Page 171 of Dial F for Finance

When I finally pull back, her lipstick is somehow still perfectly intact, though her breath is catching in her throat. “Just a deposit,” I murmur, smoothing a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. “The balance is due at midnight.”

She flashes me a look that could melt steel, then steps back into her role as the maestro of this circus, checking her clipboard and moving off to intercept my father before he can feed the Kingsley dog an entire pork tenderloin.

I stay where I am for a minute, leaning against the exposed brick wall, and just watch.

A year ago, I would have described happiness like a perfectly managed portfolio: high yield, minimal risk, every variable under control.

I look around the room.

My father is feeding pork to a dog that isn’t his. Ma Pemberton is lecturing Caleb about Tupperware. Dustin and Logan are being annihilated by a nine-year-old at Mario Kart. Every person I love is here, making noise and taking up space.

And in the center of it all is Jenna—my brilliant, impossible wife—clipboard in hand, smiling as she makes room for every one of us.

Happiness, it turns out, is any room with her at the center of it.

Jenna catches me watching her.

“Mr. Pemberton-Cruz,” she calls. “Are you planning to help, or have you entered decorative husband mode?”

I push away from the wall, grinning.

“Coming, partner.”

Epilogue One

JENNA

“Query,” Audrey says, standing in her mother’s altered wedding gown in the lake house’s back bedroom, calm as a summer breeze. “Is it unusual that I have no cold feet? I read that between thirty and forty percent of brides report pre-ceremony anxiety. I have none. I’m concerned my sample is contaminated by happiness.”

“Your sample is fine,” I tell her, fastening the last button at her spine. “You eliminated the anxiety variable when you taught him to kiss. Everything since has been execution.”

Layla, who has been crying intermittently since the rehearsal dinner, makes a sound like a tea kettle. Serena hands her a fresh tissue without looking. Nora adjusts the veil with a teacher’s precision, and Michaela—flower girl, self-appointed director of ring security—announces that the rings have been verified twice and the perimeter is quiet.

It’s October at the Whitmans’ Lake Bluff estate—forty chairs on the lawn, no cameras or press, and the exact low golden light Audrey planned the entire day around, arriving on schedule because even the sun does what Audrey says.

“You look beautiful, Audrey,” I say, stepping back to assess my handiwork.

Audrey adjusts her glasses and turns side to side, admiring herself in the full-length mirror. “I know it’s not the fancy dress most people would expect,” she says. “But it makes me feel closer to my mom when she can’t be here.”

“It’s perfect,” Layla sobs, dabbing at her eyes with Serena’s tissue. “You’re perfect. Logan is going to short-circuit.”

“He already short-circuits on a daily basis,” I point out, checking my watch. “We have four minutes. Layla, please recalibrate your tear ducts. We can’t have a bridesmaid actively weeping during the processional.”

Layla sniffs, waving a manicured hand. “I’m fine. I’m an absolute rock.”

Serena snorts. “You’re a puddle in a jewel-tone dress.”

Nora smiles, smoothing the front of her own gown. “Let her feel it. It’s a big day.”

Michaela marches up, her flower basket gripped like tactical gear. “Aunt Jenna, Uncle Dominic says the boys are in position. And he said to tell you he really likes your dress.”

I feel the familiar flutter in my chest. Even through a nine-year-old intermediary, my husband manages to disrupt my equilibrium. I’m wearing a deep burgundy slip dress that took exactly twelve minutes to select, yet the knowledge that Dominic has already cataloged it makes my skin hum.

“Tell your Uncle Dominic to maintain his post,” I instruct Michaela, handing her a stray flower petal that had attempted to escape her basket. “And that his flattery will be addressed at the reception.”

“Copy that,” Michaela says, spinning on her heel to deliver the message.

I turn back to Audrey. She’s completely still, her brilliant mind undoubtedly running one final system check on the day’s variables.