38. Dominic #3
“As her employer, I’m obligated to abstain,” Bennett says, and then, without a beat, “As your friend: yes. Unreservedly.”
“I don’t need a reason. They’re happy together. I vote yes,” Logan says.
“Yes from me,” David says. “And I’d like the record to reflect that I’ve been managing this table’s conflicts of interest since April, uncompensated.”
“Yes,” Nora finishes warmly. “Unanimous. And I don’t even gamble.”
“Thank you,” I say to them all, meaning it. “But I’m not sure how comfortable I am hearing you all vote like you’re board members on my relationship—especially without my wife sitting at the table.”
“My wife,” Layla sighs. “It’s adorable hearing you say that.”
“Again. Thank you. But—” I pause and look around the table, because I need to make this part very clear.
“What happens between Jenna and me after tonight isn’t being decided by committee.
My goal tonight is to celebrate her accomplishments and show her how proud of her I am, and how honored I am to be her husband.
And honestly, I don’t recall talking to the group at large about this.
” I turn my gaze to Logan, who pushes his glasses up his nose as his ears turn pink and he slinks down in his chair.
“I only told Audrey,” he says. “It’s romantic. She loves romantic stuff.”
“I do,” Audrey says. “I love it so much I mentioned it to Layla.”
Layla blushes. “I told Bennett.”
Bennett just clears his throat and Caleb chuckles. “Bennett is the one who told me.”
Serena raises her hand. “Which is how I found out.”
“And how we found out,” David says, gesturing between him and Nora. “We were all having dinner.” He clears his throat. “Michaela knows too.”
I set down my wine. “Michaela knows.”
“She took it very seriously,” Nora offers. “She wanted to call you with her thoughts and ideas, but we persuaded her not to.”
“I appreciate that.” I look around the table at the eight most powerful, least discreet people in Chicago. “My entire romantic future has a distribution list. I’ve run leveraged buyouts with fewer informed parties than my own marriage.”
“And yet,” Caleb says, “everyone bought in early. That’s market confidence, Dom.”
My phone buzzes against my chest, one pocket over from the thing that’s been keeping my heart company all night.
Jenna:
Why does table twelve look like it’s staging an intervention? Blink twice if you need extraction.
I glance up. Forty feet away, past a governor and two chandeliers, my wife is watching me over the rim of her water glass with her eyebrow at full altitude.
Me:
I’m fine. Our friends have boundary issues. All of them. It may be terminal.
Jenna:
They mean well.
Me:
They do. It’s their only defense, and unfortunately it holds up.
Jenna:
Is it bad that I want to get out of here the second dinner ends so I can have my way with you in that tuxedo?
I nearly knock over the wine reclaiming my composure.
Me:
Mrs. Pemberton-Cruz-pending-litigation. Is this your way of trying to sext me at a charity function?
Jenna:
I’m contextualizing. There’s a difference.
Me:
Keep contextualizing. See what happens. I know for a fact that dress has no opinions and the Phantom has privacy glass.
Jenna:
The auction is in ninety minutes, Cruz. Bid on something and behave.
Me:
I already have my eye on the only thing in this room I want. Been outbidding everyone for the last three years.
Across the ballroom I watch her read it, watch her fight the smile and lose, watch her put the phone face down next to her salad fork like it misbehaved.
Victory. I pocket mine just as the plates land—beef or halibut, the eternal gala binary—and the noise of two hundred guests settles into the warm hum of people eating stupidly expensive food. For charity.
I’m two bites in when Willa’s field marshal materializes between Caleb and me, clipboard against her chest, headset light blinking.
“Mr. Cruz? Change to the run of show. Mrs. James will speak during dessert and coffee—she’ll introduce her personal guests and their accomplishments, then you’re on directly after her remarks, before the auction.
” She checks her clipboard. “She asked me to tell you, quote, ‘the stage is yours, make it count.’”
“Tell her I intend to.”
Two hundred people. A governor. Every friend we have.
My whole life I’ve measured love by the size of the room I could run for someone—the bigger the crowd I can turn toward a person, the more seen they should feel.
Jenna wants to be seen for her work. Tonight I have the biggest room in Chicago, and I intend to aim every inch of it in celebration of my wife.
The field marshal vanishes the way the best staff do. When I turn back, the entire table has stopped eating. Eight forks, suspended. Sixteen eyes, locked on me.
“What was that about?” Layla asks, vibrating.
I take my time. Cut a piece of beef. Chew. Let them suffer, because they’ve earned it, every last leaky one of them. Then I pat my breast pocket once, right over the small weight that’s been running warm against my heart all night.
“That,” I say, “is step one of making all my dreams come true.”