Chapter 424 - 424: Dinner At Anthony. [FIXED!][01/07!]

Kyle stood in the living room of the Royal Suite, already dressed and ready. A simple white shirt. Dark trousers. Leather shoes. No watches, no jewelry, no unnecessary accessories. He looked like himself—clean, put-together, unpretentious.

"This is why I love being a man."

The women were still in their rooms, the sounds of laughter and debate filtering through the walls. He could hear Ella's sharp voice, Cassandra's calm replies, and Jane's occasional soft interjections. They were giving each other advice, critiquing outfits, and probably starting over from scratch at least twice.

"They've been at it for an hour."

Kyle checked his watch. Forty-five minutes until they needed to leave.

"Plenty of time left."

He had done enough shopping for them to have the fanciest clothes imaginable—designer gowns, silk dresses, shoes that cost more than most people's rent. But he had asked them to dress a tad bit normal. Nothing too flashy. Nothing that might turn the evening into a show-off contest.

"Tonight isn't about impressing anyone. It's about showing Anthony who I really am."

Jane emerged first.

She wore a simple floral dress, pale blue with small white flowers, cinched at the waist with a thin belt. Her hair was down, soft and slightly wavy. Her makeup was minimal—just a touch of mascara and a hint of lip gloss. She looked fresh, approachable, and utterly herself.

Kyle smiled. "You look beautiful."

Jane blushed. "Are you sure? I thought maybe I should wear something fancier—"

"No. You're perfect."

She ducked her head, but she was smiling. "Okay."

"Jane, you're done already?"

The voice came from Ella's room. She appeared in the doorway, half-dressed, her hair a mess, holding up two different tops like she was trying to decide which one to burn first.

"I'm ready," Jane said. "Kyle said I look perfect."

"He's biased to everyone he likes."

Ella rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She disappeared back into her room, muttering something under her breath about having to cover up her tattoos.

Kyle followed her.

Ella's room was a disaster. Clothes were scattered across the bed, draped over chairs, and piled on the floor. She stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding a long-sleeved blouse against her chest, her face twisted in frustration.

Kyle leaned against the doorframe. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm trying to find something that covers my arms."

"Why?"

Ella glanced at him through the mirror. "Because Cassandra was right. I'm not exactly the picture of professionalism. Tattoos, piercings, a personality that terrifies old people. If you're trying to make a good impression, maybe I shouldn't look like I just walked out of a punk concert."

Kyle was quiet for a moment. Then he walked over and stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Ella."

"What?"

"I don't care about any of that."

She scoffed. "You should. You're the one who has to deal with the consequences."

"I'm the one who makes the rules." He reached out and gently pulled the blouse from her hands, tossing it onto the bed. "And the rule is: be yourself."

Ella stared at him. "You're serious."

"I'm always serious."

"You called me a brat yesterday."

"I called you a brat because you were being a brat. That doesn't mean I don't like you exactly as you are."

She crossed her arms, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "So you're saying you like my tattoos?"

"I'm saying they're part of the reason I like you." Kyle paused. "Alongside your massive tits of course."

Ella burst out laughing—sharp, surprised, genuine. "You're so stupid."

"Oh please, I'm Einstein!"

She shook her head, but she was already reaching for a sleeveless top—a simple black number that showed off her arms and her ink. "Fine. But if anyone stares, I'm blaming you."

"I'll take the blame."

Kyle turned and walked back to the living room.

Cassandra emerged next, Junior on her hip. She wore a cream-colored dress that flowed to her knees, paired with simple sandals. Her hair was loose, her makeup minimal. She looked elegant and effortlessly motherly.

"Ready," she said.

Kyle nodded. "You look great."

"Thank you. And I found a sitter for Junior. The hotel's concierge recommended someone—she's vetted, professional."

"You don't have to—"

"I know. But I want to enjoy the evening without worrying about him." Cassandra smiled. "He'll be fine."

Jasmine came running out, wearing a small dress that matched Jane's floral pattern. Her hair was brushed, her face scrubbed clean.

"Look, Kyle! Jane picked it for me!"

Kyle crouched down. "You look like a princess."

Jasmine beamed. "I feel like one!"

