Story and Art Forum

I loved the chapter ...Lilly is now his real mommy .😇

I was spanked as a kid too.  The ritualistic humiliation aspect of it paired with the sexual weirdness of being a tween/teenage boy solidified spanking as a kink for me.  I never physically fought my own father, but we almost came to that more than a few times.  For me it was always with a belt, bent over a bed with my father holding me in place.  

Book 2 – Chapter 16: Big-Sister Privileges   “Hey, Sally.” Nothing. “Wake up, kiddo.” A gentle nudge against her shoulder finally penetrated the fog. Sally blinked awake and found Theresa standing over her. She stared for a second before pushing herself upright on the sofa, hair flattened on one side, and shook her head as she tried to reconstruct the missing portion of her afternoon. She had come back to the sofa after lunch. Her father had been sitting there with her, and they had talked for a while. Oskar had eventually disappeared upstairs with Bridget. Adrian had left to attend to something. Sally remembered stretching out because she was comfortable. Apparently, that had been a tactical error. “You fell asleep,” Theresa said, chuckling. “Yeah…” Sally rubbed her face. “What time is it?” “Five.” Theresa held out her wrist for confirmation. Sally stared at the watch. “Five?” “Welcome to Europe.” She looked around, still slightly dazed. Mia was already setting a tray of coffee and chocolates on the center table, apparently regarding the resurrection of Sally as an event requiring refreshments. “Thanks, Mia,” Sally mumbled. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She frowned at herself and shifted on the sofa. For one fleeting second her mind went automatically to the practical question that had accompanied waking up lately. She didn’t quite reach down to check. She didn’t need to. Everything felt dry. At least. “At least I woke you up,” Theresa offered gently, having caught enough of Sally’s expression to understand without making anything of it. Sally glanced at her and chuckled, deliberately reducing the significance of the whole thing to where she wanted it. “There’s that.” She reached toward the coffee, changed her mind halfway there and took a chocolate instead. Priorities. Theresa leaned in and wrapped her arms around her. “Long time no see. Like the hair, kid.” Sally smiled into the hug. Jana walked into the room behind them. “She doesn’t look like a kid anymore.” Sally looked up immediately. “Hey, Jana!” She got to her feet and hugged her. Theresa stared in theatrical offense. “Jana gets a hug, and all I get is sleepy drool?” “I don’t drool.” “You absolutely drool.” “I do not.” Sally laughed and turned back to hug Theresa properly. “There. Happy?” “Marginally.” Sally stepped away and finally took a proper look at both women. Her eyebrows rose. “You two look classy enough.” Theresa glanced down at herself. Jana merely smiled. Neither was dressed for an afternoon visit to the Weiss house. They had clearly made an effort without going formal: the unmistakable uniform of women who intended to go somewhere pleasant on a Saturday evening. Sally narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?” “Girls’ night out,” Theresa said. “Want to come? We’ll have you home by ten.” Sally’s expression changed. “I just arrived.” “And?” Jana shrugged. “It’s Saturday. Chill. Relax.” The delivery carried just enough challenge to make Sally suspicious that resistance would be treated as a character defect. She looked at Theresa. Theresa arched her eyebrows. “Unless you’d prefer this to become a formal interrogation in your parents’ living room.” “Interrogation about what?” “Miami. The Foundation. The Lamborghini. The haircut. Your surprise exam. Your life choices generally.” Sally stared at her. Theresa continued blandly. “Personally, I think all of that works better with a cold Radler and some good food.” Sally glanced toward the stairs. “Let me ask Mom.” “Permission granted!” Bridget’s voice came cheerfully from above. Everyone looked up. Bridget stood on the upper landing, apparently having followed enough of the conversation to intervene at precisely the right moment. Sally’s eyes narrowed. “That was too easy.” “We didn’t come unprepared,” Theresa said. “Your fate was discussed while you were drooling into the sofa.” “I do not drool.” Theresa pointed. Sally followed her finger. There, on the sofa cushion where her face had been, was a small but unmistakable damp patch. Silence. Sally stared at it. Jana stared at Sally. Theresa’s expression became unbearably smug. Sally closed her eyes in surrender. “I did drool.” “Yes.” “Jet lag.” “Obviously.” Sally sighed, picked up her coffee at last and took a determined sip as though attempting to recover what remained of her dignity. Jana checked her watch. “Taxi’s waiting outside.” Sally nearly choked. “You came in a taxi?” Jana looked at her evenly. “We were confident.” “Mom!” “Go have fun!” Bridget called from upstairs. Sally looked from the staircase to Theresa, then Jana, and finally down at herself. Cutoff jeans, short T-shirt, bare feet, one side of her new haircut still visibly displaying the architectural consequences of a three-hour nap. She pointed toward the ceiling and started toward the stairs. “I need to change.” Theresa laughed after her. “And fix the drool side of your hair, kiddo!” Sally didn’t turn around. “I DON’T DROOL.” -- Sally managed to pull together something respectable in under five minutes. Thankfully, going out with Theresa and Jana did not require the elegant fuss she occasionally had to endure with her parents. Nobody was going to inspect whether her handbag properly complemented her watch, and there would be no discreetly judgmental maître d’ waiting at the other end. Tight jeans and her stylish Milano T-shirt did the job. Sally ran damp fingers through her hair, discovered yet again how wonderfully little effort the new cut required, grabbed what she needed and hurried downstairs. Minutes later she was squeezed into the back of a black Ford minivan taxi with Theresa and Jana, heading downtown toward one of their usual places. The interrogation began almost as soon as they had drinks in front of them. “Hair,” Theresa said, pointing at Sally. “Explain.” Jana took a leisurely sip of white wine. Sally delayed her answer by