I skipped my morning run to stay in bed with my snuggle bunnies. The two were still sound asleep, but I didn’t mind just lying there and listening to them breathe. After the night’s excitement we’d gotten back to the hotel quite late, so I could well understand that they needed their rest.

Of course, they were each sleeping for two, right? Although neither of them had said anything about it, I had to imagine that their pregnancies were putting burdens on their systems. Pondering the wisdom of Angela (and Emmy, to a lesser extent) continuing on with the tour, I let myself relax and enjoy the feeling of love for my two wives. I mused on how it still sounded strange to me to even think the words, but it was how I regarded our relationship even if it wasn’t legally or culturally sanctioned. Angela had told that guy at the boba tea place that she was Emmy’s wife without a trace of hesitation or any need to explain, so it sure seemed as if she felt the same way.

Drifting in and out of a doze for I don’t know how long, thoughts floating amorphously through my brain, I lazed indulgently until Angela stirred.

“Lee? Did you already go running?” she asked, her sleepy voice sounding so unbearably sexy.

“No, I didn’t go this morning,” I said, giving her a good morning kiss. “I couldn’t make myself get out of bed.”

She gave me a sweet smile and kissed my shoulder. “It was nice to wake up next to you this morning,” she said.

“Quoi?” Emmy mumbled, still more than half asleep.

“Lee didn’t go running this morning,” Angela said, turning to give Emmy a kiss. “She’s still here.”

Emmy smiled at me, blinking sleep from her eyes. She reached across Angela to touch me, stroking my shoulder. “Good morning, my beloved,” she said. Propping herself up on her elbow, she said, “We do not have much of the day to ourselves today. Our soundcheck is at six, so we need to leave the hotel by five. It is,” she said, checking her watch, “almost nine, so eight hours at the very most. Is there anything either of you would wish to do today?”

“I would like you to go with Lee and me to the apartment,” Angela said. “I had some ideas, and I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“That would be lovely,” Emmy said, sliding her free hand under the covers to rub Angela’s belly, finding my hand already there. Giving me a wry smile, she laced her fingers with mine. “Our perfect little baby,” Emmy said, love in her voice.

“Our little girl,” Angela agreed, putting a hand on top of ours.

I peeked out the window on my way to the shower and saw that the weather was miserable, a steady rain and heavy clouds making the day dark. Shrugging, I resigned myself to a day of umbrellas and heavy coats. On the plus side, Emmy and Angela looked completely adorable dressed up like that, so that was a positive.

Not for the first time I rued the hotel room’s small shower stall, swearing that my homes would always have showers big enough to hold parties in. As it was, the cubicle was cramped for me and the shower head was low enough that I had to hunker down a bit to wash my hair. Annoying, but typical.

At least the door was clear glass, so I could watch Emmy bathe while I brushed my teeth and did my face. Trust me when I say that was a very good thing. As adorable as Emmy might have been in a scarf and cashmere coat, she was ever so much more beautiful naked, with warm water flowing across her slender body.

I helped dry her off while Angela took her turn in the shower. I marveled at how, six years since our first time showering together, the joy had still not gone out of our silly naked play time.

Of course, I got to towel Angela off, too, adding to my morning’s good mood. Kneeling, I kissed her tummy and wished Angie, Jr a good morning, earning me a sweet, loving smile from Angela. Quickly realizing my strategic error, I immediately turned to Emmy and kissed her tum, wishing even littler Emmy, Jr a good morning. Emmy gave me a knowing smile, but accepted the save.

We were too late for a real breakfast so we got some pastries and coffee from a little corner bakery on the street level of the apartment tower before going up to the top floor.

We were surprised to find a work crew in our apartment, but the feeling was mutual. When I asked what they were doing, the lead guy explained that they had been instructed to clean the penthouse thoroughly, but that mainly seemed to involve vacuuming whatever construction dust had settled on the floor. Thankfully they had gotten most of it done before we arrived, so we didn’t have to wait long until they left.

It was still raining pretty heavily, so we didn’t bother going out onto the patio as we walked around the very much unfinished space. Angela pointed out the area that she thought would be Emmy’s studio, and where my work area would go.

Emmy and I followed along, happy to let Angela take the lead on this. This was to be her place, after all.

Looking down over the main room and out the enormous windows from the upper landing, Angela asked Emmy what she thought, voicing her concerns about the penthouse’s possible nouveau riche stigma.

