This high-fluff Tony & Michelle story picks up where "Love at First Date" leaves off. Enjoy, and please review! I love hearing from you! xxxooo

LAFD EPILOGUE

Chapter 3: The Interrogation

"They're here already? But you weren't scheduled to arrive for at least another hour, darling. I'm not even through dressing!" Amanda sputtered, horrified by the realization that she'd committed the unforgivable social atrocity of not having been present to properly greet her husband's clients at the door.

"I have a wonderful surprise for you, sweetheart," Jim Almeida grinned, taking his wife by the forearms and sweeping her up from the dainty upholstered bench she would always perch herself upon when checking her hair, affixing her earrings and dabbing herself with the sweet Parisian perfume he had kept her well-stocked in for decades now.

"Why, aren't you frisky this evening," Amanda gasped in surprise as her husband's powerful arms swept her in for a wholly unexpected, deep and passionate kiss: the type he generally reserved for Saturday evenings after having recuperated on the golf course from a grueling week of nonstop travel and power-meetings; the type of kiss that set the tone for a long night of champagne and romance. "That must have been quite a successful trip today," she purred, somewhat dazed by the mixture of sensuality and raw masculinity that her husband's embraces never failed to deliver.

"You're a little overdressed, sweetheart," he mentioned, smoothing a hand down, around and across her magnificent form. "Wear one of those pretty daytime things of yours…"

"I thought my red dress was your favorite," she cooed against his cheek, conducting a quick mental inventory and deciding which sinfully silky nightgown to don for him after the work-side of their evening was over.

"It is, but our guests are dressed informally," he informed her, releasing her from his embrace and placing her back on her upholstered bench.

"Wh— well, who are we entertaining, darling? You didn't even say," she frowned in confusion, now wondering if she should be wearing her hair up or down, and whether Carré d'agneau a la Provençale was even appropriate cuisine for daytime attire.

"You'll see," her excessively cheery husband teased, stripping his suit jacket off in preparation for his usual quick change into the fresh shirt she would always lay out on their bed, whenever they had a full evening of entertaining before them. "I had them escorted to the third-floor suite, to freshen up before cocktails."

"Cocktails! You hadn't even mentioned cocktails, darling! Does Rosa even—"

"I called her from the car. Everything's fine..."

"Would you mind too terribly just checking on things, all the same, darling? You know how it upsets her to have her schedule thrown off like that, and two of the waiters the agency sent over are completely new to the household."

"Will do. You just hurry up making yourself beautiful," he said, catching her diamond-encrusted wrist as she flew past him on her way to her dressing room. "Oh, and, uhh… I want to see you back in this dress tonight," he softly ordered, pressing a final gentle kiss against her ear before unhanding her.

Knotting his tie as he made his way down the foyer's semi-circular staircase, he spied Olivia racing at lightening speed up the other side.

"You… down to the drawing room. Your mother will be there in a minute," Jim Almeida instructed her. "And why aren't you in a dress?"

"I'll change, Daddy, but first I just wanna tell Michelle about the two tickets I got for —"

"This instant," Jim Almeida's eyebrow firmly cut her off.

She sulked, climbing the few remaining steps as if planning to head to her room, but then taking a running detour in the opposite direction the moment her father had reached the bottom of the staircase and turned the corner, toward the kitchen.

After tearing up the remaining staircase to the third floor, and down the hallway to the door at the end, Olivia decided to politely knock rather than kick it down in unbridled excitement, desperate to share her thrilling news with Michelle.

"Christie Turlington is holding a seminar, from one to three-thirty, this Saturday on the mezzanine level of Blommingdales!" her natural-born whispery voice shrieked out before the door had even fully opened.

"Wait, what?" Michelle reared back at the unexpected sight of the two tickets Olivia was wildly waving in front of her face.

"Daddy says I have to change and get down to the drawing room, but please tell me you'll go," she breathlessly begged, thrusting one of the tickets into Michelle's hand, making curious note of the other hand that she seemed to be trying to conceal behind her back. "Please, please, please don't make other plans. We'll actually get to meet her, Michelle! This could be my big opportunity!"