doing the same with her Radler, then shrugged and self-consciously ran her fingers through the short layers. “I just wanted it shorter. One thing led to another, I guess.” “Rachel says you almost freaked out.” Sally slowly lowered her glass. “Is she sending you detailed reports on me?” “Yeah. She is.” Theresa seemed completely untroubled by the accusation. “I hired her.” “Theresa.” “Besides, she likes you now. She was reluctant at first because she thought you were going to be a stuck-up rich girl.” Sally stared at her. Theresa grinned. “Now she knows you’re a cool stuck-up rich girl.” Jana chuckled into her wine. “And you think that’s funny,” Sally said, sounding considerably more offended than she actually was. “I think it’s professionally fascinating,” Theresa replied. “You go from an orange Aventador to a manual Ford Fiesta as though that’s the most normal transition in the world.” “It is to me.” “Exactly.” Sally took a breath and surrendered. “Okay. Fine. I did sort of freak when Ramona made the first real cut. But only for a moment.” “And then you suffered through the rest of the process,” Jana said. “A bit.” Sally touched the ends near her neck again, but this time the gesture was affectionate rather than uncertain. “But I’m glad I did it. I like how it turned out.” “So do I,” Jana said. Theresa nodded. “Definitely suits you.” That settled, Sally relaxed into the evening. The conversation began moving faster as food started appearing on the table and the three of them fell naturally back into the rhythm they had developed before Sally left. She regaled them with New York: the surprise exam, dinner at Otto’s, and especially the unexpected encounter with Trish. Theresa nodded knowingly. “We know about Trish.” Sally stopped. “Of course you do.” “Your father told us she’d be stepping up. Apparently we’re supposed to get your two beautiful heads together and form some kind of junior executive committee.” Sally groaned. Theresa continued, enjoying herself now. “Brainstorming. Fresh thinking. New-generation perspective on the family ventures.” “Great.” Sally sank slightly in her chair. “Now I’m some sort of business child prodigy.” “You are,” Theresa and Jana said simultaneously. Sally looked from one to the other. “That was disturbing.” “It was accurate,” Jana said. Fortunately, the arrival of more food rescued Sally from further examination of her emerging corporate significance. The conversation became pleasantly mundane. Jana wanted the complete Bal Harbour shopping report. Theresa demanded to know how much Sally had actually bought. Jana then coaxed out the story of driving the Aventador down Collins Avenue, including the parade of cameras, revving cars and Sally’s growing conviction that she had accidentally become the principal attraction in a rolling Miami Beach motor show. Sally eventually realized she had been talking about herself for far too long. “So,” she said, reaching casually for another chicken wing. “How’s Nikklas?” Jana’s entire demeanor changed. It was subtle, but both Sally and Theresa saw it. “We’re friends,” Jana said. “We talk. And stuff.” Sally paused with the chicken wing halfway to her plate. “And stuff.” “Yes.” Theresa said absolutely nothing. That was suspicious enough by itself. Sally looked at her, caught the expression she was attempting not to display, and slowly turned back toward Jana. “You went to Finland to meet his parents.” “And they’re wonderful people.” “You met his parents.” “Yes, Sally. People have parents.” Theresa became intensely interested in her drink. Sally narrowed her eyes. “You like him.” Jana sighed. “Look. Yeah. We like each other. We’re friends. We’re at that stage right now, okay? There’s nothing to announce.” Her expression had become stubborn enough that Sally knew pushing directly would only produce defensive fortifications. So she nodded thoughtfully. “Right.” Jana watched her suspiciously. Sally took another sip of her Radler. “So you’re in the very good friends, we like each other very much, but we’re taking our sweet time before taking the next step because the next step would mean something actually serious stage?” Theresa pressed her lips tightly together. Jana stared at Sally. For several seconds her expression held. Then the corners of her mouth began to move. A slow grin appeared. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Something like that.” Sally nodded approvingly. “Good.” And that was it. No interrogation, no teasing demand for details. Sally simply reached for a chicken wing and bit into it with considerable satisfaction. Across the table, Theresa finally allowed herself to smile. Jana pointed a warning finger at both of them. “Not. One. Word.” Sally chewed, swallowed, and raised her glass innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jana rolled her eyes. Sally grinned. This was exactly what she had needed: no Foundation, no family empire, no doctors and no expectations that she become anything at all. Just three friends, too much food, a cold Radler and the immense importance of determining precisely how much Jana did—or did not—like a Finnish man named Nikklas. -- “You look good in tight jeans,” Sally remarked, studying Theresa across the table. “I almost can’t remember the last time I saw you wearing them.” Theresa glanced down at herself and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Her eyebrows rose as the answer occurred to her. “Before the accident.” Sally’s expression changed immediately. “So…” She leaned forward slightly. “You’re back to normal?” Theresa hesitated just long enough to make the answer more complicated than Sally had hoped. “Yeah. You could say that.” She rested her forearms on the table. “During the day, absolutely. Though it took me a while to feel one hundred percent confident again. You know how it is. Your body can be perfectly capable of something for weeks before your brain finally believes it.” Sally nodded. She understood that better than most. “At night, though…” Theresa shrugged. “I’m still not one hundred percent confident.” Jana frowned. “But that’s mostly mind stuff now, isn’t it?” “Mostly.” “So?” Theresa gave her a look. “So, better safe than sorry.” Jana waved a hand dismissively. “Wet sheets once in a blue moon never hurt anybody.” Sally’s gaze drifted away. It was small—barely a