Page 280 of Wild Card 13

He stopped just inside my office and looked around.

I braced myself. “If you’re going to comment on the lamp, I’ll have you removed by security.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Sorry,” I said. “Long day.”

“I was going to say it looks good.”

I blinked.

Dad slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His suit jacket was gone, tie loosened, sleeves rolled once at the cuffs. He looked like the day had taken pieces out of him too, though he would rather buy a failing minor league franchise than admit it. “You made it yours,” he said.

Something in my chest shifted. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I guess I did.”

His gaze moved to the framed photo on the shelf. Lo smiling. Bea glowing. Freya mid-laugh. Arlo ruining the shot behind us because subtlety had never once survived contact with my brother.

My father’s expression softened at the edges. Then, because he was Ezra Thomas and sentiment had a strict expiration window, he cleared his throat. “Vivienne Hart is meeting Bea here tomorrow at eleven to go over the conservatory timing.”

I frowned. “Here?”

“Apparently the wedding planner wanted to see where half the wedding party disappears to during work hours.”

“That sounds like a treat.”

His mouth twitched.

“Como confirmed the Sunken Garden timing?” I asked.

“As of this morning. Ceremony window is still locked. Photos before guest arrival are possible, but tight. Vivienne wants a cleaner transportation schedule from the hotel to the conservatory and back.”

I made a note, because if there was one thing I respected, it was the ability of a wedding to become a military operation while wearing flowers. “Bea doing okay?”

“She told Alois she could carry her own binder and he looked like she’d asked him to dismantle the moon.”

I laughed.

Dad’s face warmed in that quiet way it did whenever Lo’s orbit expanded around him and pulled more people into his care. Bea had her father. Rafa Ribeiro would be at that wedding with his heart in his hands and his daughter’s whole life in his eyes. Dad knew that. He respected it.

But he loved Lo. And loving Lo meant loving what Lo loved. Bea had become part of that equation before any of them said it out loud.

“I’ll be here,” I said. “For the meeting.”

“I know.”

I looked up.

My dad studied me for a moment, father first, owner second. “You handled today well.”

My throat dried. “You mean the paperwork avalanche or the emotional devastation parade?”

“Both.”

“High praise.” I rolled my eyes, but it came out softer than I intended.

He turned to leave, then paused. “Lucy.”

“Yeah?”