The sun filtered in lazily through the gauzy curtains of Frances’s house, warming the kitchen tiles with a soft golden glow. Frances shuffled barefoot across the floor, wrapped in one of Yaz’s oversized cardigan, pale blue, sleeves dangling past her fingers. Her hair was slightly tousled from sleep, eyeliner faintly smudged beneath her eyes. The glamour of the previous night’s premiere had melted away, leaving just Frances, warm, sleepy, and beautiful in that disarming, human sort of way.

She stood at the counter, squinting at the coffee pot like it was speaking a foreign language, rummaging in the cupboard for filters with all the grace of a hungover raccoon.

“This isn’t even the good stuff,” she grumbled, pulling out a crumpled bag of backup grounds. “I ran outta the proper roast yesterday. This… this is emergency cawfee.”

Yaz, already awake and perched at the small kitchen table with her knees pulled up to her chest, watched her with a grin that spelled trouble.

“Did you just say cawfee?” Yaz asked, her voice dancing with mischief.

Frances didn’t even look up. “Yeah? You want some?”

“I do,” Yaz replied, biting back a smile, “but I didn’t know I was getting it brewed in Brooklyn.”

That earned a crooked smirk from Frances, who finally glanced over her shoulder. “Oh shut up. I just got up... Don’t test me, Brit.”

“Caw-fee.” Yaz rolled the word around like a piece of candy. “My God. Say it again. Please.”

Frances gave her a look that was half a threat, half amusement. “Nope. Not till you say fuhgeddaboudit properly.”

Yaz straightened up with theatrical effort, eyebrows lifted as she attempted the challenge. “Fuh… get… da boo—”

“...Okay stop,” Frances cut in. She laughed, waving a hand dramatically. “That was a hate crime.”

Yaz burst out laughing, nearly tipping her chair back.

Frances poured the coffee, hands still slow and heavy from sleep. She set Yaz’s cup down on the table with a quiet clink, but as she leaned forward, Yaz reached out grabbing the edge of the cardigan collar, tugging her down with a wicked grin.

Frances let out a surprised laugh as Yaz pulled her in for a kiss, warm, a little teasing, full of that affection that lived in the quiet corners of their mornings. When Yaz finally let her go, she rested her chin in her hand, eyes shining.

“You’re my favorite Italian,” she murmured.

Frances raised a brow. “I better be your only Italian.”

“Well, sure hun, one and only.” Yaz replied with a wink, sipping her coffee. “But still. Do you speak it?”

Frances straightened up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Actually, yeah. I do. My mum insisted on it when I was little. Used to sing lullabies in Italian, too. Real pretty ones, even the sad ones.”

Yaz looked up, curious now. “Your mum was Italian, then?”
Frances nodded, pulling out the chair across from Yaz and sinking into it. “Born in Naples. She came over with her parents in early twenties, just before things started getting ugly over there.” Frances smiled a little, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “Yeah. She was lovely.”

“And do you still have family over there?” Yaz asked.

“Mmhmm,” Frances said. “Some cousins, mostly down south. Remember last summer when I went to visit my friend in Italy?”

Yaz nodded.

“Well, I lied, a bit” Frances said with a grin. “I did see her, but I also took the train south to see my cousins. Stayed with them for a few days. We ate like kings and they wouldn’t let me lift a finger. They still call me La stellina americana... little American starlet.”

Yaz’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I know,” Frances said, reaching across the table to nudge Yaz’s foot with her own. “But don’t worry. I’m taking you this summer...If you want? You’re gonna love it. The food, the beaches, the chaos.”

"Are you kidding me?"

"You, me, and Lily…and Italian vacation."

"Abso-bloody-lutely!" Yaz beamed, excitement glistening from her eyes “But I’ll need subtitles.”

Frances laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll translate. Though… explaining Lily might not be easy.”

Yaz’s expression softened at the mention of her. “They don’t know?”

“Nope,” Frances said, voice quieter now. “I’ve never really talked about her with them. I wasn’t ready. But I think I should… if we’re going.”

Yaz reached across the table, brushing her fingers against Frances’s wrist. “It’ll be alright love… they’re gonna love her. And she’ll love it there, you’ll see.”

