Page 118 of Dial F for Finance

“You are an amazing wife, Jenna Pemberton-Cruz.” He says it low, for just the two of us, and it short-circuits my ability to remain composed.

I can’t help the smile. “You do OK with the husband thing yourself.”

“No, I’m terrible at it,” he says, straight-faced. “I keep violating basic marital protocol. I want to tell everyone you’re my wife even when it’s not strictly on the agenda.”

I snort, which he pretends to take as a grave affront, narrowing his eyes and pulling me even closer.

“You don’t mind?” he says, barely above a whisper.

I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling like an idiot. “I showed Hailey our wedding photo. The one from Tokyo, with the confetti. She started crying. But she agrees that introducing you to our mother is going to be the worst day of all our lives. So maybe we put that visit off for a decade or two?”

Dominic laughs, then presses a swift kiss to my mouth before he sets me back down, grinning like a man who has never once lost a room in his life and doesn’t intend to start with a five-foot-eight, sixty-one-year-old woman in Queens.

“Sweetheart,” he says, picking up our bags and heading for the door, “I promise I can handle your mom.”

CHAPTER 32

Dominic

We land at Midway a little after two, and by the time the car pulls up outside Jenna’s building, we’ve already agreed that we both have so much work waiting for us that we aren’t getting a weekend. It’ll just be emails, paperwork, and the occasional pause for nutrition and filthy sex.

She needs to be ready for Bennett’s board meeting Monday morning, and I have an investment committee meeting of my own before the markets open.

So we’ll freshen up here, then go into the office and pretend it’s not Friday.

Married life.

I have never been so happy to be this tired.

“Twenty minutes,” Jenna says, as the doorman gets the door. “Shower, change, out. If you get in that shower with me, it becomes an hour, and I have a board deck to⁠—”

“Ms. Pemberton.” The concierge moves around his desk carrying a box with two hands and careful ceremony. It’s a cream garment box, wide as a door, tied in ribbon the color of champagne. There’s an envelope on top with a wax seal. “This was hand-delivered for you an hour ago.”

Jenna looks at the box like it might be ticking.

“Is this from you?” she asks without taking her eyes off the box. “Tell me you didn’t get me a dress for the gala. I don’t even dance at them—or stay past the dessert course.”

“Not me. I’m more an edible arrangements guy,” I deadpan. “Wax seals are for people way cooler than me.”

Jenna doesn’t touch the package. She puts her hands behind her back, like maybe the box is radioactive and I’m the only one here without a dosimeter. When I reach out and take it from the concierge, she steps backward and raises her eyebrows.

“Thank you,” I say, shifting the weight to one arm and palming Jenna’s lower back with the other. “We’ll let you know if it explodes.”

He answers with a little smirk (the building staff have all made their peace with my sense of humor, or perfected a convincing imitation of it) and returns to his desk. The elevator dings, and the doors open with their usual vault-like dignity. I herd Jenna inside, holding the box like it’s a prop from a particularly highbrow escape room.

“What are the odds this is a positive development?” I ask as the doors glide shut behind us.

She inspects the wax seal, her teeth worrying the inside of her lip. “One in five, with a margin of error of twenty percent.”

“So . . . could be worse than a bomb.”

She doesn’t laugh, and that’s rare enough that I have to look at her sidelong.

“Do you have a secret admirer I should know about?”

Jenna actually gasps. “Jesus, Dom, who would—” She checks herself and then looks sharply at me. “It’s not my birthday. It’s not a holiday. No one should be sending me anything.” She pivots, fixes me with a look that is equal parts suspicion and havoc. “Did you set this up as a joke?”

I lay my free hand palm-up. “Sweetheart, I know you hate surprises. The only way I’m going to surprise you is with a Google Calendar invite and a two-week warning.”