reaction at all—but Theresa noticed. One eyebrow lifted as she looked at Sally. She said nothing. Sally reached for her Radler and tried to make her contribution sound casual. “It’s complicated, Jana. Waking up with soggy sheets all around you?” She gave a small shudder, then chuckled. “No thanks. The feeling is terrible.” Jana looked at her for a moment. Sally took a sip. Theresa’s eyes remained on Sally for perhaps half a second longer than necessary. There was recognition there now, or at least a question. But Theresa knew Sally well enough not to ask it across a restaurant table. Instead, she picked up her Weissbier. “Right,” she announced. “That’s enough sophisticated conversation for one evening.” She raised the glass. “Here’s to dry sheets.” Sally immediately laughed, relieved by the escape route, and lifted her Radler. “Hear, hear.” Jana rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on.” Theresa continued holding her glass aloft. Sally joined her with exaggerated solemnity. “It’s an important cause.” “You two are ridiculous.” “And dry,” Theresa added. Sally nearly snorted into her drink. Jana finally surrendered. She picked up her wineglass and raised it toward theirs. “Okay, okay. I guess you’re right.” The three glasses touched lightly in the middle of the table. “To dry sheets,” Jana conceded. “To friendship,” Theresa added. Sally smiled. “And people knowing when to mind their own business.” Theresa’s eyes met hers. There was the tiniest pause. Then Theresa smiled back and took a drink. Message received. -- “You okay, kiddo?” Theresa held Sally gently by the shoulders as they stood beneath the lights outside the house. The taxi waited behind them, engine running, with Jana still inside. She had apparently understood that Theresa wanted a moment alone with Sally and was occupying herself with her phone. Sally looked up at Theresa. “Yeah…” She hesitated. There was no point pretending everything was fine—not with Theresa. “A lot going on, but I’m fine.” Theresa studied her closely. Sally knew that look. It wasn’t suspicious or intrusive. Theresa was simply taking her measure, comparing the answer with the face that had delivered it. “Don’t think for one moment I believe there’s nothing going on in that head of yours.” Sally gave a faint smile. “But you’re strong, Sally.” Theresa squeezed her shoulders. “And anything—seriously, anything—send me a text. Or call me. I’m not going to worry sick or go nuts or start trying to fix you. I can just listen.” Sally’s expression softened. “Don’t forget me, okay?” Theresa continued. “We crashed together. We heal together.” That landed. Sally’s smile weakened for a moment, becoming something much more genuine. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Theresa. “We’ll talk,” she murmured against her. “I do have stuff to talk about. Just… later.” Theresa hugged her tightly, but didn’t ask for more. “Later is fine.” They separated. “Good night, Sally.” “Night, Tess.” Sally smiled. “And thanks. For today.” “Anytime, kiddo.” Theresa walked back toward the taxi. Jana looked up as she climbed inside, and Sally raised a hand toward her through the open door. “Night, Jana!” “Sleep well!” Theresa pulled the door closed. The taxi rolled away from the house, turned down the drive and disappeared toward the street. Sally remained where she was for another few seconds. She drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. It had been a good evening. A genuinely good evening. She hadn’t needed it to become a discussion about her. She hadn’t needed advice. She hadn’t needed anybody to analyze the things she herself hadn’t quite figured out yet. She had needed chicken wings, a Radler, Jana becoming defensive about Nikklas and Theresa mercilessly investigating her haircut. Normal things. And yet Theresa had seen her anyway. Sally turned toward the house and stepped inside. The first thing she heard was an unhappy little sound. Then another. She looked toward the living room. Bridget was standing there with Oskar against her shoulder, gently bouncing him while the baby squirmed with restless dissatisfaction. Bridget looked toward Sally and immediately smiled. “Ah. Just the big sister Oskar was waiting for.” Sally’s face changed instantly. “Hey, buddy.” She walked toward them, already reaching out. “What’s wrong with you?” “Nothing,” Bridget said. “He’s fed, he’s clean, and he’s apparently decided that none of those things are sufficient.” “I see.” Sally held out both arms. “Come here, then.” Bridget transferred him to her, and Sally tucked Oskar naturally against her chest. He fussed for another moment, making sure she understood that there had indeed been a problem before her arrival. “Yes, yes. Terrible evening. I heard.” She stroked the back of his head. “I went out for three hours and everything fell apart.” Bridget smiled. “Obviously.” Oskar’s little fist found Sally’s shirt and closed around it. Sally looked down. The fussing diminished. “Well.” She kissed his forehead. “At least somebody missed me.” Bridget watched her daughter for a moment, saying nothing. -- Sally had eventually escaped upstairs to her apartment, although escaped was probably the wrong word considering how reluctant she felt to put any distance between herself and the rest of the family. She undressed, tossed her clothes into the hamper and Oskar’s cries filtered up through the house. She stopped with her T-shirt halfway over her head and listened. Another cry followed, considerably more indignant than the first. Sally pulled the shirt down and smiled, shaking her head. From the faint movement she could hear below, it sounded as though the entire household was still awake. She pulled on her pajama pants. Normally, she would have left her mother to deal with it. Oskar had two perfectly competent parents, and Sally had no desire to become the hovering older sister who materialized every time the baby made a noise. Tonight, however, she felt entitled to hover. She had only just come home and was being shipped off to Croatia again on Monday. Forty-eight hours of big-sister privileges meant she was going to use them. She padded barefoot downstairs to the bedroom level and found her parents’ door open. Sally hesitated at the threshold just as Bridget emerged, holding a tightly rolled diaper in one hand. She