Frances looked at her for a long moment, then gave a slow, grateful nod. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Yaz just smiled and sipped her coffee again. “That’s why you keep me around.”

Frances grinned, eyes glinting as her foot slowly grazed up Yaz’s bare calf under the table. “That... and the sex.”

Yaz choked slightly on her coffee, coughing through a laugh. “Well, thank God I’m good at it then.”

Frances leaned her chin into her palm, looking far too pleased with herself. “You are. Exceptionally good, actually. Top marks. Would recommend to a friend if I wasn’t so disgustingly possessive.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” Yaz smirked, nudging Frances’s foot back with her own. “I'm gonna start thinking I'm being held hostage by a sleep-deprived movie star with a caffeine dependency and a filthy mouth.”

Frances gasped in mock offense. “Filthy? Please. I’m a lady.”

“A lady who said ‘sex’ before 9AM.”

“Don’t act like you’re shocked. I’ve seen the smug little grin after.”

Yaz shook her head, cheeks flushed with laughter. “You’re insufferable this morning.”

“And yet… you’re still here.” Frances winked

“Yeah, well,” Yaz said, setting her coffee down and leaning forward just enough to make Frances’s breath catch, “I like trouble.”

“Oh, baby,” Frances purred, voice low and teasing, “You are trouble.”

They sat like that for a moment, the air thick with flirtation and half-finished jokes, before Yaz broke into a laugh and Frances joined her, the whole kitchen warming with their shared mischief.

“Oh!” Frances perked up as she reached for a thin folder on the counter, flipping it open to reveal a few neatly clipped black-and-white photographs. “Meant to show you these.... Nicole had the agency send over some houses she thinks we might like.”

Yaz leans in, eyes flicking over the images. “Ooh. Real fancy. Are we talking secret love nest or something that says ‘I’m definitely not hiding my girlfriend in the guest house’?”

Frances smirks. “Bit of both.

Yaz reached for the folder to have a look “So,” she said, flipping threw, “these the contenders?”

Frances gave a smug little smile and sipped her coffee. “They are. Nicole’s been combing through listings like she’s hunting for gold. There’s one with a big white porch, a separate guest house with its own kitchen, aaaand it has obnoxiously massive swimming pool.”

“Oh, stop. Lily’s gonna die over a pool,” Yaz grinned, nudging her with her foot.

“There’s also this one up the hills a bit, gorgeous view, and totally private. No chance of nosey neighbours. And look…it also has a gorgeous guest house right by the pool....I thought… maybe that one. It’s not far from the studio or from Susan’s.”

Yaz looked at the photos, something soft behind her smile. “That one’s beautiful. I love the Spanish look...”

Frances watched her a moment. “We could make it ours.” she said softly

Yaz hesitated. She closed the folder slowly and set it down. Her fingers traced the edge for a second. “Franny …”

Frances tilted her head, sensing the shift in tone. “What’s wrong?”

Yaz exhaled. “I love everything about this. I do. But… I need to say something before this goes further.”

Frances straightened slightly, her gaze now fully locked on Yaz. "What? You didn't change your mind, did you?" she asked with a tone of panic in her voice

"Nooo...God noo“ Yaz shook her head "TThere’s something else I wanna talk about..." she exhaled deeply "Look...I know I can’t afford something like that. It’s not about pride, really. I just...if we’re doing this, I want it to feel like ours. Not like I’m just moving into a house you bought. I don’t want to feel like a… tenant. Or worse, a secret kept in the back garden.”

The silence hung for just a beat before Frances stood up slowly, padded over, and eased herself into Yaz’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. She nestled close, letting her fingers lightly trail down Yaz’s shoulder.

“I hear you,” she said softly, her forehead resting against Yaz’s. “Listen, I want you to know...I never once thought of you like that. You’re not a guest in my life. You’re the life I want.”

Yaz’s arms curled around her waist instinctively, holding her tight.

Frances kissed the tip of her nose, her voice more serious now. “And I’m glad you said it.”

Yaz blinked. “You are?”

Frances nodded. “Yes....We need to talk about these things...Darling...I want this to feel like our home. I know it’ll have to be in my name. That’s just…the fucked up way things are."