Olivia's stunning facial features would require no "big opportunity," Michelle knew. Christie Turlington's own agent would throw the world-renowned supermodel straight under a bus in a New York heartbeat for a chance to sign Olivia L.H. Almeida to an exclusive contract.

"Who are those ladies?" Olivia asked, her whispery voice dropping an octave as she gazed over Michelle's shoulder and into the room.

"They're my aunts. They're visiting from Maine," Michelle said as Aunt Hildie softly padded her way to the door, radiating a beaming smile.

"Why, who is this beautiful young girl, kitten?" she asked her niece, extending her arms out to Olivia, who was instantly enchanted by the utterly adorable, highly feminine woman's excellent taste in circa-1950's seniorwear.

"Aunt Hildie, this is Olivia, Tony's sister," Michelle said in a slightly elevated voice, which she hated having to use these days to compensate for her dear aunt's hearing problem. It made her feel like she was yelling, which is the last thing she would ever do with her lifelong-saintly aunt, who had showered her with unconditional love and kindness through all the years.

"Do you live in the hotel, sweetheart?" Aunt Hildie sweetly asked Olivia, taking her by the hand and guiding her inside the room.

"Uhh…"

"It's not a hotel, Aunt Hildie. This is where Tony's family lives, remember?" Michelle lovingly repeated for the third time since she had first entered the room to find her aunt unpacking her suitcase and marveling over the accommodations. But she could tell Aunt Hildie wasn't really absorbing her words, already having engulfed the teenaged beauty in a warm embrace.

Olivia was beside herself, completely enthralled by the immense outpouring of sweetness and affection that seemed to flow so naturally and freely from the fragile little lady. She was so much more the age of a grandmother than an aunt, and never having known her own grandmothers, Olivia immediately wanted to keep her.

As Aunt Gert made her reentry from the bedroom on the left into the main livingroom suite, she was rendered equally startled by the breathtaking beauty her eyes beheld.

"Why, aren't you just the loveliest thing in the world!" she exclaimed. "Why, you're just as lovely as our Michelle was at your age!"

"This is Tony's sister, Olivia," Michelle repeated, half-blushing and -beaming over her ever-supportive aunt's thoroughly absurd, though typically loving, assessment.

"My goodness, when is the last time you've eaten, sweetheart?" Aunt Gert backed up a step and inquired in concern, repositioning Olivia just far enough away to conduct a head-to-toe inspection of the girl's emaciated frame.

"Olivia has a little trouble keeping weight on, is all, but we're working on that," Michelle informed her aunt, catching Olivia's eye with a wink.

"Well, you'll come to our Michelle's apartment, where we'll be staying for the next couple of weeks, and I'll bake you a nice a pie," Aunt Gert decided, under no uncertain terms, convinced that there was no eating disorder — or any other malady, for that matter — that a nice homemade fresh-fruit pie couldn't help to cure.

"Would you like me to take you to the zoo?" Aunt Hildie volunteered, for reasons unknown to all in the room except, seemingly, Olivia, whose exotic eyes instantly doubled in size and illuminated with wild excitement.

"I love the zoo! My brother used to take me all the time when I was little, and buy me cotton candy and ice cream. And he even let me eat the peanuts he got for the monkeys. And Daddy always got mad at him because I could never eat dinner, from being so stuffed," Olivia squealed as loudly as her whispery voice could project, suddenly experiencing the oddest sensation that she could've sworn felt just like hunger. "Do models eat cotton candy, or is that off-limits?" she spun around and quickly checked with Michelle, her eyes oozing with hope.

"Yes, and peanuts and ice cream, too. Like I was telling you, Olivia, it's all a matter of mathematics," she warmly reiterated. "And don't forget that you've still got ten pounds to gain, so now is the time to go crazy with yourself."

"Can my brother come along?" Olivia immediately turned back to Aunt Hildie and breathlessly asked, suddenly fearing that cotton candy might not taste the same without him there.