“Do we care what those people may think?” Emmy asked. “Our girls will honestly be able to call those that may try to shame them ‘new money’. My family has been royalty for well over a thousand years, and your father told me that your family in Colombia traces back to a land grant given by the Reyes Católicos,” she said with a shrug. “Very, very few here can claim similar heritage.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about my ancestry,” I said, teasing.

“I know nothing of your ancestry beyond your grandmother,” Emmy said. “But I am certain it is a long and distinguished family history."

“No doubt,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“So I do not care what may be said about our penthouse here,” Emmy concluded. “All that matters is that we enjoy it.”

“What she said,” I agreed.

Angela sighed, saying, “I do love it. Even on a cold and wet day like today, the view is magnificent. I feel like we’re on top of the world here.”

“Then the matter is finished,” Emmy said. “Make this the house you want it to be, Angie, and don’t concern yourself with anything else.”

“Um, Lee… What’s my budget?” Angela asked, her voice uncertain.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Spend what needs to be spent.”

Angela took a long, pensive look down at the lower floor and through the framing where walls would go on the upper floor. “It will probably be a lot,” she said finally.

“Yes, probably,” I agreed.

Emmy and Angela took naps that afternoon to be ready for the long night ahead. I tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I slipped out of the room with my laptop to find a spot I could get some work done. The front desk directed me to the hotel’s lounge, which I hadn’t known even existed. I found a table that had a wall socket nearby and soon enough I was answering emails, which had really piled up.

None of it was really urgent, but I was still glad that I had some time to catch up. I’d been feeling guilty for letting work slide while I was in London, so this helped ease my mind a bit.

Buried in a redevelopment proposal, I was startled when my phone buzzed in my pocket. “Where are you?” read the text from Angela.

Surprised at how much time had gone by, I slipped my computer into my briefcase and made my way to the room.

“There you are!” Angela said when I entered, looking up from where she was combing Emmy’s hair back in the chair by the vanity. “Emmy has to go soon. There you go, Em,” Angela said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Puzzled by what I was seeing, Emmy’s slicked-back hair didn’t make any sense until she stood up and I could see that she was wearing a man’s Oxford shirt and trousers. She looked very androgynous, but in a completely gorgeous way.

“What do you think?” she asked, slipping on a vest and then a vivid aqua necktie, which she tied quickly and easily, as if she’d been doing it her entire life.

“Honestly?” I said. “I’m a little weirded out by how hot you look right now,” I said.

Laughing, Emmy struck several poses, making exaggeratedly pouty faces for Angela and me.

“Let me guess- your first song tonight is going to be a Bowie tune, right?” I asked.

“Last song,” Emmy admitted with an impish grin.

Angela and I dressed up for the concert that night, since Royal Albert Hall, right? It felt a bit odd to grab a quick bite at a Spanish Tapas restaurant near the hotel dressed as we were, but nobody batted an eye.

Thankfully the rain had stopped by the time we arrived at the venue, so we didn’t have the awkwardness of dealing with an umbrella while waiting in line to enter the hall. When we showed our tickets to the tuxedoed gentleman at the door, he signaled an assistant to come over and walk us to the luxury box where Emmy’s parents waited.

Tabbie was there with five of her college friends, all of them looking a bit ridiculous in their idea of appropriate wear for a night at the Royal Albert Hall. They clearly had never been to the hall before, and were still totally wowed by the very idea of seeing The Downfall play at such a famous and high-class place. They were whispering and pointing around the circular venue, apparently picking out recognizable faces in the crowds slowly filling the seats.

Angela and I took our seats next to Madame et Monsieur Lascaux, after a round of greetings.

“The princess tells me that the tests came back positive,” Emmy’s mom said to Angela, holding her hand. “This is wonderful news. Beyond wonderful! In just a few short months you’ll make a grandmother of me!”

Angela smiled gratefully and self-consciously put her hand on her tummy. “You have no idea what a relief it was to get that email,” she said. “I was so worried.”

“Have you thought of any names yet?”

“Not seriously, no, just- just some ideas, but that’s all.”

While Angela talked to Emmy’s mom, Emmy’s father leaned over to speak quietly to me. “I have been thinking about what you said.”

“What in particular?” I asked, unsure.

“About ambassadors, dialogue between nations, and discarding some of our old ways. I think that with the birth of Émeraude’s child, it will be a time of tumult among our peoples, and that may be our opportunity to open these dialogues.”

“That reminds me,” I said. “Emmy and I have discussed when would be the right time to hold a press conference or whatever to formally introduce the Night Children to the world. We know we can’t wait much longer- there have been too many questions about her looks already.”