"Nooo...that's not what I meant..."

"Shhh" Frances hushed her gently, pressing a finger to her lips with a soft smile. "I know you didn't...It's something that I want more than anything. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it feel shared in every way that counts.”

She paused, fingers curling into Yaz’s hand. “So, here’s what we can do. I’ll handle the purchase. It’s what makes sense right now. God knows I worked hard for my money and I wanna spend it on us. But that guest house, or studio, or whatever shit we pick.
.that’s yours. Your name will be on all the papers for the business, I'll sort it out with a lawyer. You could take care of furnishing the guest house, make the studio yours, really make it feel like you. Your colors, your fabrics… even your damn kettle.

Yaz gave a soft laugh.

“And maybe,” Frances went on, “we set up something for the bills. The boring things..food, staff wages, utilities. We split those however feels fair. We can sit down and figure it out together.”

She looked at her seriously, thumb brushing Yaz’s cheek. “Would that make you feel better? Like it’s really yours too?”

Yaz looked at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. It would. A lot.”

Frances smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Good. Because I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re just visiting my life. You’re building it with me. Like we’re already married, cause in every way that matters we are to me.”

Yaz blinked fast, her throat tightening. “You really mean that?”

Frances smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind Yaz’s ear. “I wouldn’t be sitting in your lap like a love-struck fool if I didn’t.”

She snuggled in again, mischievous glint returning. “Besides, I expect you to do the shopping sometimes. And maybe fix the tap if it breaks.”

Yaz snorted. “Dream on, movie star."

Frances grinned. “Hey, I’m offering a pool, sex on a tap"

Yaz laughed and held her tighter. “In that case fine. But I draw the line at killing spiders.”

Frances tilted her head back. “Oh no, that’s your job too. Part of your half of the utilities.”

Yaz kissed her just to shut her up.

.....

The morning sun hadn’t yet burned through the haze hanging over the city, but Yaz was already slipping through the studio gates with nerves humming beneath her skin. She arrived at the Wardrobe Department ten minutes early, the scent of calico, wool, and freshly sharpened pencils instantly grounding her.

Inside, long tables were already set up with sketches, fabric swatches, and racks of preliminary reference garments. People she recognized from past projects, seasoned costume designers, cutters, tailors, assistants were all gathered, murmuring over notebooks or sipping their first morning coffee, waiting for the meeting to begin. Yaz gave a few polite nods and settled into a spot near the front, notebook open, pencil poised.

The door swung open with purpose as Charlie strode in, suit sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses perched on his nose, and the unmistakable energy of a man juggling three productions and a deadline. Clipboard in one hand, he tapped it sharply against the table.

“Right,” he said, voice cutting through the low chatter. “Good morning, everyone. Welcome to the chaos.”

A few chuckles broke out.

He didn’t pause long. “This is a monster of a picture. Historical epic. Full court drama, battles, coronations, the works. We’ll be handling thousands of costumes across multiple periods and locations. That means careful planning, clear communication, and no divas unless they’re on camera. Understood?”

Murmurs of agreement.

“We’re breaking it down by stages and teams. I’ll oversee the master design flow and liaise with production. Each team will take a key section of the story. Yaz...” he looked up, eyes scanning the group before settling on her “...you’re heading up the principal women. That means Queen Catherine, Lady Lucille, and the young prince in his early scenes.”

Yaz’s brows shot up. She hadn’t expected that. Nobles? Background extras? Sure. But principal characters?

She schooled her face into a polite nod, but her heart was hammering like mad. “Yes, of course.”

Charlie gave her a small, knowing nod. “Your sketchwork on The Dixon Affair made that decision easy. Let’s see what you can do with silk and politics.”

The meeting carried on, schedules, fittings, budget expectations, but Yaz was still glowing inside. She tapped her pencil against her notebook, already sketching possibilities in her head. Her own team. Key players. She wasn’t just part of the machine anymore, she was shaping the whole damn thing.

....

Yaz practically bounced into her small office, still clutching the folder Charlie had handed her. The door hadn’t even clicked shut behind her before she was reaching for the phone on her desk, heavy, cream-colored, with a slight hum always buzzing through the receiver.