"Why, of course, sweetheart. He can be our driver," the tiny woman cheerily replied, compelling Michelle to stifle a blast of laughter at the mental image of Aunt Hildie clinging to one of Tony's hands all day long, with Olivia surely glued the other, given her lifelong discomfort with crowds.

"We should really be getting ourselves downstairs," Michelle suddenly realized, bringing her wrist up, to check her watch.

"Oh, my godddddddd!" Olivia screeched, instantly identifying the turned-backwards routine on Michelle's official ring finger and making a running bolt for the door.

"Olivia! Wait! No—Olivia!" Michelle called after her, hoping she hadn't just ruined everything, after all the trouble her future father-in-law had gone through to create a surprise announcement for the family.

"Oh, my godddddddd!" Olivia screeched again, this time eyeing her brother making his turn into the hallway from the staircase. "That's an engagement ring she's wearing! She's got it twisted backwards on her finger! I can tell!" she excitedly enthused, racing at rocket speed and jumping up on him, scissoring her legs around his waist to lock herself firmly in place. With tiny arms tightly wrapped around his neck, she gave his cheek a long, exaggerated smooch. "I can't believe you did it! You actually did it!"

"Yeah, well, just don't let on to Mom, y'hear? We're gonna tell her tonight, over dinner," he said, shuddering from how scary-little weight Olivia's body had added to his stride.

"Oh, god, I just can't belieeeeeeeve this!" she gasped, barely able to contain her extreme joy. "I can't believe Michelle is gonna be my sister! And I'm getting new aunts, too, and I already love the crazy one. Did you meet her yet?"

"Yeah, I met her," he mumbled, continuing his gloomy walk down the hallway with Olivia dangling and chattering away as he labored to mentally rehearse his Almeida-mandatory formal request for Michelle's hand in marriage.

"And you two are gonna have kids, too, right? I'm gonna be an aunt, myself, right?" she checked, hugging her cheek against his.

"Just —one step at a time, huh?" he winced, uncomfortable with the thought of Olivia visualizing him making babies. Just hearing the word "babies" always seemed to provoke a snapshot in his head of said baby-makers going at it. His last flash-vision of Petey and Sarina had left him feeling somewhat ill.

"I love you, Bruce," Olivia breathlessly cooed, now smothering his cheek in exaggerated kisses, accompanied by exaggerated sound effects, which sent an instant pang to his heart, reminding him of all the months he had gone without her comical kisses while engaged in full-scale warfare with her, over her purging practices.

"Yeah, yeah," he drawled as he arrived at the door, signaling the end of the conversation with a firm love pat to what very little patting area she even possessed, then prying her leg-lock loose and dropping her onto her feet. "Listen… I'm gonna have my eye on you at the table tonight, y'hear? I wanna see you actually eating something, Olivia," he forewarned her, his hands still in the state of shock from how painfully thin her legs had felt inside his grip. He'd been tempted, for a moment, to see if he could touch his finger and thumb together around a thigh, but had stopped himself for fear of the highly likely possibility, which he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with, just now.

"Rosa is making a recipe for me that I found in Mademoiselle. I've gone vegetarian," she proudly announced, deciding not to share her future sister-in-law's revelation about eating anything in the world she wanted through the weight-gaining process, knowing her brother would only go overboard and push things on her that she didn't like.

"Yeah, well, you clear that vegetarian business with Michelle first. She knows about that kinda stuff," he sternly insisted, nervously loosening his tie a little. "I don't want you inadvertently putting yourself on a weight-loss diet and not even knowing it… Oh, and that boyfriend of yours had better show up at the table in a suit," he added. "These are Michelle's aunts…"

"I know, I know," Olivia joyously squealed all over again, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him, tightly.

"And you go get yourself into a dress," he added.

"Daddy already told me," she cooed into his chest, barely able to contain her thrill over the thought of all the upcoming wedding-related shopping and parties, and all the fun chores her mother would undoubtedly be assigning to her.

"Well, how 'bout obeying him, for once, huh?" he grumbled, kissing her forehead. "Go on," he said, turning her in an about-face direction and wiping the lip gloss from his cheek as he watched her speedily whoosh down the hallway.

