Ildaria glanced up with surprise. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can use—”
“You are not wasting half your paper towel drying dishes,” Sofia said firmly, reading her thoughts. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.” Ildaria sighed the word as she watched the other woman slip around the kitchen counter to head for the door. Shaking her head then, she squirted dish soap into the sink and turned on the hot water as she contemplated how uncomfortable she was at having to accept help from others. Even after three years of living with Jess, something as little as Sofia letting her use a dish towel left her feeling extremely . . . well, uncertain and awkward. Like she owed her for it.
Although, to be fair, Ildaria thought now, while she’d known Jess was there if she needed anything, in truth, she had helped Jess as much if not more than Jess had helped her. Her friend had been trying to balance school, wedding plans, and constant, exhausting life mate sex with Raff during the better part of those three years, and had leaned heavily on Ildaria during that time. But that had been fine. In fact, it had made her feel needed and useful rather than like a charity case. They’d become really good friends. Almost like sisters as Jess liked to claim.
Marguerite had been different, of course, Ildaria acknowledged as she turned off the water and began to wash the dishes she needed for tea and cookies. There was very little Marguerite and Julius needed in the way of help. And she and Marguerite had spent a lot of time together these last almost two months. Ildaria had come to look up to the woman, respect and like her a great deal. Still, it was hard to accept help from her. Maybe that was something she should work on, Ildaria thought pensively, and then glanced around expectantly when she heard the apartment door open.
“Okay. Walk straight backward, G.G.”
Blinking at those words in Sofia’s voice, Ildaria gave up on the dishes and wiped her hands on her jeans as she hurried around the kitchen island, only to stop and gape at the men carrying in—“Is that a couch?”
G.G. was backing into her apartment carrying one end of a large faux suede sofa that looked very familiar. He was moving slowly to avoid hitting the doors or wall with the feet, but risked a glance over his shoulder at her voice, and smiled, his mouth opening to say something.
Before he could speak though, she gasped, “That’s the couch from Marguerite’s rec room!”
“Yes, it is dear. I’ve decided to redecorate and was going to throw it out, but then I thought, why not give it to Ildaria? She can use it until she finds something she likes better.”
Marguerite’s happy trill was coming from the hallway, but Ildaria couldn’t see the woman past G.G., the couch, and Julius, who was carrying the other end.
“Isn’t that brilliant?”
Ildaria turned at Sofia’s cheerful comment to see her over by the windows, setting down the chair that matched the couch. It was a large, overstuffed recliner in the same faux suede as the couch. Mortals wouldn’t have been able to carry it by themselves, but Sofia set it down like it weighed next to nothing. That was one of the benefits of being an immortal. Increased strength, speed, and night vision came with it.
Straightening, Sofia grabbed the dish towel that had been slung over her shoulder and walked over to hand it to her.
“I saw them out my apartment window when I went to get the dish towel and ran down to offer a hand,” she explained with a shrug.
Ildaria just stared at her blankly, not sure what to say or do.
“There,” G.G. breathed with relief, drawing Ildaria’s attention to the fact that they had made it to the center of her living room and had set the large sofa down. Straightening now, the big man smiled, and then headed for the door, saying, “Now let’s go get that bed.”
“Bed?” Ildaria echoed with disbelief.
“It’s the bed from your room, dear,” Marguerite said, moving past her and toward the kitchen with half a dozen grocery bags dangling from each hand. “It’s my housewarming gift to you. I figured since I was redecorating the living room, I might as well redecorate the guest room too. I’m growing rather tired of the rose color scheme in there. I’m thinking all in pale cream.”
“Marguerite,” Ildaria said with dismay, her gaze sliding from the groceries the woman was carrying to the furniture now filling her living room.
“It’s a gift,” Marguerite said firmly.
“But—” She shook her head helplessly, her thoughts a complete jumble. People just did not do these things in her experience. And she couldn’t accept such a generous gift.
“It’s not generous, dear,” Marguerite insisted. She’d set the grocery bags on the island. “It’s all used furniture that would have ended up being given to charity or sent to the dump if they didn’t deem it acceptable.”
