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“Okay,” Ella said, tapping her pen against the kitchen table. “Let’s talk invitations.”

I looked up from my notes, where I’d just finished sketching an entryway arch for the new build. “You mean the ones we should’ve sent out, like, last week?”

She ignored me, flipping open a page in her wedding planner notebook. It had tabs. Color-coded ones. God, I loved her. I loved every detail about this wonderful woman.

“Guests. We’re finalizing today. No more maybes, no more we’ll-sees. This is it.”

“Alright,” I said, pushing my sketchpad aside. “Hit me.”

She started rattling off names, and I nodded along—Evan, the entire kitchen crew at Smoke & Ember , my dad, half the neighborhood, two elderly sisters from her favorite pastry shop, and someone named Uncle Ron who wasn’t technically her uncle but used to sneak her chocolate croissants.

And then she said it.

“My mom.”

I blinked. “Lisa?”

“Yes,” she said, too evenly. “She’s my mother. I can’t not invite her.”

I took a breath. “Ella…”

“I know,” she cut in. “But she’s still my mom.”

“She’s also the woman who told me last time we visited that she hoped our kids wouldn’t inherit my shifter problem, ” I said, proud that I kept my voice tension-free.

My future mother-in-law really got to me.

Always. I knew she was different, to put it nicely, but still.

“And then she offered you an old charm bracelet to remind you of who you used to be.”

“It's a family heirloom.”

“It was a passive-aggressive guilt bomb wrapped in tarnished silver,” I snapped.

Ella flinched, and I regretted it immediately.

“She’s difficult,” she said tightly. “But she’s my family.”

“And I’m not?” I asked, hating how harsh it sounded.

“You are!” she said. “God, Patrick. You’re my everything. But I can’t cut her out of my life just because it makes things easier for us.”

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “I’m not asking you to cut her out. I’m asking if we really need her at the wedding . ”

The silence that followed stretched long and thin, the tension still crackled in the air between us like a summer storm that hadn’t quite passed yet. Ella didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the floor, chewing her lip like it might give her better words.

Eventually, she let out a breath that sounded like surrender—maybe not to me, but to the ache between us.

She strode over and sat down on my lap, I welcomed her by putting my arms around her, while her cheek rested against my shoulder, both of us stayed quiet in the afterglow of our near-argument.

But I could feel it—the hum beneath her skin. The vibe of not done yet.

“Can I ask you something?” she said softly.

I tipped my chin toward her. “Always.”

She sat up just enough to meet my eyes. “How would you feel… if I asked you not to invite Gabe?”

I blinked. “What?”

“If I said I didn’t want him at the wedding. Because of Carol. Because they don’t get along. Because he makes her feel like garbage every time he opens his mouth.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to stay calm. “That’s not the same, Ells.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t take it back. “Gabe might be a pain in the ass, and yeah, he and Carol have history—weird, slightly terrifying history—but my brother doesn’t look at half the guest list like they’re second-class citizens.”

Her face tightened. “You think I don’t get that?”

“I don’t know.” I stood, setting her gently on the floor. I needed space—not a lot, just enough to think without her heartbeat pressed against mine. “Because you’re comparing your mom’s prejudice to a mutual grudge match between two people who could win Olympic medals in passive aggression.”

“That’s not fair,” she said, crossing her arms. “Carol doesn’t just grudge match . Gabe goes after her. Every. Time. He mocks her, undermines her, and acts like she’s a punchline. It’s not some petty rivalry. It’s personal. And you know it.”

“She can hold her own,” I said, instantly regretting it.

Ella’s eyes flashed. “Wow. So because she’s loud and snarky, that makes it okay?”

“No. Damn it, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Patrick?”

I let out a slow breath. “I meant… your mom makes me feel like I’m wrong for existing. Gabe makes Carol feel like she’s annoying.”

“He's not just annoying to her,” she said tightly. “He hurts her.”

That pulled me up short.

“Hurts her how?”

Ella shook her head. “I don’t know. But it’s there. Every time he looks at her. Like something happened and neither of them will talk about it, so they just keep cutting each other down.”

I stayed quiet for a second, letting that sink in. Because she wasn’t wrong. And that made it harder.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I know this is complicated.”

She nodded. “It is.”

“But Gabe’s still coming.”

“And so is my mom.”

We stared at each other—both stubborn, both unwilling to back down, both silently daring the other to blink first.

Then, slowly, Ella sighed and reached for my hand.

“This doesn’t have to be a fight,” she said softly. “We’re not our families.”

“No,” I agreed. “We’re better . ”

She smiled, just a little. “Still going to sit them next to each other?”

I barked a laugh. “God, no. I want to survive the wedding.”

She tugged me close again, resting her forehead against mine. “So we’re okay?”

I kissed her gently. “We’re always okay.”

Even when we weren’t.

We’d get back here. Every time. I would prove to her that I would never push her away, and if that meant having her harpy of a mother there, then I would put up with it. Somehow. Because I loved Ella with all my heart, and I would do anything for her.