Liam The morning sky couldn’t be bluer, or the breeze sweeter, as the quartet plays “Here
Comes the Bride” in Rhys’s immaculate garden. His intended, Max, walks down the aisle
with her aunt from New Hampshire. She looks dazzling in a white empire-waist dress, her
eyes glowing with love. In a tux as white as her gown, Rhys smiles like he’s just won the
lottery. Kinda funny since his private equity firm generates profits equivalent to those
jackpots every year. But Rhys deserves the best. As the oldest of us brothers, he’s always
stood like a shield in front of us. He was the first one we called when we got into
trouble—not our parents, not the family attorney. He really is the father figure. Not that we
don’t have a father—Auric Kingswood sits in the groom’s section, looking properly paternal
although he has no interest in parenting. My mom Elita is next to him. They created Rhys,
Gideon and me. Roarke, Finn and Xavier are children born from some of Dad’s numerous
affairs, while Silas is from Mom’s fling with some Italian flame. My parents flaunt their
numerous lovers, and take full advantage of the family’s multigenerational wealth and
power to insulate themselves from consequences. Dad is as fashionable as ever in his
bespoke tux. His hair is streaked with just enough silver to impart a mature
dignity—without making him look too old—and his blue eyes are still sharp, his jawline still
squared and defined. He gave his dark hair and blue eyes to all six of his kids. Silas, on the
other hand, has his Italian father’s coloring. Mom looks like the perfect companion to Dad,
in a pink dress with a modest neckline—very conservative by her standards since she
usually likes to take the plunge. Her glossy dark hair is twisted into a fancy updo
with a purple flower in the center of the bun, and the heirloom emeralds bring out her vivid
eyes. Both my parents maintain themselves. Most would never believe they have seven
adult sons, the youngest of whom is thirty. Standing in a long line with my brothers as
Rhys’s groomsmen, I gaze at the guests. Barely fifty people. Rhys and Max k ept it to a
minimum, only inviting people who are worthy of a seat at the table. Is Olivia ke eping her
ceremony small, too? But does she actually have anybody she can invite, people who
genuinely love her and want the best for her? Probably not. Tyler barely paid attention to
her, then teamed up with Brielle to belittle and berate Olivia. The people who are closest to
you assign you your place, and then everyone else takes their cue from them. Of course,
sometimes you get lucky and have people who have your back no matter what, like my
brothers. I remember that terrible Thanksgiving when I was seven— “Oh my gosh, I wasn’t
sure if I ever wanted another, after three kids already. It was just so... accidental, you
know?” No idea what made Mom say that, but every word is etched into my mind. “But it all
worked out.” Dad patted her shoulder. “He’s so easygoing and sweet. I’m glad we decided
to ke ep him in the end—” Rhys slammed his hand on the table. The rest of my brothers
broke into a shouting match with our parents over the airy exchange. I just sat there,
unsure of what to do but wishing I could just... vanish. I shake off the bitter memory and
focus on the wedding. This isn’t the time to dwell, not when I should be celebrating Rhys’s
hard-won happiness. Besides, why should I be unhappy now? I have brothers who have my
back and my own professional success. I might have been an accident, but I’ve made myself
into something more, so people don’t look at me and associate me with superfluousness.