looked mildly surprised to find her daughter standing there. “Oh, it’s nothing, darling. Just an emergency diaper change.” Bridget lifted the offending bundle slightly before heading toward the disposal bin. “Oskar’s with your father.” That was all the invitation Sally needed. She stepped into the bedroom and immediately grinned. Oskar lay on his stomach in the middle of the enormous bed, clad in nothing but a fresh diaper, apparently having recovered completely from whatever catastrophe had required the emergency intervention. Adrian sat propped against the headboard beside him, reading a book with the weary composure of a man who had accepted that his bed was no longer exclusively adult territory. He looked up. “Bed invasion?” “If I may.” Sally climbed onto the mattress and settled beside Oskar, laying one hand gently across his back. “I heard there was night entertainment.” Oskar lifted his head at the sound of her voice and regarded her with bright, amused curiosity. “Have you been cranky, little buddy?” He answered by making a determined effort to push himself upward. His head rose, his little arms strained, and his legs began wiggling furiously behind him without producing even a millimeter of forward progress. Sally watched in fascination. “He’s trying to crawl.” Adrian closed his book and rubbed his eyes. “He’s a long way from crawling.” Oskar continued his vigorous journey to nowhere. “He looks pretty committed.” “He has ambition. He lacks technique.” Sally laughed and shifted cross-legged beside him. “Come on, Oskar. Left arm, right leg. Coordination. Basic stuff.” Oskar’s head slowly descended onto the bed. “Don’t discourage him,” Bridget said as she returned. “I was coaching.” “You were coaching a newborn to crawl.” “He looked receptive.” Bridget stood beside the bed for a moment, surveying the scene: her husband against the headboard, her daughter sitting cross-legged beside him, and their son lying between them in a diaper, apparently contemplating another attempt at locomotion. “He’ll crawl soon enough.” Sally looked up. “How soon?” “Oh, a few months. Six, seven. Walking around a year, maybe more. He’ll decide.” Sally looked back down at him. “A year?” “Approximately.” “That sounds incredibly soon.” Adrian yawned. “You’ll change your opinion when he’s capable of following you.” Sally considered Oskar thoughtfully. “I’ll teach him to follow Dad instead.” “Thank you.” Bridget picked up a soft footed onesie and handed it to Sally. “Can you do the honors while I use the bathroom? Then I’m putting him to bed.” Sally took it with surprising pleasure. “Sure.” She scooped Oskar up and turned him onto his back. He blinked at the interruption and stared at her with deep seriousness, apparently wondering why his training session had been terminated. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Oskar continued looking. “You weren’t going anywhere.” Sally touched the end of his nose with one finger, then made a ridiculous face at him. His expression shifted just enough to reward her efforts. “There you are.” She opened the onesie. “Let’s get you ready for bed, little buddy.” Getting a cooperative baby into clothing, Sally discovered, was not particularly difficult. Unfortunately, Oskar had no interest in being cooperative. One leg went in while the other came out. Sally caught a foot, lost it, found it again and attempted to guide an arm through a sleeve while Oskar enthusiastically waved the other one. “You have four limbs,” she informed him. “This shouldn’t be complicated.” Adrian watched over the top of his book. “You have four limbs too.” “I’m aware of where mine are.” “Years of practice.” Sally shot him a look and returned to her task. “He’s going to church tomorrow,” Adrian said. Sally stopped halfway through fastening the onesie and looked up. “Already?” Adrian nodded. “Your mother is getting restless. She wants to take him out of the house properly and see how he manages. Probably see how she manages too. Renée doesn’t see a problem with it, provided we’re sensible.” “And being Switzerland,” Bridget added as she emerged from the ensuite, “people will politely keep their distance.” Sally smiled. “Nobody grabbing the baby.” “Nobody grabbing the baby.” “We’ll probably spend half the service in the nursery anyway,” Bridget continued. “I’ll feed him there, and if he falls asleep afterward, he can stay there with me. But it’s a start.” Sally looked back at Oskar, suddenly delighted by the idea of having him there with them. “Can I hold him?” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “During the service, I mean.” “We’ll see what his mood is.” “That’s not a no.” “No, it isn’t.” Satisfied, Sally returned to her assignment and fastened the final buttons beneath Oskar while he flailed his arms triumphantly. “There. Church clothes practice completed.” “Those are pajamas,” Adrian observed. “He doesn’t know that.” Sally picked Oskar up and handed him carefully to Bridget. Her mother kissed his forehead before lowering him into the crib beside the bed. Oskar wriggled once beneath the light covering, looked around as though assessing whether another protest might be worthwhile, and apparently decided against it. Bridget turned toward Sally. “And you had better get to bed yourself, missy.” Sally made a face. “Yes, Mommy.” She rolled her eyes deliberately and looked toward her father for support. Adrian laughed. “You’re on your own.” “Traitor.” “Good night, Sally.” “Night, Dad. Night, Mom.” Bridget drew her close for a quick kiss before Sally slipped from the room. She padded back upstairs smiling, strangely pleased by the whole little episode. There had been absolutely nothing remarkable about it: a crying baby, an emergency change, pajamas, tired parents and a sister sticking her nose into things because she didn’t want to miss them. It was wonderful. Back in her bedroom, Sally stopped beside the bed. Her own diaper was already laid out neatly waiting for her. She looked at it. Then she thought of Oskar downstairs in his crib, freshly changed and similarly prepared for whatever the night might bring. Sally pressed her lips together, suppressing a grin. “Well,” she murmured to herself, picking it up. For once, she wasn’t the only Weiss going to bed in a diaper. Somehow, that made the whole thing feel considerably less serious. She disappeared into the bathroom to complete her nightly ritual. Hopefully this would minimize the Radler-fueled evening. -- Sally thumbed through her messages as she sat dutifully on the toilet, elbows resting on her thighs. Katrina had been busy.     