"Ha!" Meredith scoffs. "Look at your pants! You look like a disco ball!"
"These are Versace," Miguel corrects. "Custom. Do you know what an aglet is,Cacatúa?"
"A what?"
"An aglet," Miguel repeats. "The plastic tip at the end of a shoelace. My grandfather invented the manufacturing process for the modern aglet in 1948. He held the global patent for fifty years."
The room goes silent.
"Every time you tie your shoes," Miguel says, stepping closer, "my family gets a royalty. Every sneaker. Every boot. Every dress shoe in the world."
He looks at Preston.
"My personal net worth is approximately fourteen billiondollars," Miguel says casually. "I could buy the York Foundation, burn it down, and rebuild it as a disco, and I wouldn't even notice the dip in my checking account."
Preston’s jaw drops. Max’s glasses actually slide down his nose.
"Fourteen billion?" Preston whispers. "Max. The Aglet Prince is richer than us. By a factor of three."
“Interesting,” Max murmurs, looking at his father with new eyes, "Dad just dated up a wealth class. Significantly."
"He’s practically a trophy husband," I realize, laughing. "Alistair York is a trophy husband."
Miguel turns back to Alistair, his face melting back into pure adoration.
"I do not want his money," Miguel coos, pinching Alistair’s cheek. "I wanthim."
"Why?" Preston asks, genuinely baffled. "Look at him. He is covered in chocolate. He is wearing a magenta cummerbund. He is a walking mid-life crisis."
Miguel looks at Alistair like he is the sun, the moon, and the stars.
"Because he is funny!" Miguel declares. "He makes me laugh! And look at him! He is so... squeezable! He is the sexiest man on earth! He is a Tiger!"
"A raw, sexual Tiger!" Alistair agrees, roaring softly.
"Okay, I’m done," Preston turns around. "I’m going to the bar. Come on Luke.”
Alistair stands up. He wipes the chocolate off his face. He looks at Miguel.
"Miguel," Alistair says, getting down on one knee. "You have fourteen billion dollars. I have a sugar addiction and a karaoke machine. Will you marry me?"
"Yes!" Miguel screams. "Yes,Papi! Right now!"
"Right now!" Alistair agrees. He looks around wildly. "Where is the Archbishop? O’Malley! Get out here! We need a sacrament!"
At the bar, Preston and Luke are watching the chaos unfold.
"Your dad is proposing to the Aglet King," Luke observes, sipping his drink. "This family is amazing."
Preston shakes his head. "It is a circus. A lucrative circus, apparently."
He looks at Luke. He looks at the way Luke is grinning, the way his tie is crooked, the way he fits into this madness like he was born for it.
"Luke," Preston says softly.
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember the lobby?" Preston asks. "Six months ago?"
