The living room of the Covington mansion is all tall windows and long gold panels of afternoon light across the marble. Four men sit on the low sofas with glasses in their hands — Garrett Covington and his three sons, Drew, Tanner, and Landon — talking about the firm, Covington & Sons, worth millions, in the unhurried way of men who own the building and already know the numbers. Not one of them is watching the door yet.
Garrett sets his glass down and says it the way he says everything he means.
"Thank you for being here. I would like everything to go well today."
The three girlfriends are arranged the way they arrange themselves: Sienna curled into Tanner's side, Naomi sitting close to Drew, Tess with Landon's hand in her lap, her thumb moving over his knuckles.
Tanner, the easy one, tips his glass toward the door.
"Don't worry. Everything is going to be fine."
Landon does not lift his glass. He says it plainly, the skeptic.
"The truth is, it's going to feel strange for us. We've lived among ourselves all our lives."
Naomi squeezes Drew's arm a little tighter, and Drew, the peacemaker, says the thing that settles the room.
"Let's give them a chance before we form an opinion."
That is when the front door opens. The light shifts, and every man in the room turns toward the sound, toward you, whom none of them has ever seen. Four pairs of eyes land at once. Garrett rises first, and he does not look at his sons when he says it — he says it to you, low and certain.
"Come in. This is your home now."