Katrina: See Sally in her orange Lambo!     A series of YouTube links followed. Sally stared at them. One thumbnail showed the Aventador crawling through traffic on Collins Avenue, its orange bodywork impossible to miss among the cars surrounding it. Another had apparently captured her leaving Bal Harbour. A third featured an enormous red arrow pointing directly at the driver’s window, accompanied by the tasteful title: 16-YEAR-OLD GIRL DRIVING AVENTADOR SVJ?! “Oh, please,” Sally muttered. Then came a news link. Sally recognized the website immediately. “Oh, no.” She clicked it anyway, mentally preparing herself. --     SALLY WEISS IS DRIVING WHAT?! 16-Year-Old Heiress Spotted Cruising Miami in Orange Lamborghini SVJ So much for the Ford Fiesta. Sally Weiss, 16, has apparently upgraded her learner-driver experience in a VERY big way. Car spotters caught the Weiss heiress behind the wheel of a bright orange Lamborghini Aventador SVJ in Miami this week—with dad Adrian Weiss calmly riding shotgun. Yes, she’s still on a learner’s permit. And yes, the Lambo packs nearly 800 horsepower. The sighting seemingly confirms months of rumors on car forums claiming Sally had a thing for Lamborghinis—particularly orange ones. And here’s the surprising part: she wasn’t driving like a maniac. Videos show other drivers pulling alongside, filming and even revving at her. Sally apparently wanted none of it. No racing, no wild acceleration, no revving back. She just kept cruising with traffic. She was later spotted handing the keys to valets at Bal Harbour Shops and again outside Queen in Miami Beach. Quite a week for Sally. Just days earlier, cameras caught her in SoHo buying a sandwich and soda from an ordinary deli. Her usual ride? A 2019 manual Ford Fiesta, which has developed its own weird celebrity following since Sally started learning to drive in it. From used Fiesta to Aventador SVJ. Not exactly your average learner-driver progression. --     Sally closed her eyes. Of course. She opened them again and continued. So much for the Ford Fiesta. That actually made her snort. She read through the short article, increasingly unsure whether she was amused or embarrassed. They had her age right. They knew about her learner’s permit. They knew the SVJ had nearly eight hundred horsepower. They knew about Bal Harbour and Queen. Somebody had even found footage of the Mustang revving beside her. And naturally they had brought up the Fiesta. Again. Sally scrolled farther. Her usual ride? A 2019 manual Ford Fiesta, which has developed its own weird celebrity following… “My poor car.” Another message arrived.     Katrina: YOU HAVE MADE THE FIESTA FAMOUS     Sally typed back immediately.     Sally: I hate you.     Three dots appeared.     Katrina: No you don’t.     Sally: Almost.     Katrina: Orange suits you. Sally rolled her eyes and returned to the article. There was a photograph of her and Adrian walking away from the Aventador at Bal Harbour. Another showed her behind the wheel, sunglasses on, looking considerably more serious than she remembered feeling. The caption identified Adrian as her father and noted that he appeared “remarkably relaxed” about his sixteen-year-old daughter driving the Lamborghini. Sally frowned. That part was unfair. He had been far too relaxed. She returned to Katrina’s collection of YouTube links and reluctantly opened one. The video began with the Aventador moving through Miami traffic while an excited voice narrated over it. Sally lasted eleven seconds. She closed it. “Nope.” Another message arrived.     Katrina: Wait until you see the comments.     Sally stared at the screen. Then slowly shook her head.     Sally: Absolutely not.     She put the phone facedown on her thigh. There were limits to courage. -- It was surprisingly easy for Sally to switch back to normal. Phone on the nightstand, lights down, diaper on and pajamas comfortable over it, she slipped beneath the covers and settled into the familiar softness of her own bed. Whatever embarrassment she might once have felt about the evening routine had little energy left in it tonight. It was practical. It made her feel secure. And after the flight, the jet lag and an afternoon nap she had absolutely not intended to take, Sally was ready to trust sleep with whatever happened next. More surprising was how little the articles bothered her. There had been a time when discovering photographs of herself online would have made her stomach tighten. Now she could read an article about Sally Weiss and Her Orange Lamborghini, roll her eyes at the dramatic headline and move on. People found her interesting. That was apparently a fact of her life now. At least they weren’t painting her as some spoiled teenage lunatic terrorizing Miami in an eight-hundred-horsepower car. If anything, the writers seemed fascinated that she had behaved sensibly. Sally smiled into her pillow. Imagine becoming newsworthy for obeying traffic laws. But she understood the fascination better than she sometimes wanted to admit. Society had always gravitated toward wealthy and famous people. Sally herself had done it. She had looked at photographs of actresses, princesses and heiresses. She had noticed their clothes, their cars, their houses and where they vacationed. Sometimes the fascination wasn’t even envy. It was curiosity about lives that seemed to take place in a slightly different version of the world. Audrey Hepburn came to mind. Grace Kelly. Princess Diana. All of them had died before Sally was born, yet their photographs were everywhere. Their clothes were remembered. Their homes, romances, holidays and friendships had been examined and reexamined by generations of people who had never met them. Sally stared into the darkness. The names were absurd company for her thoughts, and she wasn’t comparing herself to any of them. Still, something about the mechanism was the same. People selected individuals they found interesting and followed their lives. In the present day, attention seemed to move even faster, hunting for wealthy, beautiful