She spun the rotary dial with practiced fingers, waiting as the line connected. It rang once… twice… then the familiar clatter and background noise of Susan’s bakery came through. The clinking of trays, someone asking for lemon drizzle, and finally Susan’s voice broke through on the other end.

“Susan’s Sweet Treats, how can I help ya?”

Yaz grinned. “Tell your customer to hold on to their crullers.... I have news!”

Susan laughed down the line, her voice warm and already amused. “Yaz? Aren’t you supposed to be working honey?”

“I am! I just left the meeting. You won’t believe this.... I’ve been assigned main characters. Big ones. Royals, the actual Queen, all the high drama!”

“Are you kidding me! Oh my god honey, I’m so happy for you. Didn't I tell you...ha?"

“I nearly fainted. You should’ve seen me—just sat there blinking like a daft pigeon.”

“You’re a genius with a needle and they know it. What’s the picture called again?”

“Crown and Ashes,” Yaz said proudly, flopping into her chair, eyes still wide with disbelief. “It’s a full-blown epic. Corsets, cavalry, maybe even a masquerade ball…”

“Oooh, velvet masks,” Susan cooed. “You’ll be in your element.”

“Right? And I’m already thinking...deep reds, brocade, something scandalous. Frances is gonna flip when she hears.”

“I can hear your grin through the line,” Susan teased. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to work before someone catches you slacking off.”

“I’ll tell you everything this evening when I get home. Every detail.”

From the background, a small voice chirped up. “Is that Yaz? Can I talk to her?”

Susan covered the receiver. “She’s busy right now, sweetheart.”

Lily pouted in the background. “Tell her I’m blowing kisses!”

Susan, already smiling, called toward the phone, “She’s blowing kisses for you, as if you can see them.”

Yaz laughed, heart melting. “Tell her I caught every one.”

She hung up the receiver with a soft click, still buzzing. She sat back, gazing around the tiny office like it was suddenly a palace. This was it. Her moment. And she was going to sew every bloody stitch of it into history.

.....


The restaurant was tucked into a quiet corner of Sunset Boulevard, upscale, dimly lit, with discreet waiters who knew when not to hover. Frances sat in a booth near the back, a glass of wine gently in one hand a cigarette in the other. Across from her, Edward unfolded a leather folio with the practiced ease of a man who’d done this a thousand times before.

He didn’t waste time.

“So,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I’ve just come from a meeting with Robert Klein at Paramount. He’s circling a project I think you’ll want to look at.”

Frances raised an eyebrow. “Klein’s the one who did After the Fall, right?”

Edward nodded, already flipping open a packet. “This one’s different. Noir-meets-character drama with a touch of dark comedy. Female lead. Dark, complicated, morally grey, exactly the kind of thing they don’t usually let women do.”

Frances leaned forward slightly, interest piqued. “And they want me?”

“They want a name,” Edward said. “I told them they need a talent. And I made it very clear that you’re both.”

She smiled, slow and curious. “What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t one yet. That’s where I come in.” He pushed the script pages toward her, then shifted gears. “Also.... your contract.”

Frances stiffened slightly. “What about it?”

“You’re underpaid.”

“I already fought tooth and nail to get points on The Girl Next Door,” she replied, sipping her wine. “They gave me a cut of the box office. That was a miracle by itself.”

Edward scoffed. “They gave you crumbs. We’re not doing crumbs anymore.”

He leaned in, his voice lowering. “You delivered a hit. A comedy, no less, something they didn’t even want you to try. Now it’s tracking to open strong and they’re scrambling to keep up. You’ve got leverage, Frances. And I’m going to use it.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “So, what are you thinking?”

“I want to renegotiate your deal. Top billing, creative control, a percentage that actually means something, and for this new one, say over key collaborators. Director, script consultant, costume.”

That last word hung in the air for a beat, and Frances’s lips twitched. She stubbed a cigarette in the ashtray with a smirk “You’re good,” she murmured.

“I’m the best,” he replied simply. “And we’re done letting them act like they’re doing you a favor by hiring you. From now on, it’s partnerships. Not handouts.”