“Acceptable?” Ildaria asked with disbelief. “Of course they’d deem it acceptable. It’s in perfect condition.” Her gaze slid to the groceries Marguerite was now unpacking and putting away. Her refrigerator and cupboards were going to be full by the time the woman finished. There was everything from fresh fruit and vegetables, eggs, milk, meat, and a multitude of boxed and canned goods, including large sacks of sugar and flour. Shaking her head, she said pointedly, “And the groceries? I suppose they’re a housewarming gift too?”
“No. They are to aid you in your efforts to make G.G. fall in love with you,” Marguerite said easily, and then reminded her, “G.G. loves food. Greeting him at the door in the mornings with sweet baked goods or meals will no doubt help make him fall in love with you.”
“Marguerite,” Ildaria said with exasperation, grateful G.G. was not there to hear this.
Marguerite paused in her unpacking and met Ildaria’s gaze before saying, “I’m very fond of G.G., my dear. And I have hoped for a very long time to find him an immortal he could be a life mate to. I was very pleased when I recognized it was you. You deserve a life mate, and he . . .” Marguerite sighed and confessed, “I no more wish to watch him age and die than his mother does. It would break my heart, and I intend to do everything I can to prevent that and help you claim him. So”—she pulled a package of steaks out of one of the bags and moved to place them in the refrigerator—“these groceries are really for me, not you.”
Ildaria didn’t know how to respond to that and glanced to Sofia for help, but the other woman raised her hands in a “leave me out of it” attitude and headed for the door, saying, “I’ll go bring up the other chair.”
“Thank you, dear,” Marguerite called after the towheaded woman, and then waited until she was gone before moving around the island to Ildaria’s side and taking her hands. “Breathe,” she instructed gently.
Ildaria took a deep breath, and then used it to blurt, “I can’t accept all of this.”
Marguerite nodded as if she’d expected that reaction, but then said, “Well, I have to say, I think that is very selfish of you.”
The words made her blink in disbelief. “What?”
“I have already mentioned that G.G. means a great deal to me and I would hate to lose him to mortal death.”
“Si, well, that’s the groceries,” Ildaria said uncomfortably. “But the furniture—”
“That’s necessary for his seduction too. Besides . . .” She squeezed her hands gently. “Dear girl, do you not realize how unhappy I would be imagining you here in this apartment without any furniture? It would prey on my mind,” she assured her. “So it would please me if you accepted these gifts in the spirit in which they were intended and saved me that suffering.”
“I—You—” Ildaria stared at her helplessly, even more unsure how to respond, and then Marguerite glanced past her and smiled brightly.
“Oh, look. You have a dining room set too,” she said, releasing her hands and leaving the kitchen to examine the table and chairs. Running one hand over the glass surface of the table, she grinned and said, “Julius will be relieved. I was considering renovating the dining room and giving you that furniture as well, but now I will not bother.”
“Marguerite!” Ildaria gasped and then shook her head. “This is too much.”
“It is used furniture, Ildaria,” Marguerite said gently. “An excuse for me to get new things for myself. Although, I admit I really wanted to buy you new furniture for your new apartment, but Julius was positive you would not accept new furniture and in the end I agreed he was probably right.”
“He was right. I wouldn’t have accepted new furniture,” Ildaria assured her grimly.
“But you will accept this, will you not?” she said now. “Aside from my concern for G.G., you cannot make the men carry it all back down. Besides, it will ease my mind to know that you are not sleeping in a sleeping bag, or sitting on the floor while taking your leisure.” Expression becoming sad, she added, “It really would cause me a great deal of distress to both lose G.G. and to imagine you in an empty apartment, and right now I am trying to avoid stress. I am with child, you know.”
“I know,” Ildaria said with a frown, and then blinked and asked with disbelief, “Marguerite Argeneau, are you trying to guilt me into accepting this furniture?”
“Not at all,” Marguerite assured her, and then gave a sniff and added, “Really, Ildaria, you have to get over the idea that everything is about you. This is about me. I am merely explaining the consequences of your actions should you refuse this gift I wish to give you,” she said with a shrug. “You do not want me to lose my baby, do you?”
Ildaria stared at her blankly, feeling guilty at the suggestion that she was being selfish and threatening Marguerite’s unborn child. None of that was true, of course. Was it?
“Give it up, Ildaria,” Julius said, reentering the apartment carrying a mattress as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper. Passing through the living room, headed for the short hall to the bedrooms, he added, “You cannot win in an argument with my wife. I know this from experience.”