Her phone buzzing stopped Elena from spiraling with these thoughts.
"It's for the best. Parents tend to hate me," Max replied.
"I doubt that's true," she protested.
"It is," Max insisted. "I emasculate fathers, and I am a terrible judge of mothers. Though either way, the mothers don't end up liking me anymore than the fathers do."
Elena laughed. Max could really be funny when he tried.
With the Ferraro's winter hunting party coming up, Elena and Massimo were busy. They had finally heard back from all the families and settled on who was bringing what. But that still left a lot of work that they would need to ensure was up to their exacting standards.
After all, it won't send a message of unity if the family in charge of the silverware brought cheap forks and knives while the family responsible for the tablecloths worked with only imported fabrics.
Elena had meant to talk to Massimo. She knew her mother Sloane had a point—Elena deserved to live the life she wanted, not a life that made somebody else's life easier.
But she was also easily distracted by all the chaos of getting the party ready—and with the deadline looming closer and closer, there was a lot to be distracted by.
"What do you mean the Zegnas haven't sent an update?" Elena asked Massimo.
"I mean exactly that," Massimo huffed. "The old man is being ornery as shit—and so is senile friends in the Midwest. I'll never understand these old people and their insistence with doing everything the exact way they did when they were kids."
Elena frowned at Massimo's harsh tone. He was clearly at the edge of his patience.
"What if you ask your grandfather for help?" Elena suggested. "He might have a unique perspective on this matter."
Massimo rested his head against his hands. He sighed deeply before standing up from his desk.



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