Ooh, that probably means that we will be able to determine who it is once said nooboo becomes a toddler. Then again, I'm horrible with Twinbrook genetics at this point so I'll most likely be wrong. 
Congrats on the raise! That's pretty awesome!
Not that I really want to make a babydaddy mystery for Amy. You'll see who gets the honors, well, in this update! Even if it's just in passing mention.
Thanks!
Chapter 12: However Much Time
The afternoon started normally. Shark started on another block of ice, and Harwood answered his phone to news of another child being born to a very happy, exhausted Blaise. “I hope you like the name Ben. He looks just like you,” she said.
“What a shame. So do you want to get started on number six?” he asked her, with a weak laugh.
Blaise asked for a day off, just to recover, which Harwood took well at first. He started off the day with a cup of Annette’s coffee, taken straight black, but his caffeine kick wore off by 2 in the afternoon, or so it felt. He felt as tired as, well, any woman that ended up carrying his children. Staring at a sculpting station, he didn’t know whether he felt weightless or heavy enough to collapse right there. Maybe sleep was more valuable than he thought.
“Does that look right, Mr. Clay?” Shark asked, after lopping a whole square foot of ice off one sculpture, leaving half a face on a statue. But no response for a minute, until Shark got an odd one.
As it turned out, Harwood suffered from something a little more dire than a caffeine crash that afternoon.
Once Shark turned his head, he realized what just happened. He ran to Harwood’s side, his face frozen in shock.
“I...I didn’t think it would be so soon,” Shark said. But by that point, his old mentor was silent.
Harwood, however, had a bit of time to speak to the Reaper. Some sims, upon meeting him, dropped to their knees to beg for more time. Some shook his hand. Harwood took the former option, sort of.
“Please take me!” he cried, “I have no idea what Sofia has planned, but this has to be better.”
“I’m always nice to the willing. I hope you know the way back, and that your old wife is not too angry with you.” The Reaper’s voice glided through the air like butter; rumbling and low in tone, but with tranquility beyond a usual human's voice. After those buttery words, Harwood jumped into some path on the road to the afterlife. Maybe to say hello to old friends, or maybe to face that ex-wife he never mentioned.
Amy wiped away one tear, while watching from the hallway through the double glass doors. She never knew Harwood well, whether he lived two houses away or in the next room. However, when they talked, there was a calm sweetness to his words. Maybe she would miss that, even if just for the usual mourning period. But then she got a call. It was Sofia. She and Amy weren't best friends, but she also knew her beyond just knowing that she was one of Harwood's "side projects."
“Hey. How are things?” asked Amy.
“That dirty old man needs to answer his phone,” said Sofia, in an exhausted rage, almost at the point of tears, “I called twice. I could tear his head off right now.”
“Too late.”
“You mean he’s gone? I thought he could adopt the kids and leave me in peace.”
“Wouldn’t happen anyways. But, kids? Like, plural?”
“Twins,” said Sofia, “Hannah and Ignacio. Thank god that my trust fund can cover a nanny.”
“Well, I wish you the best. Bye.” Amy stuffed her phone in her jacket’s inside pocket. A beautiful portrait of Franco sat on the easel’s edge. It was painted in bright amaranth pink, and whatever shades of grey worked best for the little hoodie he wore.
Her work, for the moment, was done. Time to relax. She wrote a message on a sticky note and affixed it to the fridge, where Annette would find it while preparing dinner.
Sleeping over Sinbad’s tonight. Call if something’s wrong. - Amy <3Of course, the full course of events was retold to Annette when she came back from work, but her only response was “wait, Harwood had a wife? She had to have been a real piece of work for him not to ever mention her.” She then stepped into the kitchen to make a few servings of goopy carbonara, his favorite, in his honor.
So the house prepared for a somber, quiet night. Whatever surprise Bill had in mind, he and Annette agreed that maybe it would be best to hold it off until the next day.
Besides, spending more time taking care of Franco that night sounded like a decent trade-off to Annette.
She was pretty tired of changing diapers, after all.
Franco learned, but the persistent pout and downward, morose stare stuck with him. Maybe even he grieved for the loss of the family sculptor. Who else would attack him with the claw between posing for sculptures, after all?
