The ballroom of the Grand Marquee Hotel was a minefield of glitter and shrieking joy, the kind of place where a grown adult could lose their mind—or at least their dignity—within five minutes. Molly adjusted the frilly pink bow on her head, which clashed violently with her leather jacket, and surveyed the chaos. Balloons bobbed like overinflated sentinels, a piñata hung in the corner like a sad, stuffed hostage, and somewhere, a child was screaming about a missing juice box with the fervor of a detective on a murder case. Bill, dressed in a clown costume that made him look less like a professional thief and more like a man who had lost a bet to a circus ringmaster, sidled up beside her. "You sure this is the right play?" he muttered, his voice muffled by the oversized red nose he kept forgetting to take off. "I mean, we’re stealing from *kids*." Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. "First of all, those presents are *under* the kids. Second, have you seen the size of that gift table? It’s basically a buffet of unguarded iPads and LEGO sets. Third—" she grabbed a handful of his polka-dot suspenders and yanked him closer, "—if you so much as *think* about backing out now, I will replace your clown makeup with *actual* tears." Bill sighed, the sound lost beneath the wail of a toddler demanding more cake. "Fine. But if I get puked on by a five-year-old, I’m billing you for dry cleaning." Molly grinned, already eyeing the exit nearest the present table. "Deal. Now stop fidgeting with that nose—you look like you’re trying to sneeze out your regrets."