She let out a breath, equal parts impressed and surprised. “And the press?”

“I’ve drafted two statements. One soft, family-friendly, light touch. The other’s sharper. More control, more attitude. Depends how you want to play it.”

Frances smirked. “Maybe a little of both.”

Edward leaned back, satisfied. “We’ll make them beg for interviews, then give them just enough to keep you mysterious.”

She raised her glass in a quiet toast. “To not playing nice.”

He clinked his coffee cup against hers. “To being too good to ignore.”

......

The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware filled the restaurant, but for Yaz and Frances, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. They were seated at a small corner table, far from the bustle, their lunch spread before them, steaming bowls of pasta, fresh bread, and two glasses of drink in front of them. The warmth from the sun outside filtered through the large windows, casting a soft glow on the table.

Frances twirled a strand of tagliatelle around her fork, a slight, secretive smile playing on her lips. “So,” she began, casually, “I had a meeting with Edward this morning.”

Yaz looked up from her plate, curious. “The new agent?”

Frances nodded. “Yes and let me tell you...he doesn’t waste time. He’s already got something lined up. A film with Paramount.”

Yaz’s eyebrows lifted. “Paramount? I thought you were still under contract with MGM.”

“I am,” Frances said, her tone breezy. “But this one would be a loan-out. One of those special projects where both studios get something out of it. Edward’s convinced it’ll be a hit... dark, elegant, touch of comedy, something a little different for me. And I’d have some say in who comes aboard.” She paused, giving Yaz a pointed look over the rim of her wine glass. “Quite a bit of say, actually.”

Yaz smiled, a little unsure. “That sounds exciting... finally something you wanted. But you’re being mysterious again.”

Frances leaned back in her chair, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she took another sip. She seemed more relaxed than usual, her usual elegance softened by the casual setting.

“You know,” she said, “it’s the kind of film that will need someone with a brilliant eye for texture, for detail. Someone who can do quiet drama and still make it feel grand.”

Yaz tilted her head, "Elaine?"

Frances laughed. “Not this time. Actually... I was thinking of someone else entirely.” She reached across the table and gently touched Yaz’s hand. “You.”

Yaz blinked. “Me?” She laughed, then paused. “Wait..me me?”

Frances nodded, grinning. “You you.... If you wanted?”

Yaz stared at her for a beat, then frowned. “Well yes of course I would want it...but how? I thought... I mean, I’m already on 'Crown and Ashes'. They’ve just handed me the leads. I can’t exactly moonlight for Paramount without someone noticing.”

Frances squeezed her hand gently. “That’s the thing. Edward says we can make it official. They can loan you out. MGM would still be your home, but for this one project, you’d be working with me.”

Yaz looked stunned. “Wait… they can do that?”

Frances nodded again. “Apparently, it’s done more than you’d think. Actors, directors… and yes, even costume designers. Edward’s confident he can negotiate it. You wouldn’t be leaving the epic, you’d just have your time scheduled between both projects. It’d be tight, but possible. Especially if we all play nice.”

Yaz blinked again, trying to take it all in. “I had no idea I could even be borrowed. I thought they practically owned me right now.”

Frances chuckled. “They sort of do. But now they know what they’ve got. And so does everyone else. That means you’ve got value, darling. And when you’ve got value, you’ve got leverage.”

A slow, delighted smile spread across Yaz’s face. “So let me get this straight. I’d get to work with you, on a film at Paramount, while still doing Crown… and get paid twice?”

"Precisely,” Frances said, lifting her glass. “So, what do you say? To dreams and loopholes?”

Yaz clinked hers with it, her eyes still wide. “I can’t believe this.”

Frances smiled warmly. “Believe it. This is your moment darling. And I want you with me.”

Their hands brushed again, and Yaz squeezed hers gratefully, heart full, mind racing with the possibilities.

....


The soft roar of the engine quieted as Frances pulled up outside Susan’s house, her car gleaming in the afternoon sun. The roof was down, her sunglasses perched confidently on her face, white cotton blouse gleaming in a sun, lipstick flawless, and a playful grin tugging at her lips. She gave the horn a cheerful double-beep.