He cleared his throat and took in a deep breath before rapping his knuckles against the door, relieved that Michelle was the one to answer. Peering over her shoulder to ensure that everyone in there was dressed, he quickly pulled her a few steps into the hallway and out of the ladies' view, then kissed her long and hard against the wall.

"Exactly how many drinks have you had already?" she gasped after a dizzying moment, wondering if she should owe her lightheadedness to his kiss or the remnants of Scotch that had transferred itself from his tongue to hers.

"Look, umm… I need a minute alone with your aunts, okay?" he asked with heavy eyes and a soft voice. "My Dad is making me ask them for your hand in marriage…"

"You're such a romantic," she softly chuckled to forlorn eyes, begging for her sympathy as though they were owned by a gladiator, preparing to walk himself into the lion's den. "They're just two very sweet old ladies, remember," she gently coached him, watching him bring her hand up and twist her ring around, delivering a light kiss to the diamond before returning it to its upside-down position. "I can tell they already love you, honey. Just remember to be polite."

"Uh-huh," he mindlessly agreed, his attention span compromised by his final mental review of the words he had hastily thrown together.

"Umm, Aunt Gert? Aunt Hildie? You've got company," Michelle announced over her shoulder before giving his hand a reassuring squeeze and quickly disappearing down the hallway.

"Oh," Aunt Gert said as he entered the suite, sounding somewhat disappointed that it wasn't Jim Almeida.

"Yeah, umm… Yeah, listen, ladies, I, umm…" he mumbled as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the couch beside the older aunt, deciding to offer his hand, figuring he might as well save her the time and trouble of fumbling for it herself. "So, umm— see, about this trip out here to meet my family… Umm… Well, there's a little more to it than that. Y'see..."

"You're here to ask for our Michelle's hand in marriage," Aunt Gert interjected, beating him to the punch and getting straight down to business. "From the minute we stepped off the plane, she's been trying to hide that engagement ring she's got turned around on her finger… What was that airline, anyway, young man? We plan on flying it to wherever we vacation, from now on."

"Oh, uhh… yeah, well, if I know my Dad, I'm sure you will," he said with an inward smile, certain that every future flight-to-wherever would come replete with two Black Suits, pre-trained at getting old ladies off the airstairs, and under strict orders to usher them around, safely, wherever they wished to go.

"Are you the one who manhandled our Danny last week, at that horrid place where our Michelle works?" Aunt Gert abruptly switched topics on him. "I want the truth..."

"I, uhh…" Tony stammered, off guard, his inward smile immediately wiping itself off his inner face. "I really didn't have much choice in the matter, ma'am," he stated. "Y'see, I was standing right there when the incident occu—"

"He told me you ordered that he be sedated," Aunt Gert continued, her arms firmly crisscrossed and her foot beginning to impatiently tap out a rhythmic beat against the thick carpeting.

"Well, I… It's protocol, y'see, when an altercation—"

"He's not supposed to have drugs," Aunt Gert sternly informed him.

"Will you take us to the zoo?" Aunt Hildie politely interrupted, wanting to lock in the driving arrangements while the upcoming excursion was still fresh in her mind.

"Wh— Huh?" he stammered, feeling his head involuntarily jerk back in response to the bizarre request.

"What about diseases?" Aunt Gert firmly moved on.

"Ma'am?" he responded, his head snapping in the stern one's direction this time, seemingly on autopilot now.

"Diseases. You'll forgive my forwardness, but Hildie and I are well-versed on the subject of the younger generation, which is plagued these days by social diseases," she reported, recalling how shocked she and her sister had been by the statistics presented a few years back, on Oprah.

"No— no, I'm good, ma'am. They run field-ready agents through mandatory blood work every month," he sputtered, inadvertently opening the door for even more CTU conversation, which he'd promised Michelle he wouldn't get into.

"So you would be able to present documentation of this, upon request?"