“I have wondered if you two had been planning something like that,” he admitted.

“Emmy has some thoughts on how she wants to do it,” I said, accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter. I was amused to see Tabbie and her friends were hesitant to accept the champagne offered to them, but when Mr Lascaux nodded they should do it, they finally took the drinks, giggling and looking nervous.

The five minute chime rang, causing the crowd to flow to their seats with a little more urgency, as we settled into our chairs to watch the show. Tabbie and her friends’ whispering tapered off as the one minute chime rang, and everyone waited expectantly.

Angela took my hand, giving me an excited squeeze as the house lights dimmed and the stage curtain raised.

In an unusual move for a Downfall performance, all three band members (and the extra touring band members, whose names I never learned) were on stage right at the start.

Lee was seated at a concert grand, Emmy leaning casually against the side of the piano. Jackson stood nearby, his bass guitar at the ready, while the touring band guys waited silently for their cues.

As per standard practice, they did start out with a single person playing first, in this case Lee Park. He played for a few minutes by himself, some sort of piano concerto which sounded like a famous classical piece, but I knew that according to the band’s self-imposed rules must have been improvised then and there. Jackson and Emmy listened as Lee played, picking up the feel of the music. When Jackson joined in, his bass blended in with Lee’s piano, and through some sort of musical magic the two found the same wavelength and flowed together as though they’d practiced the piece many times.

Emmy sauntered over to the microphone stand and took the mic in her hand, still listening to the melody and rhythm her two bandmates were developing right there and then.

Taking one last look around, she leaned against the piano and started singing wordlessly, letting the music emanate from her vocal cords however it wanted. I thought of that Pink Floyd song from Dark Side Of The Moon, but it wasn’t really much like that at all except in a general sort of way. The singer in that Pink Floyd song seemed to express regret and anguish, but Emmy’s non-verbal singing seemed to walk a range of emotions from timid uncertainty to hope, and then to confident exultation. Her voice eventually rang out strong and powerful, clear as a trumpet as she sang. It conjured feelings of triumph and victory as the piano and bass rose in a matching crescendo, before suddenly dropping quiet again. Emmy’s voice, barely audible over the other two instruments, sounded tender and sweet, almost cooing, as if to a baby.

Nodding to the other two, she set the mic back in its stand and wandered to the side of the stage to accept her blue acrylic guitar from her guitar tech.

Lee kept playing while she did that, despite the applause from the audience. The crowd wasn’t sure what it had just seen but knew that it was one of a kind and never to be repeated, and completely amazing. While Emmy looped the guitar strap over her head Jackson had stepped up to the upstage mic, and checking to see that Emmy was ready, he nodded to Lee. Lee’s playing changed subtly, sounding less classical concerto and more rock concert.

Plenty of people in the audience recognized the melody before I did, judging by the cheering, but when Jackson sang, “Woooo oooo oah,” in a breathy, sexy voice I finally realized they were doing George Michael’s ‘Father Figure’, the same tune Emmy had sung for me way back when.

Jackson’s voice was well suited to the song, and I thought his rendition did it justice. Accompanied only by Emmy’s subtle electric guitar and Lee’s piano, it was stripped down to the basics, really showing off what an amazing singer Jackson really was.

At some point in the song I realized that the two cameramen wandering the stage had stopped annoying me, as focused as I was on the three principals- enough on Lee, Emmy, and especially Jackson that the rest of it didn’t matter at all and just faded into the background.

When they finished that first song the audience went wild, cheering and clapping like mad. I guess I’d somehow assumed it would be like the audience at an opera at the Met or something, clapping demurely but otherwise quite composed and calm. As it turned out, this wasn’t the case at all.

“It’s easy to forget that Émeraude’s two compatriots are such talents in their own rights,” Emmy’s dad said, leaning close to be heard over the noise Tabbie and her friends were making.

“I know,” I agreed. “Of course I’m mostly focused on her, but the boys are pretty damned incredible, too.”

Lee stayed at the keyboard, leaving the drumming to one of the touring band guys. This altered the way a lot of the songs were played, but it was clear that The Downfall had rehearsed this piano-centric mode plenty. It put a different spin on a lot of the songs, but I really enjoyed the variation, thinking about what Angela had said about not getting tired of seeing them perform because every performance is different.

By the midpoint of the concert Emmy had ditched her vest and removed her tie, tossing them carelessly on her guitar stand. Her top few buttons undone, she was the epitome of relaxed cool, her clear blue guitar slung low on her hip as she played.