Inside the house, the sound echoed through the open kitchen window. Susan, standing by the stove tying a scarf around her head, called out over her shoulder, “She’s here!”

Upstairs, Yaz was just finishing brushing Lily’s hair, sliding a pale blue Alice band matching her dress, gently into place. “We’re coming!” she shouted back, giving Lily’s shoulders a little squeeze.

But Lily didn’t wait. The moment Yaz let go, she was off, tearing through the house and flinging the door open with a dramatic swing. “Mummy!” she shrieked with joy as she sprinted toward the car.

“SLOW DOWN!” Yaz called from behind her, exasperated and laughing all at once. But Lily was already clambering up into the back seat, then leaning over the front one like a tiny whirlwind, and throwing her arms around Frances’s neck with such force that Frances let out a surprised gasp.

“You’re gonna strangle me!” Frances giggled, “I missed you too, my monkey.” She leaned in and kissed Lily’s cheek with an exaggerated mwah, then immediately wiped away the red lipstick mark, still smiling. “There. Back to spotless.”

By the time she looked up, Susan was already slipping into the back seat, “Hello, honey,” she greeted as she adjusted her scarf and settled in.

"Hi!" Frances smiled exited

Yaz slid into the passenger seat, brushing a lock of hair out of her face and grinning. The two women leaned in for a soft kiss on the cheek, their eyes lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Frances turned the key and the car purred to life beneath them. She pulled her sunglasses down and turned to face the car full of her favorite people.

“Right, my ladies…” she said, mischief in her voice, “Ready for some house hunting?”

A chorus of excited voices rang out “Yeeees!” followed by Lily’s enthusiastic little bounce in her seat, and Yaz and Susan laughing.

And just like that, they were off

....

The car curled its way up a quiet road, leaving the city hum behind. Trees lined the drive like sentinels, their leaves stirring in the warm breeze, and the sunlight slanted golden across the polished hood of the car.

At the end of the long incline, tall private gates came into view and just beyond them, a glimpse of manicured lawns, white stone, and shimmering blue. Frances slowed the car, and as they pulled up, the gates began to swing open smoothly.

Nicole stood just beyond them, clipboard in hand, impeccably dressed in a smart cream blouse and tailored trousers, her dark bob neatly tucked behind one ear. She gave a quick, friendly wave as they rolled through.

Frances parked near the sweeping circular drive, right in front of the dramatic entrance to the estate. Susan blinked at the sight, speechless for a moment. “Oh… my word,” she murmured, stepping out slowly and taking in the house, a palatial white-stucco villa with endless glass, a separate guest house perched just downhill, and what could only be described as an unnecessarily enormous pool glittering in the distance.

“I told you it was ridiculous,” Frances muttered playfully as she cut the engine. “That pool’s big enough to land a plane.”

Yaz laughed and climbed out on the passenger side. She greeted Nicole with a warm, “Hi” as they shared a brief, familiar smile, not friends, but friendly, with the ease of people who’d met more than once and genuinely liked each other.

Frances came around the car with Lily holding tight to her hand. “Nicole, this is Susan, my dearest friend,” she said, gesturing toward her. “She’s the sensible one.”

Susan gave a modest nod, still looking around in awe. “Pleasure,” she said. “This is quite something.”

Frances smiled and turned toward the little girl at her side. “And this… this is my Lily.”

Nicole crouched a little, surprising them both. “Hello, Lily,” she said gently. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Lily didn’t flinch or hide like she sometimes did. She gave a shy smile and clutched Frances’s hand tighter but nodded. "Hello"

Frances raised a brow, amused. “Well, look at that. Usually it takes a bribe and a small parade. I'm so proud of you sweetheart"

Nicole chuckled. “I’m very good with kids,” she said easily, rising to her feet again. “Or at least I pretend I am and hope they don’t catch on.”

Lily giggled, the tension melting just a little more.

“All right,” Nicole said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the grand double doors that had just opened in front of them. “Shall we begin the tour?”

Frances gave Yaz a glance. “Brace yourself,” she whispered. “If you think the outside is ostentatious…”

And with that, the group began to move.

Nicole led them a few steps up the stone path, the neatly trimmed hedges on either side looking more like sculpture than landscaping.