"I, uhh…Well, yeah, I guess, if ya like. Michelle's seen the paperwork, though. You can ask her yourself. But, really, ma'am, I'm perfectly healthy. I've hardly ever been sick, except for the chicken pox when I was a kid, and a couple of bulle— What I mean to say is—"

"And about that job of hers, young man, we expect you to purchase a house and start a family so our Michelle can feel free to retire from that horrid institution and raise her children in the safety of her home."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, remembering Michelle's advice last week, to just "yes" his mother to death, as she had spent her life doing with her aunts.

"Stand up, young man," Aunt Gertie directed.

"Uhh…" he hesitated, though already on his feet, not quite sure as to how he had landed there, but safely assuming that his growing nervousness around this woman had probably had something to do with it. He suddenly found himself beginning to pray that he made it out of there without being thrown up against the wall and frisked for contraband. He was also beginning to wonder exactly how long ago Danny had taken up his drinking hobby.

The old woman took her time circling around him, slowly looking him over and nodding, seemingly in approval, which he assumed was a good sign until he felt her hand press against his 9mm, holstered to his side, beneath his jacket.

"There'll be no guns in the house, with the children."

"No guns," he replied, merely repeating the woman's own words, therein stealthily skirting around any unequivocal agreement on his own part, recalling his Mom's crafty technique, as generously outlined by his Dad last weekend.

"Well, then, since our Michelle is clearly in love and has apparently agreed to the marriage, and since your father certainly seems like a man who knows how to raise a son right," she concluded, motioning him to stoop down for a kiss on the cheek, "you have our permission."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll take good care of her. You have my word," he guaranteed her.

"Well, just be certain that you do, because if you break her heart, you'll have Hildie and me to contend with," Aunt Gert informed him in a deadly serious tone that assured him he had better believe that she meant business.

"Can I go now?" he thought he should ask, just to be on the safe side.

"Do your parents own the hotel, or just run things?" Aunt Hildie's little voice chimed in from behind him as she struggled to rise from the couch, with purse in hand, ready to be escorted downstairs for her cocktail now.

He felt oddly relieved this time, in a protected sort of way, as she took his hand and walked with him to the door, pausing momentarily as Gertie scrambled to find her own purse.

"It's, uhh… it's actually more of a luxury bed-and-breakfast. And, yeah, they own it," he said in a lowered voice, figuring he wasn't technically implanting the idea of a hotel stay in her head, since she had been the one to bring it up — although fully prepared to help her unpack later on, if she were to somehow get it into her head to do so.

Grateful to find two of his Dad's Black Suits on the other side of the door, waiting to accompany the ladies in the elevator, Tony politely excused himself and beat it down the hallway and three flights of stairs, relieved to find Michelle waiting at the door of the drawing room with a Scotch she had already poured for him.

"How did it go? Did you have a nice chat?" she inquired, with a sweet, soothing smile.

"Geeziz, Michelle, that one in the blue flowers would've made a good cop," he snarled, quickly commandeering the Scotch and reaching for a fistful of hors d'oeuvres passing by on a tray.

"Well, she's the strict one, honey," Michelle gently reminded him.

"No kidding," he growled. "Ya might wanna mention that I've been vetted by the FBI, Homeland Security and the Defense Department. She worked me over in there like I was some kinda threat to the whole of humanity."

"She's just feeling you out, dear. She had hardly even heard your name before I called, just a few days ago, let's remember. And then, suddenly, there you are, talking about marriage…"

"She already knew about that, incidentally," he mentioned, feeling his blood pressure beginning to return to somewhat normal levels after downing the Scotch in a single swig. "She pinned that backwards-ring out at the airport. Which reminds me, you'd better give me that, because Olivia also figured it out, which means my Mom is gonna know the second she walks in the room."

"I'll be sure to keep it out of sight this time. Really, dear," she promised.

"Yeah, well, that didn't work out too well with Olivia, did it, now," he gently pointed out, reaching for her hand to remove the ring.

"No, I'll— look, I'll just stand with my hand behind my back a little, like this. See, honey?" she demonstrated, striking a casual pose, which instantly reminded him of how female Secret Service agents looked when trying to blend in at presidential galas: always in a two-piece formal getup, with one hand glued to the drink they never sipped; the other lingering slightly behind them somewhere, ever perched to pull the weapon tucked into the skirt-part of their gown.

