Finding ourselves at an exit to the park, we hailed a cab to take us to the Westminster Abbey.

“I love these cabs,” Angela said. “They’re so ugly, but so amazing. They seem bigger inside than they do from the outside.”

“I’ve seen a lot of cabs here that aren’t like this, though,” I said. “I hope these don’t go the way of the dinosaurs.”

“That would be a shame,” Angela agreed, looking out the window.

While she was looking at the scenery, I was looking at her. Angela had an expression of wonder on her so very expressive face, admiring the sights that we passed.

“Look! There’s the Royal Albert Hall!” she said, pointing it out as we drove by.

Angela’s easy enthusiasm was so endearing that I couldn’t help but smile. “We’ll be inside it in a few days, watching Emmy play,” I said.

“I know! It’s going to be amazing!” Angela replied, watching the red brick and limestone building disappear behind us.

I squeezed her hand, more in love with her every day. ‘Thank you, Antonio, for getting arrested,’ I thought to myself. Life is just a series of unexpected events, I thought. The old saying that life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans popped into my head, and I marveled at the truth of it.

Emmy’s parents just happened to pick my small town, and I just happened to get asked to show her around school. Angela just happened to strike up a conversation in the building’s gym, and her idiot boyfriend gets busted for dealing steroids. Random chance, or near enough, and one thing led to another, winding up with me in a cab in London, sightseeing on a gray day with one of my two amazing and beautiful wives.

“What are you thinking about?” Angela asked.

“How lucky I am,” I said, squeezing her hand again. “How Antonio did me and Emmy the world’s biggest favor.”

“Oh, Antonio,” Angela said, her face falling. “I hope things worked out for him.”

“I do, too,” I said, and meant it. The one time I met him, I was surprised at how decent a guy he seemed. “But I’m not giving you back.”

Angela smiled and was about to say something, but just then the cab came to a stop.

Thanking the driver, we stepped out into the drizzle that was really too light to justify the umbrella.

It turns out that we should have bought tickets in advance, so we didn’t get to tour the Abbey. Instead we crossed the bridge by the Tower Clock and made our way to the London Eye, holding hands as we walked.

I was lost in thoughts of how wonderful life really was when Angela tugged on my hand.

“Can we get something to eat?” she asked, pointing to a little place that had a sign that only said “Bakery”.

Following her inside, the smell of the baked goods suddenly made me hungry.

We got ourselves some chocolate croissants and a couple of cups of coffee, finding a small table in the corner.

“Can I tell you something, and I don’t want you to, um, misunderstand,” Angela said after we sat down. When I nodded for her to continue, she said, “I love spending time like this, just me and you. Don’t get me wrong- I love Emmy more than anything, and I love spending time with her, too, but it’s nice to have you to myself every now and then.”

“Better get used to it, babe,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “Because you’re gonna have me for the rest of your life.”

“Promise?” she asked with a smile.

At the top of the circle on the Eye, Angela looked out over London. “Even with the weather so cold and ugly, it’s still beautiful,” Angela said. Turning to face me, her back to the glass, she said, “I’ve been thinking. You said you’d buy me a yacht if I wanted? How about instead of a yacht, we buy a place here?”

“You mean here in London?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Angela said. “Think about it- Emmy doesn’t want to be too close to her parents, right? But here, she’d be far enough away, but close enough at the same time, right?”

“Have you talked to Emmy about whether she would want a place here in London?” I asked, wrapping my arms around Angela and turning her to face the Thames again, pulling her against my chest.

“No, I just now thought about it,” Angela confessed. “But would you be O.K. with us buying a place here? Maybe just an apartment? It doesn’t have to be as big as our place in New York,” she said, leaning her head back against me.

We were getting looks from some of the other passengers in our glass bubble, but I didn’t care. I kissed Angela’s hair and told her, “Baby, if you want, we can buy a place even bigger. Like I said in Alaska, I would give you anything.”

“You don’t need to, you know,” she said, smiling up at me. “You’ve already given me so much.”

“Babe, not as much as you’ve given me,” I said, giving her another kiss. I ignored the guy harrumphing at our PDA and kissed Angela again, this time turning her around so we could fully lean into the kiss, getting more harrumphs from the grumpy old guy at the other end of our glass bubble.

After the Eye, Angela and I took the District Line on the Underground to the Central Line, which dropped us off a few blocks from the hotel. Pretty much the entire time we held hands when we walked, getting a few dirty looks but most people that saw us didn’t seem to care.

Emmy was napping when we got in, but woke up when we entered the room.

“How was the filming?” Angela asked, leaning down to give Emmy a kiss.

“It was good,” Emmy said. “We played for nearly an hour, which was more than they expected. The producer said that it should be up tomorrow night.”

“Babe, it’s almost four,” I said. “You can sleep for a while longer before we have to get ready for the thing tonight.”

“No, I think I slept enough,” Emmy said, yawning. “Did you two have a good day?”