or charismatic people who could provide an endless supply of photographs and, preferably, drama. Especially drama. Sally wasn’t particularly interested in providing that part. And yet, somehow, the social columns had settled their gaze on Sally Weiss. They knew about her Fiesta. They knew she had bought a sandwich in SoHo. They knew she had driven an orange Lamborghini down Collins Avenue. Someone had apparently considered all three facts worthy of publication. Sally shifted beneath the covers, already drifting. She didn’t know what becoming that kind of person meant. She didn’t know whether this attention would fade, become stronger or simply settle into the background of her life. Perhaps she would have to learn how to live with strangers knowing little pieces of her while understanding almost nothing about the whole. That thought should probably have bothered her more. Tonight, it didn’t. Tomorrow she would go to church with her family. She hoped Oskar would let her hold him. There would be Sunday lunch afterward. On Monday she was leaving for Croatia. Somewhere downstairs her baby brother was asleep in his crib, and somewhere on the internet strangers were debating whether an orange Lamborghini really belonged to her. The important things and the visible things. They weren’t necessarily the same. Sally’s eyes closed. Tasty sandwiches. An orange Lamborghini. There was more to life than that. -- The words were in German, and Sally did her best to sing as she made sense of them.     Dein Blut macht mich rein Du nennst mich ganz Dein In Deinen Armen darf ich sein     Oskar gripped her finger. Sally glanced down and smiled. Most of the congregation was standing, and after a moment she dared to stand with them, adjusting Oskar securely against herself before rising. She divided her attention between the lyrics on the screen and her little brother’s wide-eyed inspection of this entirely new environment. There was a great deal for him to process. People. Music. Light. Movement. Hundreds of voices producing sounds together. Oskar’s eyes moved slowly from one source of fascination to another, but for now he seemed perfectly content to experience church from the safety of his sister’s arms. Sally sang more confidently when she recognized the next line. Oskar tightened his grip around her finger. She looked down again. There was something unexpectedly moving about it. Sally had imagined bringing her little brother to church someday, but someday had always belonged to an indistinct future. Yet here he was—more than two months after arriving far too early, finally home, finally strong enough for this small excursion, holding her finger while she tried to sing worship songs to God in German. When the singing ended, everyone sat. Oskar apparently interpreted the change as an invitation to begin contributing to the service himself. At first it was harmless: a small grunt, followed by a thoughtful little vocalization. Sally looked down. “Shh,” she whispered, smiling. Oskar stared back. She offered him her finger again, and his tiny hand closed around it with surprising strength. That bought another minute or two. Beside her, Bridget watched the exchange with a quiet smile before returning her attention to the pulpit. Oskar’s patience, however, had limits. His next contribution was louder. Sally pressed her lips together. A few people nearby glanced over, not with irritation but amusement. Nobody reached toward him. Nobody descended upon the Weiss family demanding to hold the famous premature baby they had heard so much about. There had been warm smiles when the family arrived, a few quiet words of welcome, and the characteristically Swiss understanding that affection could be communicated perfectly well from a respectful distance. Oskar vocalized again. This time Bridget leaned toward Sally. “Let me take him now.” Sally reluctantly surrendered him. Bridget tucked Oskar against herself and quietly slipped from the row toward the nursery. Sally watched them disappear through the door before turning back. Adrian was smiling. Sally caught it. “What?” she mouthed. Her father merely gave a soft chuckle and looked toward the front. Sally shrugged and followed his example. The pastor was referring to a presentation projected onto the screen, and Sally made a deliberate effort to concentrate. It took more effort than it should have. Her mind was still crowded with the little pieces of the morning that had brought them here. She had awakened to the unmistakable realization that her overnight diaper had done its job thoroughly. That had been dealt with matter-of-factly before a shower and church clothes. Downstairs, Mia had already made coffee and produced a Sunday breakfast substantial enough to suggest that nobody in the house would be permitted to approach worship hungry. Then Mia and Roberto had departed for their own Catholic Mass, leaving the Weiss family to execute what Bridget had apparently imagined would be a simple operation: put baby in car, drive to church. Oskar had other plans. Just as everyone was ready to leave, his expression had gone suspiciously thoughtful. Bridget had stopped. “Oh, no.” Sally had known immediately. “What?” Her mother had lifted Oskar slightly and sighed. “Your brother has impeccable timing.” That had initiated an emergency return upstairs while Adrian went outside with the bags and waited beside the brown Mercedes station wagon. By the time Sally joined him, he had checked his watch twice. “Welcome to having a baby,” she’d told him. Adrian had rolled his eyes. “You’ll get used to it.” That had earned her another look. Sally had smirked all the way into the passenger seat. And then there had been their arrival. That part had stayed with her. Nobody applauded. Nobody crowded them. There was no dramatic welcome for Oskar. Instead came smiles that lasted slightly longer than usual. A man shook Adrian’s hand with both of his. An elderly woman touched Bridget gently on the arm and told her how pleased she was to see them. Another simply looked into the carrier, smiled and said, “Gott sei Dank.” Thank God. They knew. They had prayed through the frightening weeks after Oskar’s premature arrival. They knew about the NICU. They knew about the waiting, the uncertainty, and finally the homecoming. Now, for the first