Ella emerged last, her sleeveless top showing off her tattoos. Her hair was styled, her makeup bold, her expression defiant. She looked like she was ready for battle.

"Happy?" she asked.

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Kyle looked at his family—this strange, chaotic, beautiful family—and felt something warm settle in his chest.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go show Anthony what a real family looks like."

-

The Greenberg home was a sprawling Victorian townhouse in a quiet corner of Kensington. It was old money meets modern comfort—worn leather sofas, Persian rugs, walls lined with bookshelves and family photographs. The kind of home that felt lived in with actual real love and peace.

Anthony was in the living room, adjusting his tie for the fifth time. His wife Michelina had already retreated to the kitchen to check on the roast, leaving him alone with the children.

Well, alone was a generous word.

"Dad, can I show them my new art project?" Rebecca asked, tugging at his sleeve. She was 16 with her mother's dark eyes and her father's boundless energy. She wasn't the typical edgy teenager and was one filled with the childlike innocence her family had worked so hard to protect.

"After dinner, sweetheart."

"But I want to show them before!"

"After dinner," Anthony repeated gently. "You'll have plenty of time."

Rebecca pouted but didn't argue. She flopped onto the couch, her legs dangling over the armrest.

Rachael, the eldest, was perched on the windowsill, scrolling through her phone with the practiced disinterest of an adult who had seen it all. She was twenty-three—tall, poised, with her mother's cheekbones and her father's sharp intelligence.

"Are you nervous?" Rachael asked, not looking up from her screen.

Anthony blinked. "Nervous? Why would I be nervous?"

"Because you've been adjusting your tie for ten minutes."

"I haven't—" He looked down at his hands. They were, indeed, fidgeting with his tie.

Rachael smirked. "You're nervous."

"I'm not nervous. I'm... anticipating."

"That's the same thing, dad."

Anthony sighed, but he was smiling. "When did you become so perceptive?"

"About the time I realized you're not as cool as you think you are."

"Rachael! Be nice to your father," Anthony chided her, but his tone was warm.

"I'm always nice. I'm the nicest." Rachael responded sarcastically.

"Mom! Tell Rachael to be nice!"

Michelina appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "Rachael, be nice."

"Everyone is ganging up on me," Rachael pouted.

"That's what happens when you gang up on your old man," Anthony said with a wink.

Anthony Jnr., the youngest—barely seven years old, with his father's wild hair and his mother's sweet smile—bounded into the room, clutching a toy car in each hand.

"Dad! Dad! Look!" he shouted.

Anthony crouched down to his level. "Whoa, that's a cool car. Is that new?"

"Grandma bought it for me!" the boy beamed.

"She has good taste. Of course she does," Anthony said, while sneaking a glance at his wife.

"I know! She says I'm her favourite."

"I thought I was her favourite!" Anthony said, feigning hurt.

"Sorry, Dad. It's me now."

Anthony laughed and ruffled his son's hair. "Alright, fair enough. You're her new favourite."

Anthony Jnr. beamed and ran off to show his mother.

Rebecca, still sprawled on the couch, watched her father with an amused expression. "You're really excited about this dinner, aren't you?"

"I'm just happy to meet his family," Anthony said. "He's a good man."

"How do you know? You just met him."

"I can tell. It's a feeling."

Rebecca made a face. "That sounds made up."

"Sometimes, feelings are the best evidence."

Rachael finally looked up from her phone. "So, what are his family like?"

"I don't know. He hasn't told me much." Anthony shrugged. "But I'm looking forward to finding out."

"I still can't believe you invited a stranger over," Rebecca said. "What if he's weird?"

"Then we'll have an interesting story to tell."

Rachael's eyes narrowed. "You're too trusting."

"I'm optimistic! Optimistic!"

"Ugghh, that's literally the same thing."

The front doorbell rang—a cheerful, resonant chime.

Anthony straightened his tie one last time. His family's voices faded into the background, replaced by the anticipation of what lay ahead.

"Alright, everyone," he said. "Let's make a good impression."

He opened the door.

And there stood Kyle.

Behind him, a woman with blonde, a woman with tattoos, a woman with a shy smile, and a small girl clutching her dress. The chaos of a family, laid out in plain sight.

Anthony smiled. "Welcome. Come in."