But even in a grieving household, Annette kept a smile.
Nothing made her happier than seeing her two favorite men bonding, with Bill tenderly smiling at their son after a snuggle. Whatever he had planned to make it up to Annette for the infidelity wasn’t even needed at that point. Her heart melted into a warm puddle again. She still fell asleep within minutes when next to Bill and his cuddly softness. He still thanked her each day for the amazing breakfast before work, or how she made pasta
al dente for dinner.
With that, why make it up to her? Why even change at all?
The next day, however, he texted Annette at work, telling her to meet him at the fishing hole once her shift ended. In spite of still feeling greasy and smelling ever so slightly of bacon, thanks to the weird “plate full of bacon” order they got that night, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her collared undershirt and headed towards the pond. A few flakes of snow started to fall over Twinbrook.
By the time she saw Bill, the whole place was coated with thick snow.
“Does it always start this early in the season?” she asked him.
“Every time,” he said, “I never really appreciated the snow, but it looks lovely tonight. Like you.”
“Alright, if you’re standing outside to do something, you’re definitely feeling sorry. Even when you don’t need to.”
“I mean, it’s nice that you forgive, but I know you had something in mind.” Bill glanced over to the far end of the deck, to the wedding arch that Annette bought during her renovations. It was made of pale wood and surrounded by dormant or dying flowers.
She followed his gaze. “Oh. You’re not-” But she was cut off as soon as Bill got down on one knee.
“I am,” he said, drawing a dark jewelry box out of his pocket.
“I bet you never thought I would do this! But Annette Waverly, will you finally get me to commit?” He presented her with a shining, thin gold band, with one small diamond set in the center. And it fit on her left ring finger perfectly.
“Did you measure my ring size while I slept, or something?” she asked.
“I didn’t want you to ask questions.”
Annette covered her mouth, to cover the goofy, toothy smile that only her commitmentphobic boyfriend proposing to her could produce.
“I don’t even care at this point! I actually have a nice dress in the changing room. Put on a tie and we can do this right now.”
“Right now?” he asked, apprehensive, silent for a minute, until a snowflake fell on the tip of his nose. He noticed Twinbrook blanketed in virgin snow and pure beauty. Even better, he noticed his new fiancee’s goofy, gorgeous smile.
“Right now will do.” Annette barely heard those words before she bolted to the changing room. And unlike many brides, she went from casual to wedding-perfect in the same amount of time it took for Bill to throw on a blazer and fumble with tying a tie.
Without any parents to give them away, or any legal witnesses for that matter, the two walked down the aisle anyways. Bill beamed at his bride and the beautiful white dress that she never told him about.
“Alright, I know that I’ve been a very bad person,” said Bill, as he picked up the other ring he bought for Annette. “But I vow to be the best husband you could ask for. For however much longer we have together.”
Annette still kept her dopey smile, but the last sentence of his vows almost wiped it away.
“And I vow to make you happy, even with this strange life I chose.” As she slipped the ring on her groom’s finger, her sad blue eyes look at him. Her face melted into a dejected frown. “For however much longer we have left,” she sighed. But Bill took her hands and kept smiling.
“We’ll make the most of it,” he said.
Annette looked him in the face again, with every feature so lovely under all the torches and lights. With those beautiful grey eyes locked on hers.
“We will.”
And with Annette’s first Twinbrook snowstorm further piling the white powder all over town, they started to make the most of every precious moment.
Though she had a little surprise tucked into her pointless garter belt, for after Bill decided that he had enough of the outdoors. Before she could take it out, he went home to feed Sagebear and take a long nap.
“I kind of wish you could see me up there,” she whispered. “You always said that I deserved someone nice.”
She never said their name, but whoever it was, they had fireworks over Twinbrook and a public disturbance fine to honor them that night. I myself always thought that she set off the firecrackers for the dearly departed Harwood, but then again, when did he ever say a word to her about deserving someone nice?
Word Count for this chapter:
1,650]Word Count so far :
19,231Revised on 2-5-2015Harwood died. News at 11?
Okay, I'm really that numb to his death. Why should I be sad at this point? Harwood produced three museum pieces and thrice as many illegitimate children, and accumulated more than enough LTHP for an obelisk. Job well done.