time, the Weiss family had walked into church together. Adrian. Bridget. Sally. And Oskar. Sally glanced instinctively toward the nursery door. Then she caught herself. The pastor was speaking. She straightened in her seat, pushed thoughts of diapers, breakfast, Mercedes station wagons and baby logistics firmly aside, and focused on the screen. Beside her, Adrian opened his Bible. Sally opened hers. For the next little while, Oskar could belong entirely to Mom. Big sister was supposed to be listening. -- “Plane leaves Zürich Airport at ten tomorrow morning, arrives in Split at ten fifty-five. Helicopter should be waiting, which will take you directly on to Lady Lara.” Adrian lowered his phone and looked across the table at Sally. “Sounds efficient,” Sally said with a shrug, concentrating on separating a piece of chicken from the bone. Adrian pressed his lips together. He seemed considerably more enthusiastic about her vacation than she was presently prepared to appear. “It should be fun.” Bridget offered Sally an encouraging smile and nodded. “It will be.” “As long as it’s not Ryanair…” Sally mumbled. Adrian frowned. “Ryan… what?” Bridget chuckled. Sally slowly looked up at her father. A grin spread across her face. “Good.” Adrian remained perplexed. “What?” Bridget patted his arm affectionately. “Your answer was perfect, honey.” “I don’t understand.” “That’s why it was perfect.” Sally laughed and returned to her chicken. It was exactly the sort of Sunday lunch she had wanted. Nothing elaborate, nobody formally serving them, no beautifully arranged sequence of courses. They had picked up grilled chicken on the way home from church, along with baked potatoes and a few sides, and spread everything across the table themselves. It was warm, filling and required practically no preparation. Oskar was sound asleep in his basket near the sofa, apparently exhausted by his first major expedition into civilization. Church had been enough adventure for one morning. Bridget had fed him in the nursery, after which he had slept through the remainder of the service, the journey home and most of lunch. Sally glanced toward him periodically. Still asleep. “Church really took it out of him.” “He had a busy morning,” Bridget said. “He slept through half of it.” “He’s a baby.” “Convenient excuse.” Adrian pointed his fork at Sally. “You fell asleep on the sofa for three hours yesterday.” “Jet lag.” “Convenient excuse.” Sally narrowed her eyes at him and took another bite. Dessert followed the same philosophy as lunch. Someone produced a pie, someone else heated it, and a carton of ice cream appeared beside it. Sally considered warm pie and cold ice cream sufficient evidence that civilization had reached its intended destination. Mia and Roberto had returned from Mass. Their Dacia Jogger was parked near the garage, which meant they were probably back in their apartment, enjoying their own Sunday. Bridget spooned a little melting ice cream from beside her pie. “Renée is coming over this evening to babysit Oskar.” Sally looked up. “We’re taking you out for dinner,” Bridget continued. “Reservation at seven.” Sally sat straighter. “Wait. Only us?” “Yes.” “Without Oskar?” Bridget chuckled. “Oskar will survive without us for a couple of hours.” Sally looked toward the basket, almost as though the baby should be consulted. “Renée has a very good hand with him,” Bridget added. “Probably better than any of us.” “I heard that,” Adrian said. “It was intended to be heard.” Sally grinned. Something unexpectedly warm spread through her. It wasn’t the dinner itself. She had eaten in enough spectacular restaurants that another expensive meal wasn’t automatically exciting anymore. It was what her parents were doing. Her forty-eight hours at home were disappearing quickly. Tomorrow morning she would leave for Croatia, and instead of letting Sunday evening dissolve into packing and preparations, her parents had deliberately carved out a few hours that belonged to the three of them. No baby. No friends. No business. Just Adrian, Bridget and Sally—the family configuration that had existed for so long before Oskar arrived. Sally tried not to look quite as touched as she felt. “Where are we going?” The eagerness in her voice betrayed her anyway. Adrian and Bridget exchanged a look. Sally caught it immediately. “What?” “Nothing,” Adrian said. “Where?” Bridget considered the question. “Not McDonald’s.” “Mooom!” Bridget laughed. -- Sally hugged Renée. “We barely had time to chat. You arrived and I left,” Renée said, almost apologetically. “We have a few minutes now.” Sally stepped back. “How’s Zürich treating you?” “Too well.” Renée shook her head. “I’m beginning to enjoy it. I don’t understand the German yet, but people are happy to speak English, which makes it too easy. I feel guilty sometimes.” “But you’re learning.” “Slowly. Very slowly.” Renée smiled. “At least I found an English-speaking church.” She looked faintly apologetic, but Sally waved the concern away before she could explain. “As much as I’d like to worship together—” “Renée, as long as you’re not alone.” Sally shrugged. “I’m glad you convinced Theresa and Jana to go with you. Jana was feeling a bit lost, and even though Theresa speaks German, she said she felt like a fish out of water.” “Well, it’s a very international community. Americans, Canadians, Brazilians, some Brits. A few people from everywhere, really.” “Makes for a decent mix.” “It does. And it’s nice not having to translate the sermon in my head while I’m trying to listen to it.” Sally chuckled. “I was doing that this morning.” “Oh?” “Oskar had his first church service today.” Renée’s face brightened. “He did? How did it go?” Sally considered the question with exaggerated seriousness. “I doubt he got converted.” Renée stared at her. Sally maintained a perfectly straight face. “But he seemed to think the trip was worthwhile. At least for the first fifteen minutes.” Renée shook her head, still laughing. “How long did he actually last?” “Through the singing. He liked that. Or the lights. Or everybody standing up. I don’t know. He held my finger and looked around like he’d been invited somewhere extremely important.” Sally smiled at the memory. “Then everybody sat down and he decided it was his turn to contribute.” “Oh dear.” “Little noises at