“The gardens are fully irrigated,” she explained, gesturing toward the vibrant flower beds stretching alongside the driveway, “and the grounds extend past the trees there — you’ve got just under two acres, completely gated. The guest house is fully detached and has its own drive. Pool’s saltwater, obviously, and heated year-round. And the view—well…”

She paused and turned slightly. Behind them, the city unfurled like a painting, the skyline soft under the afternoon haze.

Susan let out a low whistle. “It’s like something out of a magazine.”

Frances quirked a smile. “It is. Possibly in several.”

Nicole pushed open the tall double doors and stepped inside. “Come on in. Just wait till you see the kitchen.”

The foyer opened into a vast space filled with natural light. Marble floors stretched out in gleaming veins, the ceilings soared with arched beams, and a grand staircase curved upward like something from a ballroom. Everything was polished, tasteful, breathtaking.

As they walked through the house, each room seemed to top the last a formal dining room with hand-painted wallpaper, a kitchen worthy of a film set, a sunken lounge with a fireplace large enough to roast a deer. Elegant, yes. Immaculate. Stunning.

Susan’s eyes grew with each new reveal. “This can’t be real,” she muttered at one point, nearly walking into a glass wall that opened onto the pool.

Lily tugged on Frances’s hand and looked up at her. “Is this a hotel?”

Yaz laughed softly, bending down to whisper, “No, sweetheart. But I get it.”

The master bedroom had its own sitting area and private terrace overlooking the hills. There was even a gold-trimmed telescope in one corner.

After a full tour that ended beside the enormous, sparkling pool, the group stepped back inside to the cool air of the kitchen.

Frances and Yaz exchanged a glance and that was all it took.

Still, Frances tilted her head and asked, “Well?”

Yaz crossed her arms, eyes teasing. “No, you go first.”

Frances smiled and let out a long breath. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Truly. But…” Her gaze shifted fully to Yaz now, softening. “I don’t want a palace. I want a home.”

Yaz’s expression relaxed in an instant, like something had unclenched in her chest. “Thank God,” she said. “I thought it was just me.”

Nicole grinned, folding her arms loosely. “I had a feeling,” she said playfully. “But I figured I’d let you see what too much looked like. You know, for contrast.”

Frances raised a brow. “It’s certainly… memorable.”

“Wait till you see the next one,” Nicole said with a wink. “Much more your speed. Less Versailles, more ‘you might actually cook in that kitchen.’”

“Now that I want to see,” Yaz said, slipping her hand into Frances’s as they headed back toward the car, the sunlight dancing across the tile behind them.

.....


As the car glided up the narrow private road, sunlight filtered through tall eucalyptus trees that lined the hillside. At the end of the street, solid wooden gates, discreet and beautiful slowly opened to reveal the second house.

The change in atmosphere was instant.

Gone were the imposing columns and marble. In their place stood a beautiful Spanish-style home with a scuto façade in warm sand tones, its tiled roof catching the light. Arched windows peeked from beneath overhanging terracotta eaves, framed by tumbling vines and flowering bougainvillea.

A soft gravel pathway crunched beneath their feet as they stepped out of the car, the air scented with lavender and rosemary.

“Oh,” Yaz murmured, already smiling. “Now this is different.”

The house curved gently around a glistening swimming pool, wide and welcoming at one end, narrowing into a curve at the other, like a painter’s brushstroke. Its deep blue surface mirrored the sky above. Nestled right beside it, in the crook of the L-shape, was a guest house built in the same charming style, with matching tiled roof and arched doors, its own tiny terrace framed with pots of herbs and citrus trees.

Susan stood with her hands on her hips, taking it all in. “Well. This feels like a secret garden.”

Lily, holding Frances’s hand, spun in a slow circle, eyes wide. “It’s like a storybook,” she said. “Is this a real house?”

Nicole was already waiting by the low steps that led to the main entrance, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Welcome to something a little more grounded,” she said. “Still private, still beautiful, but warmer. More… livable.”

Frances let her sunglasses slide down her nose as she looked at the house. Then at Yaz. Then back again.

“I think I already like it,” she said under her breath.