“It was nice,” Angela said, sitting on the couch and petting Emmy’s snow-white hair. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“What is that?” Emmy asked, sitting up and letting the blankets fall around her waist.

The two women made such a contrast- Emmy nude, just woken from sleep, Angela dressed for a day out in the chilly English winter weather. The tableau, though, was breathtaking in its beauty. I pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped a picture of the two of them looking at each other with love and trust. This was one of those perfect moments when time stands still, leaving an indelible memory behind.

After glancing curiously at my phone, Angela turned back to Emmy. “I was thinking,” she said. “You told me you don’t want to have a place in Paris, because it’s too close to your parents, right? But would London be close enough, but also far away enough?”

“You are thinking of us buying a house here in London?” Emmy asked, surprised.

“I don’t know… Maybe an apartment? It doesn’t have to be as big and fancy as our other two homes.”

“Would you want this?” Emmy asked, taking Angela’s hand.

“I- I think I could live here, with you and Lee. I love Los Angeles, and I love our place in New York, but maybe we could, well…” Angela said.

“What do you think?” Emmy asked, turning to me.

“I told her I’d buy her a place, if that’s what she wants,” I said. “We have the money, and it would be nice to have our own place when we come to Europe. Like Ange said, it’s far enough from Paris, but also only three hours by train, right?”

“Let us think about it, and perhaps look at available properties the next couple of days,” Emmy said. “We do not have to buy anything right now.”

“You’re O.K. with the idea, though? Us buying a place here in London?” Angela asked.

“Angie, if you want it, that is enough. I do not need to… sign off on your wishes,” Emmy said, her voice gentle. “If we can think of Los Angeles as the house that Leah found, and New York as my house, there is no reason you can’t have your place here in London, if that is what you want.”

“But… I was thinking it would be so you could be close to your parents when…” Angela objected, not really finding the right words for what she was trying to express.

“I know, and it is incredibly thoughtful,” Emmy said, leaning in to give Angela a kiss. “But my parents own a home near Leah’s mother, so if they wish to be close to their granddaughter they can come to California.”

“I guess,” Angela said, seeming to deflate.

“Ange, what Em is trying to tell you is that if you want a house here in London, it can be all about a place you yourself want. It doesn’t have to be about Emmy,” I said, rubbing her shoulder. “And honestly? Maybe London isn’t the place. Maybe we, I don’t know, find a place in Barcelona, or Monaco or something- if it’s about Europe.”

“That is true,” Emmy agreed. “But if you have fallen in love with London, that is O.K., too. Tomorrow we should talk to a real estate agent, and see if there is anything that catches your fancy. Tonight, we have to get ready for our soirée.”

The fundraiser party was at the townhouse of some sort of financier, right by Belgrave Square, facing an odd little semicircular slice of park. Emmy and Angela led the way inside, the doorman instantly recognizing Emmy and not questioning her plus one. Stephanie gave her name, which the guy checked off a list, letting us in. Grant stopped to talk with the doorman while the rest of us climbed the stairs to the main reception room. The house was surprisingly crowded with well-dressed people holding champagne flutes (mostly the women) or brandy snifters (mostly the men).

Emmy had known she was to be the prized pony on display, but she accepted the role with her usual grace and charm. I watched her work the crowd as she made her way through the elegant townhouse, greeting people as she went. Angela tagged along, smiling and playing nice, too. I gave Jen a little wave when I spotted her and Lee talking to some people near the French doors that led to a small balcony.

Stephanie and I were mostly left alone to find our way to the bar. The bartender seemed quite surprised when I asked for a neat pour of the Macallan 18 I saw behind him.

At his questioning look, I said, “I’m generally more of a Bourbon drinker, but Scotch will do.”

With a knowing smile but no words, the bartender poured me a double, then got Stephanie her Cabernet.

As we wandered around, Stephanie excused herself to go talk to somebody she knew, leaving me alone in the crowd.

An older guy with a somewhat familiar face found me in the library, looking at the framed photos on the wall.

“You’re Emmy De Lascaux’s wife, right?” he asked. “My name’s Henry Powell,” he said, holding out his hand to shake.

“Leah Farmer,” I replied, automatically taking his hand and shaking it.

“I’ve been told you run a real estate investment trust?” he asked for confirmation.

“Yeah, among other things,” I agreed.

“If I may be so bold to ask, how much do you have under management? You see, I’ve been considering getting into that field myself, and wondering if it makes sense,” he said.

“The fund is valued at a little over two billion dollars right now,” I said. “The last few years have been good, with the economy climbing out of the Great Recession and housing prices rebounding strongly,” I said. “Are you considering starting your own REIT here in the UK?”

“Good heavens, no,” he replied. “I’d let people who know what they’re doing handle all that. No, I’d merely write the cheques,” he said with a laugh. “Let the money make money.”

“It certainly does a good job of that,” I agreed.

“Would you say that a seed of, say, twenty million pounds would do it?” Henry asked, looking for my reaction.

