At the other end of the phone, Jon Fleming made a contemplative noise. He didn’t seem bothered exactly—it took a lot more than the threat of legal action to bother Jon Fleming—but one of my dad’s most useful qualities was a very specific kind of apathy. If fame or money were on the line, he was unstoppable. But for everything else, he’d always take the easiest possible road to get what he wanted, and if something looked like being even the slightest bit difficult, he’d drop it like he had his marriage and his child. “I was just giving you a call,” he said at last, “to see if you wanted me at your wedding. But if you don’t”—he gave an infuriating pause—“that’s your choice. And I respect it.”

“It is.”

And, with that, I hung up. In some ways, that had gone better than any other conversation I’d ever had with my dad. But you couldn’t win with him. You could only make losing feel marginally less shitty. And so I showed up for my very special, emotionally resonant date with my fiancé who I loved, tired, hungover, late, and mentally drained from dealing with an arsehole.

Oliver was already at the table, where he’d probably been for some time. It was the same table we’d sat at nearly three years ago, and he was wearing the same pin-striped suit—including the pocket watch, that I’d since realised was another of his sly nods to a personal style that only masqueraded as conformity.

“Oh God.” I half eased, half tripped onto the banquette. “I’m so sorry. Things got out of hand last night.”

One of Oliver’s eyebrows twitched upwards in a meaner way than I was expecting. “I’m aware.”

Fuck, it really was like our first date. I was rubbish and Oliver was annoyed. “And then,” I hurried on, “just as I was getting here, my fucking dad rang.”

Oliver de-iced immediately. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Fine. He wanted to come to the wedding to prove what a big damn ally he is. I told him to piss off.”

Normally Oliver championed my taking of no shit from my dad. But normally we had twice as many dads between us. “Lucien,” he started. Then broke off. Then tried again. “I…I’m sure you made the right decision. But I’m rather conscious at the moment that—all going well—one only has one wedding. And, indeed, in the majority of cases one father.”