The key moment of the concert came during the outro to ‘I Can Only Dream’, when suddenly Emmy’s guitar broke away from the sweet, wistful melody and screeched loudly, making everyone jump in their seats in surprise. She stepped up to the microphone and howled out that strange, animalistic scream from ‘Killer In The Dark’, pretty much giving everyone heart attacks in shock and surprise. Her face a mask of violent anger, she ripped into the screeching, wailing guitar solo, totally shattering the complacent mood of the previous set.

Lee’s piano playing rose to the occasion- heavy, angry chords and fast runs up the keyboard complemented Emmy’s jagged, harsh guitar, while Jackson’s bass filled in the bottom end.

When the song came to its big, explosive end, Emmy smoothed back her hair and stepped up to the microphone, calm as ever.

“Ladies, gentlemen, it is wonderful to have you here tonight,” she said in a perfectly suave and urbane voice, as though the previous five minutes hadn’t happened at all. “We are very pleased to play our music for you here at the Royal Albert Hall. We are The Downfall, all the way from a little place you may have heard of, called California.” This got laughter and some cheering from the audience, which was still reeling from emotional whiplash. “My two brothers and I, we hope you have been enjoying the show so far, but it is time to change things up a bit. It is time for us to get loud!”

I hadn’t noticed that Lee had slipped from the piano bench and taken his stool behind the kit, but when he started into the complex hammering kick drum rhythms of ‘Right Now’ it was hard to miss his style.

If the first half had been relatively light and pleasant and mostly sweeter songs, the second half of the show was much darker and more intense, showcasing the band’s ferocity.

It wasn’t all anger and power chords, though. The last few songs eased up a bit, softening the mood before they finally played the David Bowie song ‘Heroes’, to wild audience applause.

I guess it surprised me that Emmy sang it and not Jackson, but her voice was well suited for it. Midway through, when she sang, “I will be king, and you will be queen,” her voice raised in pitch and somehow gained a sort of desperate urgency, letting everybody know that time was short and things were not likely to come good.

“Just for one day,” Emmy sang, her voice trailing away as the music faded to nothing.

The band waited a long moment, collectively catching their breath, then the house lights came on, signaling the end of the concert.

The audience was silent for a moment, processing what they’d just witnessed, before breaking into thunderous applause. I happened to glance over at Tabbie and her friends, who were almost all in tears, completely wrung out emotionally. I could well understand the feeling, college lectures on catharsis coming to mind.

Looking down at the main audience level, I could see that everyone was standing, but making no moves towards the exits. They were cheering and clapping wildly, giving back a little to the band that had just given them so much.

All of the musicians came to the front of the stage and took their bows while Jackson introduced them each in turn, finishing with, “And of course, the one and only, the incomparable Emmy De Lascaux! Give it up, ladies and gentlemen, for our Emmy!”

Needless to say, the crowd certainly did that, the roar from the audience filling that circular hall with noise.

When the band finally left the stage and people started filtering out, Tabbie approached Mr Lascaux, her eyes still puffy with emotion.

“You giving us those tickets, Mr Lascaux? That was the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said, and I could believe it was true. “I’ll never forget this, ever. Thank you more than I-“ she said, before losing her voice with emotion. Her friends chimed in with their thanks as they grabbed Tabbie and helped her out of the box.

Emmy’s mom had an amused smile on her face, but I could tell it was in sympathy. “The princess has an effect on people that cannot be measured,” she said after Tabbie’s group left.

“That’s true,” Angela said. “I’ve seen it more times than I can count.”

“Are you two going to the after-party?” I asked Emmy’s mom.

“No, we’re having drinks with some old friends tonight,” she replied. “But we would like to see the three of you tomorrow for lunch before we return to Paris.”

“I’d like that,” Angela said, leaning in to give Mrs Lascaux a cheek kiss.

I found an usher to guide us backstage to the dressing room, where the mood was tired but self-satisfied.

“That was an amazing show,” I told Jackson, who had a drink in one hand, his other arm around Sherry’s waist.

“We wanted to do something different, something special,” he said, “And I think we did.”

“You two will come to the afterparty, right? I do not think I could face it alone,” Emmy groaned, wiping her face with a small towel.

“Of course, babe,” I said, as Angela took the towel from Emmy’s hands and used it to clean up Emmy’s face a bit more carefully.

“Thanks,” Emmy said, holding still for Angela’s ministrations.