“It’s a good start,” I said. “Heck, I only started with fifty million dollars, and look where I am now,” I told him, throwing a bigger number back at him.

“Fifty million dollars?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah, but that was over five years ago,” I said, sipping my Scotch.

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve increased your holdings by a factor of forty over five years? How is that even possible?” he asked, completely forgetting the drink in his own hand and almost spilling his brandy.

I reached down and caught his hand just before the glass tipped too far, and he brought it back up with a sheepish smile.

“I’ve had a lot of other investors come onboard,” I said. “But yes, it has done very well.”

“Good lord, I should say so,” Henry agreed, taking a drink. “Do you have any foreign investors?”

After giving Henry the information needed to contact my office, I wandered around to try to find Angela and Emmy. I found Angela first, talking to a young woman about our age.

“Hey, babe,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist. “Are you having a good time?”

“Lee, this is Sophia. She lives next door, and she was telling me that her family may be open to selling their townhouse. She says it’s about this size,” Angela added.

“Would you be interested in a townhouse?” I asked. “Somehow I thought you were more interested in an apartment or a flat.”

“This party has me thinking,” Angela replied. “Em picked the place in New York so she could entertain guests, right? It might be really hard to do that if we bought some sort of apartment in a high-rise somewhere.”

“Our place in Manhattan is about twice this size,” I protested.

“Well, yeah, but look at how many people are here tonight,” Angela countered. “We could have a dinner party for twelve without even having to round up extra chairs,” she said, pointing in the direction of the dining room.

“I thought you lived in Los Angeles?" Sophia asked, frowning.

“We do,” Angela replied. “But we have a townhouse in Manhattan, and now we’re thinking of buying here in London, too.”

“I’d love to visit Los Angeles,” Sophia said, drawing out the word ‘love’. “I’ve never been.”

A bit put off by the hungry way Sophia was looking at me, I gave Angela a quick kiss on her hair and told her I was going to find Emmy.

Emmy was in what I guess would be considered the breakfast nook, off to one side of the gleaming kitchen. She was seated on a clear acrylic chair, turned to face away from the small table and towards an olive-colored velvet couch that had four girls in their young teens crammed on it. Emmy held what looked like a beginner’s acoustic guitar and was showing the girls how to hold their fingers on the frets, while various parents stood and watched, snacking on canapés.

I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just watched from the sidelines, along with the majority of the adults.

Listening to the comments, it was a mix of, “I never expected that she would actually look like that,” and, “She is so good with the young people.”

Satisfied that Emmy was doing just fine, I wandered away, not getting too far before Henry Powell found me again.

“Ms Farmer, I’d like you to meet James Oxley,” he said. I shook Mr Oxley’s hand as he gave me an appraising look.

“Henry here tells me you’re a whiz at real estate investing in the States,” he said.

“Well, I can’t say anything about my ability here in England, since I haven’t dipped my toe in the waters here yet,” I said.

Both men chuckled appreciatively, then James said, “Henry tells me that you’ve returned healthy margins for your investors?”

“Over the last five years we’ve averaged twenty-four per cent annually,” I agreed. “Some of my early investors have tripled their investments.”

“Early investors? How long a time frame is that?”

“Five years,” I said.

“Pardon me for asking, but how old are you?” Mr Oxley asked.

“I’m twenty-four,” I said, sipping my Scotch. “I started my real estate fund when I was nineteen, my freshman year at Stanford.”

They both stared at me for a moment before looking at each other. “Do you remember what we were doing when we were nineteen?” Henry asked James.

Shaking his head, James said, “I do believe we were busy wasting our family money, not starting investment funds.”

“To put it kindly,” Henry agreed.

“Your investment fund- do you have your own money in it?” James asked.

“Somewhere in the range of three hundred million dollars,” I said.

“Is that all?” Henry asked with a wry smile.

“Well, I have other interests. Probably another hundred, hundred fifty in my other divisions,” I said with a shrug. “But the real estate investment makes the most money.”

I was deep in conversation with Henry and James about the investment world in London and how the two men have become disillusioned with The City’s endless financial games and questionable ethics regarding money from dubious sources when Angela joined us, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“Ange, this is Henry Powell and James Oxley,” I said. “Henry, James, this is my wife Angela.”

“It is always a pleasure to meet such a lovely lady,” James said.

“Babe, I think Emmy is tired and ready to go back to the hotel,” Angela said. “If you want, I can go back with her and you can stay…”

“Take Grant with you,” I said.

“You know we always do,” Angela said with a little pout.

“I know, but it’s my job to make sure you guys are safe,” I said, giving her a little kiss. “I’ll probably be back in an hour or two.”

After Angela left, Henry gave me a quizzical look. Understanding his question, I said, “Our family is a bit atypical. Angela, Emmy and I are a threesome, a ménage à trois.”

“My dear old grandmother would have some words with you about that,” James said with a laugh, “But I must admit to more than a touch of envy on my part.”

Henry chuckled in agreement. “It doesn’t seem quite fair that you have ensnared two such beautiful ladies.”