You follow Roman down the long, cavernous hallway of Waystar Royco’s Manhattan penthouse, your hand barely brushing his but warm from the clasp he hasn’t quite let go of. Your other hand instinctively rests over the curve of your stomach, an unspoken shield. He’s been jittery all morning, pacing the apartment like he’s about to announce a hostile takeover instead of introducing you to his family.

“Okay,” he mutters, stopping in front of the double doors that lead into the grand dining room. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his suit jacket—which is already wrinkled from his pacing—and glances at you. “This is it. The big leagues. Just… be nice. Smile. Nodding is always good. Nod a lot. They like nodding.”

You squeeze his hand. “I can do nodding.”

Roman gives you a quick, anxious grin, like you’ve just solved world hunger, and then throws open the doors.

The room is intimidating in every way a room full of billionaires can be: polished floors, cold marble, enormous windows framing the skyline, and everyone’s expressions sharp and calculating. Logan sits at the head of the table, his gaze heavy, like he’s measuring you in some unspoken scale of worth. Marcia is seated beside him, eyes polite but distant. Shiv leans back in her chair with that permanent half-smirk, Tom is hovering close with a glass of wine in hand, Kendall looks like he’s ready to either nod off or launch into a lecture, and Connor—Connor—just stares, as though he’s unsure you’re even real. Cousin Greg fidgets at the side, clearly overwhelmed by the grandeur.

Roman clears his throat. “Everyone. Uh. This is… my partner.”

He gestures to you with one hand, the other awkwardly holding his own elbow. “Be nice, people. This is important.”

You force a calm smile, nodding as Roman instructed, and offer a soft, “It’s really lovely to meet you all.”

Logan doesn’t smile. He simply inclines his head slightly, eyes lingering on your stomach for a brief fraction of a second. “Roman says you’re… involved.” His voice is low, rough-edged. You catch Roman’s gulp beside you, and you straighten instinctively. “With him,” Logan adds, eyes piercing.

“Yes,” you say, steady, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.” You keep your tone polite, neutral. He doesn’t need to know how much that while is—it’s been half a year, secret, tender, careful.

Shiv tilts her head, evaluating, like a cat deciding whether to knock over your wine glass. “Half a year, huh?” Her voice is sharp but not cruel. “And here we are. Publicly.”

You nod, trying to maintain composure. “Yes. We thought it was time… especially now.” You place your hand gently on your stomach. The room shifts, subtle but noticeable. Tom blinks, smiles faintly, and clears his throat. “Wow… congratulations.” His voice is surprisingly genuine.

Roman nudges your side with his elbow. “See? Not so bad.” His smile is nervous, almost desperate for you to succeed where Tabitha had, well… not succeeded, emotionally.

Kendall leans forward, elbows on the table, expression unreadable. “So… you’re Italian?” His tone isn’t cruel—just testing.

“Yes,” you say, bright and confident. “Third generation. My family owns a restaurant, Venetian Vibes.”

Connor nods slowly, more interested than you expected. “Restaurant… Venice. Nice. Food’s important.”

Marcia gives a small, polite smile, and Logan’s gaze softens just a fraction. “Family business. That’s… respectable.”

Roman beams like he’s just won an award. “See? Told you. Nods and food. People love both.”

Greg fidgets with his tie and whispers, “Do we… offer her wine? Or… sparkling water?”

You laugh softly, the tension in your chest loosening. “Water is perfect, thank you.”

Roman pulls you gently toward him again, muttering under his breath, “This is the easy part. Now just… survive lunch.”