Yaz nodded, eyes scanning the soft curves of the architecture, the way the garden seemed to hug the house itself. “Me too,” she whispered. “Let’s see inside.”

And with that, Nicole turned toward the carved wooden door, key already in hand, the crunch of gravel following behind them as they all moved forward, a little lighter on their feet than before.

The moment the door opened, a hush seemed to fall over them.

Inside, the house unfolded in soft curves and rich textures,, cool terracotta floors, cream plastered walls, and dark wood ceiling beams that gave the high ceilings a sense of rhythm and warmth. Arched doorways led from room to room, each space filled with light and framed by graceful ironwork and rustic chandeliers that danced with sunbeams.

“It smells like lemon oil and sunshine,” Susan said, stepping in and letting her fingers brush the edge of a carved console table in the foyer. “God, I love it already.”

Frances laughed softly, brushing Lily’s hair from her forehead. “Don’t get too excited. We haven’t seen the whole thing yet.”

They moved through the living room, where tall arched windows looked out over the pool and garden beyond. The furniture was spare but elegant, and the original fireplace, wide and plastered still stood, a centrepiece that practically invited conversation.

“Can you imagine holidays here?” Yaz said quietly, her fingers trailing across the stone hearth. Frances looked at her from the corner of her eye, already imagining the garlands, the firelight dancing in Yaz’s curls, Lily opening  presents underneath  the Christmas tree.

The kitchen followed, spacious, with Spanish tiles across the backsplash in deep cobalt and earthy ochre, a big farmhouse sink, and a breakfast nook tucked into a sunny corner.

“You can definitely cook in here,” Susan said, opening a drawer with visible delight.

After viewing the bedrooms and the study, Lily was skipping ahead with curiosity now down the hallway. “Is this my room?” she asked hopefully, pushing open a white-painted door.

It was a soft, airy bedroom with pale walls, a built-in window seat, and tall French doors that opened straight onto the garden. From here, the whole backyard was visible, the pool, the swaying trees, the soft outline of the guest house.

“Oh, darling,” Frances said, stepping beside her. “This would definitely be your room if we lived here.”

Lily grinned. “It’s got a view! And birds!”

"It sure does bug" Frances stroke her hair "So you like the house?"

"Mmmm" Lily nodded enthusiastically

“She’s sold,” Yaz laughed.

"So am I" Susan chuckled

They made their way outside and across the garden toward the guest house, Frances’s heels clicking gently against the stone path. The smaller house was no less beautiful, with whitewashed walls, its own shaded veranda, and warm terracotta floors. The living space inside was open, cozy, with just enough elegance to feel like a retreat without being showy. Cozy living room with small fireplace, two bedrooms light and airy overlooking the swimming pool, a beautiful kitchen, smaller version of the one in a main house.

“And this,” Nicole said, gesturing with a bit of flair, “was originally built for guests, but...” she turned, a little sparkle in her eye “... I think you’ll want to see what’s behind this door.”

She led them down a short hallway and pushed open a narrow, ivy-framed door that led to a hidden extension, the previous owner’s atelier. Skylights flooded the room with natural light, the scent of old canvas and linseed still faint in the air. The walls were white, but dappled with sun. It was quiet. Tucked away. Private.

Yaz stepped inside slowly, her voice hushed. “Oh my God…”

Frances followed, a smile already growing. "Oh my God...you kept this a secret?"

"Guilty as charged" Nicole smirked and crossed her arms, leaning on the doorframe with a knowing grin. “It’s perfect for what you two need. You’d have your space… she’d have hers. And peace, too. If you ask me, it’s already yours.”

Frances glanced at Yaz, one brow lifted. Yaz looked back at her, heart tugging. It was clear in Frances’s face, she’d already pictured it, Lily playing in the garden, Susan reading on the terrace, Yaz sketching by the skylight. Herself sunbathing by the pool."

Yaz smiled, just a little, and said, “Say it.”

Frances let out a breath, her voice warm and certain. “This is a home.”

And this time, Yaz didn’t need to answer. She just reached for her hand.

"Can we stay?" Lily asked

Frances scooped her up into her arms with a smile "You like it?"

"Yeees!!!" Lily nodded

"Alright...then we stay"

....