Chapter 53: A Night at the Channing Residence
Mormonism—just a minor Christian sect, unique to America. The doctrine wasn't important. What mattered most was that it encouraged polygamy. You had to admit, Ron really knew how to play his cards.
Whether or not he ever intended to get married, that line alone was more than enough to smooth things over with Max. He could feel her body relax even more against him.
"Hey! What are you two still doing out there?" Caroline called from just inside the door. "Get in here so I can close it and turn on the lights."
The pair quickly stepped apart, sheepish, but fortunately, Caroline didn't seem to notice anything unusual.
"Why does the floor feel so... springy?" Max asked the moment she stepped inside.
"That's the carpet," Caroline replied, flipping on the lights.
The luxurious interior of the mansion immediately rendered Max speechless. She swore, in all her life, she had never seen such opulence in a house.
"Holy crap!" she gasped. "No way—no way—is this place real. Are we in Narnia? I'm about to say something I never say: OMG!"
"I know, I know, it sounds lame. But seriously, I don't know what else to say. Was this phrase invented right here?"
"This?" Caroline said nonchalantly, motioning around the vast room. "This is just my walk-in closet."
She looked around with a nostalgic gaze. It had once been her private haven—and everything remained just as she remembered it.
"Your clothes have their own house!" Max exclaimed, then her eyes widened with another discovery. "Wait, look! Look at that!"
She darted forward like Columbus discovering the New World, eyes fixed on a row of lavish, clearly expensive fur coats.
"You're filthy rich," Max marveled. "Okay, I knew you were rich, but I didn't really get it until now. Girl, you're rolling in it."
Caroline looked a bit bashful. "You're going to make me blush… Wait, where did Ron go?"
"He was literally just with us," she added, nervously tucking her hair behind one ear.
"I went to grab something special," Ron said, reentering the room. He held up two bottles, grinning. "Sorry for the unauthorized borrowing—your dad's collection had some real treasures."
He wasn't kidding. These were actual 1982 Romanée-Conti bottles—not the kind mass-imported back in his last life. These were the real deal, the kind Caroline's father had set aside for only the most important of occasions.
Shame he'd ended up in prison before ever getting the chance.
"Well," Caroline said, her tone initially a bit wistful, "they're not his anymore." Then she perked up. "So why don't we drink them?"
"Couldn't agree more," Max said, abandoning Caroline's fancy shoe-warmer to snatch up a wineglass.
Ron poured drinks for the two women and raised his glass with a smirk.
"I was going to toast to the Princess finding her new freedom and living the dream life," he said, then glanced at Max, who was already giving him the side-eye. "But it seems like that life may not be as dreamy as expected."
Max rolled her eyes. "Just get on with it."
"To your little cupcake business, then. May it rise high and never collapse."
That finally earned a nod of approval from Max. "Cheers."
Three glasses clinked in midair.
Unsurprisingly, Caroline—being the lightweight—was the first to get completely drunk. Ron, who'd clearly done this before, gently carried her to her old bedroom to rest.
Earlier, while fetching the wine, he had discreetly made a call to Jack.
Since the Channing estate had been seized, it now fell under the jurisdiction of the Department of Justice, and Jack just so happened to have a few connections. Ron had asked him for a favor—mainly to remove the security guard he'd knocked unconscious while slipping in earlier.
After all, with the elite security of a rich neighborhood, guards routinely patrolled or rotated shifts. Without some behind-the-scenes help, they would've needed to stay in pitch-black silence just to avoid getting caught.
By the time Ron returned to the walk-in closet, Max had vanished. Then he heard the sound of running water from the nearby bathroom.
Temptation gnawed at him.
He pushed open the door—and the sight before him rendered him speechless.
"Shouldn't Prince Charming go kiss his Sleeping Beauty awake?" Max cooed, her gaze sultry as she gave Ron a side glance, continuing to wash one arm lazily, foam clinging to her glistening skin.
Ron swallowed hard.
This woman... was absolutely lethal.
"I know Caroline way too well," Ron said, wiping away an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead. "After all that wine, she's not waking up before sunrise."
"Seriously though, what are you feeding her every day?" Ron grumbled, stretching his sore arms. "She's only been hanging around you for a few days and already feels heavier. You have no idea how much effort it took to carry her to bed—I was sweating like crazy. You know what? I might as well take a shower too."
As he spoke, Ron casually started unbuttoning his shirt and made his way over to her.
—Scene omitted—use your imagination. You know the drill.—
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The Next Morning
Ron's phone alarm blared, waking him from a light sleep. He instinctively reached up to rub his eyes, only to realize his arm was pinned. Glancing down, he was greeted with a very generous view of Max's Grand Canyon-level cleavage.
Carefully, he slid her arm off his and began picking through the chaos in the walk-in closet to find his clothes.
No helping it—last night got a little out of hand. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Max got a wild idea to play dress-up with Caroline's clothes. Ron had no objections, of course.
Even though their body types didn't exactly match, Max somehow managed to squeeze into every single outfit, each one hugging her curves in all the right places—only fueling Ron's enthusiasm further.
The two of them ended up spending half the night "discussing the meaning of life" and only caught a little sleep before dawn. Now, Ron had to clean up the scene before Caroline woke up and discovered what had happened.
Unfortunately, the sound of him tidying up must have been too loud, because Max stirred and mumbled groggily, "What time is it?"
"Eight-thirty."
That snapped her fully awake. In the process, the blanket slipped down, exposing quite the morning view.
"Crap!" she exclaimed. "I totally forgot—I've got a babysitting gig at nine! Gotta help Peach with her twins!"
"Relax, don't panic," Ron said, tossing her clothes to her. "You probably didn't notice, but Peach lives in this same neighborhood. It's less than a ten-minute walk from here. If you want, you can even have breakfast first—I've already made some. It's in the kitchen."
"Seriously?" Max slowed down, her motions more deliberate now. "You actually know where the kitchen is? Caroline's house is so massive, I almost got lost trying to get a glass of water last night."
"Of course I know."
Max shot him a sharp look, laced with a hint of jealousy. "Sounds like you know your way around Caroline's place really well. You must've been here a lot before, huh?"
Without missing a beat, Ron switched to full 'Casanova mode': "Absolutely. Back when I had a lot of business dealings with Mr. Channing, I was in and out all the time. That's how I got to know Caroline."
Max couldn't read any trace of guilt on his face. Not that it really mattered—they weren't in a relationship or anything. But still, the thought that Caroline could be with Ron openly while she had to sneak around left her feeling just a little... off.
"Lucky for you, you're hot. And lucky for you again—I happen to have a thing for hot guys."
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