Page 124 of Dial F for Finance

CHAPTER 34

Dominic

The cream garment box is exactly where Jenna put it two weeks ago.

Highest shelf of her closet. Ribbon intact. Willa James’s seal still tucked beneath the bow like the entire thing was delivered five minutes ago instead of sixteen days.

I find it while hanging tomorrow’s suit beside the three others that now live here permanently.

Not permanently according to any formal discussion, obviously. Jenna and I haven’t held a meeting, drafted terms, or updated the dual-dwelling spreadsheet. My clothes simply began accumulating in her closet. My toothbrush next to hers. There are protein bars I like in her pantry and a packet of lavender chamomile tea bags and decaf coffee capsules next to her machine. Three weeks ago, the doorman stopped asking whether I’m visiting.

Married life by administrative creep.

My favorite kind.

I pull the garment box down and carry it into the living room.

The Phantom is booked, the florist is holding my order, and the tailor still needs the color of the gown, so an alarming amount of next Saturday depends on Jenna opening this box.

Jenna looks up from her laptop as I set it on the coffee table.

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re carrying the dress box.”

“I thought it might enjoy a change of scenery.”

“It was perfectly happy in the closet.”

“It told me it felt neglected.”

“The box spoke to you?”

“It’s couture. Very demanding.”

Her mouth twitches before she turns back to the acquisition brief on her screen. She’s curled into the corner of the couch in a soft gray lounge set, bare feet tucked beneath her, glasses low on her nose. Her hair is twisted into a clip that has sliding loose for the past hour.

This is how Sunday nights work now.

We eat dinner. We argue over who chose the last three takeout orders. Jenna prepares for Monday with the intensity of a military commander anticipating invasion, while I pretend to review market reports and mostly watch her.

It’s deeply domestic.

I’m obsessed with it.

I lower myself onto the couch beside her and lean in close.

“Have you looked at it?”

“I looked at the box.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“I’ve seen dresses before.”

“Not this one.”