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“You always know my love language.”

Kimba huffs lightly, no doubt offended by my preference for staff over family, but she’s distracted by the sound of a blender finally giving up the will to live.

Dad chooses that moment to make his entrance; a storm in a silk shirt.

Damon Rogers, ex-frontman of The Revelry, part-time chaos merchant, and full-time embarrassment. He’s changed for dinner; I sometimes think he changes his outfit to keep boredom at bay. Some people read a book, Damon Rogers changes pants.

Today’s outfit includes snakeskin boots and sunglasses indoors.

“Jesus. Did you mug a Vegas magician?”

“Style icon, darling.” He swans over, arms wide. “You’ve got to commit to the look.”

“You committed a fashion crime.”

He roars with laughter, planting a kiss on my hair as though we’re best mates and not just genetically entangled.

“Right then.” He grabs a handful of almonds from a crystal bowl. “We’ve been offered a bloody telly show.”

“God help us.” Felix murmurs.

Kimba clasps her hands as though someone just proposed marriage. “Oh, I love that idea.”

“It’s the Kardashians but better.” Damon announces, mouth full. “Cameras follow us around, get a bit of the old family madness, show the world the Rogers dynasty in all its glory.”

I blink. “Didn’t we already try that when you married your backing singer and forgot to tell Mum?”

“Exactly!” Damon points at me. “Drama; redemption. Relatability.”

“Deep trauma and low-cut tops.” Felix adds dryly.

Damon shrugs. “Exactly.”

Just then, the front door bursts open and in breezes Hailey. Long legs, even longer lashes, and a skirt so short I briefly consider donating fabric.

“Hi!” she trills, kissing air and posing in one fluid motion. “Sorry I’m late, I was in a meeting with my agent and you’ll never guess what.”

“I already have hives.”

“They want me for Love Island.” She announces, as though she’s just been offered a Nobel Prize.

“Brilliant.” Damon groans. “Absolutely not.”

Hailey pouts. “Why not?”

“Because you’re already in the papers more than King Charles, and not always for the right reasons.”

She waves a hand. “That’s old news. Plus, it’s great exposure.”

“You’ve had enough exposure.” Felix mutters. “Most of it on beaches.”

Hailey flops onto a sofa and starts scrolling through her phone. “You lot are so uptight. Seren, back me up.”

“Hard pass.”

“Traitor.”

Mrs Martin appears with a tray of Yorkshire puddings, rescuing us from ourselves.