first. Cute ones. Then increasingly evangelical noises.” Renée covered her mouth. “Mom eventually removed the guest preacher and took him to the nursery.” “That sounds about right.” Renée nodded knowingly. “He’ll get used to it. Before you know it, he’ll be stealing the hearts of all the Sunday school teachers.” “He’s stolen mine already,” Sally said, laughing. -- They ate beside the window overlooking the Limmat, with old Zürich displayed beyond the glass in the long summer evening. The river caught fragments of light beneath them, and the buildings on the opposite bank seemed almost theatrical in their neatness. La Rôtisserie felt intimate rather than grand tonight, precisely what Sally wanted after Miami’s spectacle. She had selected something light: grilled fish and a side salad. Nothing heavy, nothing overly complicated, although the first bite had reminded her that light and simple did not necessarily mean ordinary. “Just imagining my next few days on Lady Lara gives me enough restraint to prepare,” she said ruefully. “You’ll have some great company,” Adrian offered. “You might not appreciate it right now, but farther ahead…” He paused. “This is the time in your life when you begin making connections that can last for decades.” Sally gave him a skeptical look over her fork. “So this is about business.” “No.” Adrian shook his head. “It’s about making friends. Friends you learn to trust. And if one day you do business together, what better business connection—or partner—than someone you already know and trust?” Sally chewed another piece of the delicious fish. She realized her insistence on eating something light had never required it to be unsavory. “Like Trish,” she said finally. “For example.” Adrian nodded. “Someone you can sit with, consult, pick her brain. And vice versa. You don’t have to become business partners. Maybe you never will. That’s not the point.” “And,” Bridget interjected, “it’s also about having fun.” Sally looked at her mother. “Swimming. Diving. Staying up too late. Laughing about stupid things. Being sixteen.” Bridget smiled. “Letting go. Being yourself.” Sally chuckled. “That, I can do.” “I know.” From there, mercifully, the conversation drifted into ordinary things. Plans for the coming months. When they might return properly to Miami—October, perhaps, although Adrian refused to commit himself. Christmas was mentioned. Verbier seemed likely, as usual. “That’s where you revealed Oskar to me,” Sally said softly. The sentence changed the table. Not dramatically. Nobody froze. But a quietness settled among them, and for a few seconds the three seemed to be remembering different parts of the same extraordinary sequence of events. So much had happened so quickly that they had never really stopped to look backward at it. Adrian and Bridget had married in October. Sally had barely adjusted to the strange new reality of her parents being husband and wife when Bridget began complaining that she was unusually tired. Then came December and the doctor and the astonishing announcement that Bridget was already two months pregnant. A healthy baby boy. Sally remembered Verbier. She remembered the room. Her mother’s face. Her father’s almost ridiculous attempt to look calm. And she remembered herself. She looked down at her plate. Her first reaction wasn’t something she liked revisiting. Shock had become resistance almost immediately. Fear, perhaps. Jealousy, certainly, although she had hated admitting it even to herself. For sixteen years, the family had possessed a particular shape, and suddenly somebody she had never asked for was going to alter it permanently. She had gotten over it quickly. But she still felt ashamed sometimes. Now that same unwanted abstraction had a name. Oskar. He grabbed her finger. Slept against her chest. Cried when abandoned. Filled his diaper at precisely the moment everyone needed to leave for church. Looked at Sally as though she were one of the safest objects in his tiny universe. She couldn’t imagine wishing him away. Bridget seemed to understand where her daughter’s thoughts had gone. “A lot has happened since Christmas,” she said gently. Sally looked up. “Yeah.” That was all. Nobody required her to confess anything. Nobody reminded her of things she had said or feelings she had struggled with. Adrian merely took a sip of water and looked through the window toward the river. The moment passed. When dessert was offered, both women declined. Adrian did not. Sally watched with mild indignation as something beautiful and unquestionably caloric was placed before him. “You’re eating that by yourself?” “You said you didn’t want dessert.” “I don’t.” “Then there’s no problem.” “There isn’t.” Adrian took a bite. Sally watched. Bridget noticed and smiled. “I don’t want any,” Sally insisted. “Nobody said anything.” Adrian continued eating with the quiet satisfaction of a man who knew perfectly well he was being observed. Sally finally reached across with her spoon. “One bite.” Adrian moved the plate toward her without comment. “Don’t look smug.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You don’t have to.” Bridget laughed, but Sally noticed that her mother’s attention wandered almost immediately toward her phone. “You’ve checked it three times,” Sally said. “I have not.” “Mom.” Bridget glanced at the screen again. Sally grinned. “Oskar is fine.” “I know he’s fine.” Adrian calmly ate another spoonful of dessert. Sally released her mother’s wrist, smiling. Yet she couldn’t tease too much. She understood the feeling. Bridget had separation anxiety from Oskar. Sally had the leaving blues. Tomorrow morning there would be suitcases again. Zürich Airport. Split. A helicopter. Lady Lara. New people, new places, a week of Adriatic summer waiting for her. She was excited. She really was. But tonight she looked across at her parents, at her mother’s phone lying stubbornly facedown beside her plate, and thought about the sleeping baby waiting for them at home. Forty-eight hours hadn’t been enough. Perhaps that was the point. Home wasn’t supposed to be something you finished with before leaving.

"mmm jus' wet me seep a bit mowe" he says behind his pacifier before waking up fully "why'd you wake me up sis" he says with a pout and a yawn

A wet and messy Kiddo Teddy Ultra diaper this morning. 🤫