He nevertheless acquiesced with a sigh, deciding on the spot, however, that as long as everyone would soon be gathered in the drawing room, with toast-ready drinks in their hands anyway, he would dispense with waiting for dinner and just make the announcement there and then, the second the formal introductions with the aunts and his Mom had been made.

"The Suits are bringing them down now, so you just— just run interference for me with the blue-flowered one, will ya, please? I thought she was gonna strip-search me up in that room, for cryin' out loud," Tony continued on with his rant. "You don't know the third-degree she put me through, Michelle…"

"Did CTU come up?"

"Of course it came up. Guns came up. Blood-testing came up. Oh, and you're having children right way, I hope you don't mind."

"Don't let yourself get all upset, honey. They live clear on other side of the country. We'll decide, ourselves, when it's time to have children."

"Yeah, well, between my mother and your aunt, we might as well hit the deck and get started on it right now," he complained, surprised by the gush of emotions that had unexpectedly overwhelmed him upon realizing that they were having their first conversation about kids, albeit a heated one.

"Just calm yourself down, dear," Michelle suggested, dragging a soothing hand down his arm. "This is no way to start the evening…"

After momentarily rethinking her choice of the vintage Pucci belted shift, which somehow managed to make her legs appear even longer and lankier with just the right two-and-a-quarter-inch heel, Amanda Almeida took a final, hurried minute to switch out her diamonds for pearls and rework her up-do into a casual down-do, with a playful flip, before whisking herself out of her bedroom and down the staircase, utterly dying to finally see who these mystery clients of her husband's were.

Greeting his wife outside the drawing room door with a cold martini in hand, as always, Jim offered his arm, told her how stunning she looked, and meant it, and guided her into the room, having to search no further than his son's expression to know where the tiny ladies could be found. Suppressing laughter at the sight of Aunt Hildie already attached to Tony's hand, Jim Almeida led his mystified wife up to the tightly huddled group.

"Sweetheart, if I might introduce you to our guests, Misses Gertrude and Hildegard Dessler," he smiled. "Ladies, may I present my wife, Amanda Almeida?"

"Oh! Oh!" Amanda gasped, completely shocked to suddenly find herself in the presence of the two saints who had given her future daughter-in-law a loving home after having been so tragically ripped from her dear mother's arms, when only an infant.

"Amanda Almeida!" Aunt Gertie gasped. "The Amanda Almeida?" she double-checked, in sheer disbelief, completely shocked to suddenly find herself in the presence of the celebrated "West Coast hostess of the mostest," whom she and Hildie had been reading about in the society section of better magazines for going on ages, now.

"You took little Michelle into your home," Amanda struggled to force out the words while holding back a floodgate of tears, her husband grabbing her martini glass just in the nick of time as she thrust her arms out to the ladies.

"You entertained the Dalai Lama, June fourteenth of 2007!" Aunt Gert's tiny voice croaked in awe as she wrapped her arms around Amanda's wrapped arms. Tony and his Dad stared at each other, then at Michelle, who was bursting with joy over the instantaneous mutual-admiration society forming between her aunts and mother-in-law-to-be.

"Oh, I must have him back so you can meet him! He's a charming man, and so insightful," Amanda assured Aunt Gert as Tony seized the moment to liberate himself of Aunt Hattie, steering her into the cackling gaggle.

"You know, Mrs. Almeida, this is all beginning to make perfect sense to me, now. When Hildie and I were upstairs before— "

"'Amanda,' darling. I absolutely insist…"

"'Gertie' and 'Hildie'," Aunt Gert cheerily insisted back. "Amanda, darling, this explains why I felt so completely acquainted with the breathtaking chandelier in your upstairs suite… and the oil rendering of early Bel Air, and — my goodness, I thought I was experiencing déjà vu — but even the piping on the settee cushions," she elaborated, in amazement, recalling the wholesale comfort and keen familiarity she had instantly felt upon approaching the estate, as though she had visited before.

"Why, darling, you must have seen it in Town & Country magazine. They did a perfectly lovely feature only a few months ago," Amanda beamed in delight.

