the weather turns.

I step outside.

The city is quieter this high up. Traffic becomes a distant hum, and the breeze is stronger than it was at street level without being unpleasant.

Blair comes out beside me. “This is private to the unit. No shared roof deck above you, no neighboring terrace beside you.”

I look along the perimeter. “Security?”

“Cameras at both exterior access points. The terrace itself is inaccessible from anywhere else in the building, and the windows and doors are tied into the apartment’s security system. You can upgrade any of that, obviously.”

I nod.