Page 169 of Dial F for Finance

“You’re going to need them,” Jenna says, appearing at my side. She slips her hand seamlessly into mine, her gold wedding bands cool against my skin. She looks from Logan to Audrey. “Welcome to the casualty ward. If my mother offers you ziti, you must act like it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. If Dominic’s father offers you pork, accept it immediately. It genuinely is the most delicious thing you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

“Understood,” Logan says, looking at Jenna’s clipboard with genuine respect. “Is that a schedule?”

“It’s a mitigation strategy,” Jenna corrects, deadpan.

I squeeze her hand and pull her back against my chest. She settles there easily, looking entirely at home in the crowd she assembled.

Through the gauntlet of my family and at least four open bottles of red, the rest of the players trickle in. Bennett brings Layla, who brings a cake the size of a Fiat. Serena and Caleb sweep in dressed for success and armed with enough snickerdoodles to put us all into sugar comas.

David and Nora arrive with Michaela—who’s carrying a child-sized briefcase—and Archie, who cases the room in ninety seconds and appoints himself to the kitchen.

“Whose golden retriever is this?” my dad asks, already feeding a tail-wagging Archie scraps of pork and calling him the “goodest boy in the room.”

“He belongs to the Kingsleys,” I announce, pointing a finger at my father. “And if he throws up on my reclaimed hardwood, I’m billing you for the refinishing.”

“He won’t throw up,” David says, stepping up to shake my hand. “But he will absolutely con your dad out of a pound of center-cut loin. Good to see you, Dom.”

“You too, counselor.” I pull him in for a quick back-pat, then kiss Nora’s cheek.

Before I can greet the rest of my newly expanded circus, a tug on my jacket sleeve demands my attention. I look down to find Michaela staring up at me, her tiny hands gripping the handle of her miniature briefcase with white-knuckled determination.

“Uncle Dominic,” she says, her voice deadly serious. “I brought my paperwork.”

I crouch down to her eye level, instantly matching her intensity. “Excellent. I hope you remembered the indemnification clauses. We’re dealing with a lot of rogue variables.”

“Daddy helped me draft them,” she whispers, popping the clasps. She pulls out a stack of hand-drawn documents. “This one says I’m not responsible if their dogs eat my snacks.”

“Ironclad,” I confirm, tapping the paper. “A flawless legal perimeter.”

“Speaking of snacks,” Jenna’s voice floats over my shoulder, crisp and commanding. She steps beside me, clipboard resting against her hip as she addresses the room at large. “As a reminder, this is a strictly nut-free zone. I have personally audited the caterers, but if any of you brought outside contraband containing cashews specifically, surrender it now or I will have you escorted off the premises.”

“She’s not joking,” David tells the room, giving Jenna a look of profound, exhausted gratitude. “Thank you, Jenna.”

“Risk mitigation,” Jenna repeats, winking at him. She reaches down to smooth Michaela’s hair. “Your snacks are secure, my young entrepreneur. Go show Uncle Logan your briefcase. He’s currently looking for an excuse not to talk to my mother about her neighborhood association.”

“I’m going to tell him all about my dog-walking cooperative.” Michaela marches off toward Logan, who is backed against the credenza, looking like he’s assessing the framework of the nearest window.

I stand up, slipping my arm around Jenna’s waist. The sheer volume of the main floor is staggering. Dustin is already bellowing about Rainbow Road. Bennett is arguing with a caterer about the optimal temperature for pouring the Bordeaux he brought. Ma Pemberton has somehow cornered Caleb, who looks entirely too thrilled to be receiving a lecture on Tupperware maintenance.

“You did this,” I murmur in Jenna’s ear, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her bergamot perfume. “You invited the chaos in.”

“I organized the chaos,” she corrects, leaning her weight against me. Her hazel eyes sweep the room, tracking the beautiful, noisy collision of our two worlds. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s a masterpiece,” I admit, my thumb stroking the curve of her hip through the emerald silk. “But if your mother actually stabs one of the waitstaff with a fork over the manicotti, I’m letting David and Caleb handle the defense.”

Jenna laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest, warm and completely uninhibited. “Deal. But only if we get to livestream the court proceedings.”

I pull her closer, burying my smile in her dark hair, letting the roar of the factory wash over us.

“Well, this is adorable,” Roz says, interrupting the moment as she makes her way into the living area with her husband in tow.

“Don’t encourage me, Roz,” I warn, grinning as I step out of the embrace just enough to shake her husband’s hand. “I’m already insufferable.”

Before Roz can fire back a retort, the heavy front door swings open yet again, breaching the perimeter with a fresh wave of high-decibel energy. Miranda bursts into the foyer, dragging her husband, Rob, by the hand. Their two kids, Amelia and Angus, instantly detach from their parents and sprint toward the kitchen like heat-seeking missiles.

“Jenna!” Miranda shrieks, abandoning her husband entirely. She practically tackles my wife, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my God, you’re really here! I am so happy my bestie came back home. I was absolutely distraught without you.”

Jenna laughs, returning the embrace with a warmth that makes my chest tight. “Did you even realize I was gone?”