"That's it, of course! I just couldn't quite put my finger on it!" Aunt Gert gasped in mental relief, the puzzle pieces finally fitting together. "Hildie, you remember viewing the feature piece of the two-bedroom suite, that night at the kitchen table, when Eleanor Porter was over, don't you?" she asked her sister, though knowing the chances were close to nil, what with her dear Hildie's bouts of memory loss these days, the progression of which had been mercifully slow but heart-wrenchingly noticeable, all the same. "Why, Amanda, we went over every detail in that feature, for an entire hour. In all our travels, I can't say that we've ever encountered a bedroom suite as finely designed. Isn't that right, Hildie?"

"I've never seen a bed-and-breakfast quite so grand," Aunt Hildie sincerely agreed, with a beaming smile, thoroughly enjoying her Tom Collins and glancing around for the nearest waiter.

"Well, then, I absolutely insist you stay the weekend, darling!"

"Here?" Aunt Gertie sputtered in shock as Tony's eyebrows shot up.

"Why, of course, darling! I'll have Rosa assign one of her staff to unpack while we're dining. And later this evening, I'll show you my new grandchildren, right in the cottage behind the house!"

"Babies?" Aunt Hildie turned and gasped, her full attention to the conversation now suddenly and instantaneously restored.

"Two of them, darling. And brand new, as well. I only got them last weekend!"

With a shake of his head and a nod of his chin, Jim Almeida instructed his lead Black Suit to take the martini glass and situate himself at his wife's side, then turned to his son and future daughter-in-law.

"Can I freshen anyone's drink?" he offered in a low mumble, nodding in the direction of the estate's rear patio, knowing full-well it would be awhile before any of them would be able to get a word in with the gleeful threesome, and God only knowing how long dinner would inevitably be placed on hold.

The sun was on its last legs, and the stars were beginning to show themselves, as they stepped outside in single file, fresh drinks in hand and spreading out toward the cluster of richly upholstered loungers and wingback chairs.

"Well, so far so good, I would say, Mr. Almeida," Michelle beamed, kicking off the conversation with a delighted assessment of the way the evening had progressed, thus far.

"Come sit with me, little lady," Jim Almeida said, patting the empty space of the double-lounger, where his wife would stretch out every night when they stargazed for a few moments, before turning in.

Tony planted himself in the wingchair adjacent to the double-lounger, stretching his legs out and drinking in the heartwarming sight of Michelle nestling into his Dad's embrace.

"Now, tell me… what did you say your father's first name was?" Jim Almeida inquired once Michelle had comfortably snuggled in.

"Adam," she shyly replied, delighting in how natural it felt to be wrapped up in his fatherly embrace, as though he had been doing so since the day she was born.

"Adam…" he repeated, pausing as if lost in thought while investing a brief few moments gazing up at the star-speckled sky. "Well, Mr. Adam Dessler," he addressed the heavens, "since it seems that I'm the lucky man whose family you've selected to have your lovely daughter join, I wonder if you would allow me the honor of permitting her to call me 'Dad' from this point forward. Hmm?"

Michelle felt herself well up, a knot instantly forming in her throat. With a quick glance from the corner of her eye, she noticed that Tony was engaging in a flash-flood battle of his own.

"Well, then, Adam, 'Dad' it is," Jim Almeida politely concurred after a moment of pretending to thoughtfully digest the response from above, wrapping his cosmic conversation up with a sealed agreement to look after the man's daughter, in return, and love her as much he did his own. "There, now, young lady, you heard your father. It's 'Dad' from here on in."

"Yes, Dad," Michelle giggled through misty eyes, feeling a teardrop about to spill against her earthly father's tie as he leaned in and planted a light kiss against her forehead.

"Next on the agenda… what would you say to your aunts staying with the Almeidas for awhile, hmm? You two could probably stand some alone time, since you're not gonna see much more of it once that Francois guy arrives with his weddingmobile in the morning," he pointed out, recalling the mayhem of the weekend before. "Plus, while you're putting in full days at CTU, I'm sure your aunts would probably like to participate in the wedding planning."

"It'll save you the trouble of hauling them over here every morning, at the crack of dawn, honey," Tony exploded into the conversation, shooting his Dad the world's most eternally grateful look, vowing to pay him back someday, somehow, though having no idea of what he could possibly do to return the favor. His Dad's eyes responded with the suggestion that he give some thought to the fact that it was actually his mother who had extended the invitation to the aunts, in the drawing room; that he was seeing, with his own eyes, yet another perfect example of the little things his mother would do, which tended to go unnoticed by him.

"I really hadn't even thought about the transportation," Michelle replied, her brow creasing as she conducted a quick mental review of how upcoming daily events were likely to play out. "That would spare my aunts of having to rise-and-shine so early, before the realtors start showing the apartment. And so much of the big furniture is gone, including the armoire in their room..."

"When's the last time I told you I love, Dad?" Tony's eyes telepathically inquired as he rose from his seat and made room for himself on his father's other side. "So, what do ya say, honey?" he asked in real words this time, reaching across his Dad and twisting the ring into the upward position, seeing if he could get the sparkle to interact with the starlight, wishing he could send some kind of morse-coded message to Adam, to thank him for creating Michelle and saving her for him. "You can come straight here from work everyday, too, while I go home and feed your cat…"

"He's gonna be our cat soon," Michelle gently reminded him as Jim Almeida struggled to refrain from chuckling.

"Uh-huh," Tony lied, in complete agreement. "And your aunts can spend all day long getting to know Olivia and Mom and Sarina — and the babies, let's not forget. Did ya happen to notice how Aunt Hattie lit up when she heard about them?"

Michelle thought for a few quiet moments.

"So what do you think, little lady?" Jim Almeida asked after a respectful passage of time.

"I think…" Michelle replied, her eyes still slightly squinting as she completed the logistical computations in her head. "I think I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Alme—"

"Dad…" her earthly father gently corrected her.

"Dad," Michelle repeated, a fresh layer of mist beginning to coat her eyes.

"Daddy! Call him Daddy, like I do!" a whispery shriek roared up from behind them. "Oh, my godddddddd," Olivia squealed, leaping on top of them and landing with a featherweight thud, then seizing Michelle's hand to finally inspect the diamond she had attempted to steathily conceal. "I can't believe this is happening! When are we gonna tell Mommy?"

"You're not telling her anything," Tony quickly reminded her. "Michelle and I are gonna be the— "

The moment was shattered by his-and-her cell phones jangling in harmony: a telltale sign that an event important enough to necessitate all hands onsite had presented itself at CTU.

"Good frickin' lord," Tony bellowed, quickly darting his eyes upward with all proper apologies to his celestial father-in-law's boss. "Almeida," he barked into his phone while Michelle professionally spoke into hers. "Wait… what?" he said, eyes squinting in confusion. "Mrs. Sanchez, I can't understand what you're—huh? ... Well, what are ya even doing there? You're supposed to be off today…"

His ears zeroed in on Michelle's end of the conversation upon hearing her invoke Mrs. Goebels's name, whose voice was echoing through his own phone amid what sounded like a multi-lingual screamfest going down at his apartment.

"Mrs. Sanchez, just stay — just stay right there, huh? I'm on my way, all right?" he groused, firmly clapping the phone shut and scrambling to his feet. "Honey, I'll take care of this," he said, whatever in the world "this" even was, from what little intel he was able to gather, with all the Spanish and German and English transmitting through crackling cell waves bouncing off the hills of Bel Air. "Dad, tell Mom not to hold up dinner, or anything. I'll get back as soon as— "

"I'm coming with you," Michelle insisted, praying to God that whatever was going on, Fluff-Fluff had had the wherewithal to take cover beneath one of the beds.

"What's this about, chief?" Jim Almeida queried, now on his feet, himself, prepared to round up the Suits, should backup be required.

"Nothing, Dad," Tony assured him, beside himself with aggravation as he pulled Michelle onto her feet. "Just housekeeper business," he reported, shooting a firm fair-warning glare at his fiancé, as if to suggest that one of said housekeepers might well be handed her walking papers tonight.