Rhys’s voice shakes when he says, “I do.” Max’s eyes twinkle, and if the officiant weren’t
waiting, she’d probably throw her arms around him right there. The wedding bands from
Kingswood Stones & Designs sparkle under the sun, displaying the bride and groom’s love
and commitment to the world. Pride warms my heart. They’re some of the best work I’ve
ever done. My mind drifts to the ones Olivia wanted for her wedding—the set with the
gaudy central stones. My aesthetic sensibilities scream no every time I
think about them, and it kills me I don’t get to decide when she should have the absolute
best. But perhaps it doesn’t matter, and she knows it de ep in her heart. The wedding with
Tyler doesn’t seem to have anything special about it: no love, no commitment and certainly
no care. She deserves better. So much better. And yet she won’t fight for it. I can’t fathom
why not. She’s smart and driven. Graduated summa cum laude from Stanford with a BS in
Mathematical and Computational Science. None of the frat boys who had a crush on her
ever had a chance, not when she pierced them with those wintry eyes. Jesus, when I finally
had a chance to talk to her for the first time, I couldn’t even say, “Hi,” without feeling like I
was about to throw up. What makes Tyler so special? Is he just more loved by everyone
around him? Does he have some indefinable quality only she can see? Maybe something I
just don’t have? Did his parents jump for joy when he was born? Jealousy sits in my belly
like a ball of rancid fat. If he were a genuinely good guy who would make her happy, I could
stand back and smile, even if it killed me. But this— My hands clench at the memory of the
unshed tears in her eyes— The audience erupts into a good-humored cheer, and I look
toward the altar. Rhys and Max are kissing like they’ve just discovered the act. I
consciously, with effort, relax my shoulders and hands, then clap over my head, just like the
rest of my brothers. Gideon makes his hands into a megaphone. “Get a room!” “Mr. No
Romance,” Silas teases. Gideon is a tech investor, and we always joke that he’s about as
romantic as a robot. The quartet plays more music, and the bride and groom recede.
Everyone starts to get up and chat as the event moves to the rec eption in the east wing for
the cocktail hour before lunch. Another quartet—how many did Rhys hire?—plays “Rose
Adagio” in the hall. Grandmother nods, a wistful smile on her face. Does she miss her years
at the Mariinsky? She was the principal ballerina until an ankle injury in her thirties
apparently cut her career short, way before she was ready. Even now she walks with her
feet turned out, her back and shoulders straight, her head held high. Her long limbs move
with the inherent grace of a world-class dancer. Her wispy calf-length dress swirls around
her slim legs.
Grandfather walks next to her, like a knight guarding his lady. He doesn’t bother to do
anything about his graying hair, but it somehow makes him look like a weathered warrior
rather than an old geezer. He has the same sharp blue eyes Dad has, and the erect posture
of a man who knows where he ranks—at the top—and what he has, which is everything.
Silas munches on something, then his dark eyes go wide. “What is it?” If whatever he’s
eating can impress the only capable cook among us brothers, it must be pretty good. He
checks his phone. “The menu says seared scallops with cauliflower purée and caviar. I gotta
get the recipe.” Xavier snorts. “Rhys practically had to donate a kidney to have Jane Pryce
cater the rec eption, and she isn’t giving up any recipes.” Silas’s eyes glint as he takes
another bite and chews more thoughtfully. “You should just make your own. It’s more
satisfying that way,” Roarke says, ever the pragmatist. “Why do you think I started brewing
my own liquor?” “Not the same thing.” Silas turns to me. “By the way, did you already have
your date with your bachelor auction winner?” “Not yet. I sort of forgot about it.” I shrug.
“To be honest, the excitement kind of died out after Max bid a billion bucks on Rhys.”
“Yeah, but Selena’s face was priceless.” A vindictive edge sharpens Finn’s smile. “She had it
coming. Exes are like fish gone bad and should stay away,” I say. She tried hard to screw up
what Rhys has with Max, and I’ll never forgive her for it. Gideon looks pained. “That’s a
terrible comparison.” “Still true. Not good for you, toss it in the trash.” Sort of like Tyler. He
deserves to be in the ex category. Finn offers the toast as our main r epresentative, since
he’s the one closest to Rhys, co-founding RF Investment. But from the way Rhys ke eps
stealing glances at Max, he misses more than half of it. At least there’ll be a video recording
of the moment if he ever wants to hear what Finn had to say. The luncheon goes without a
hitch, exc ept for Silas sighing longingly over every dish. The man’s obsessed with cooking.
You’d think he owned restaurants, not ran the Platcher Cosmetics empire.
But as the rec eption goes on, Max yawns a couple of times. She doesn’t look bored, just a
little tired. She’s carrying a small bun in her belly after all. Rhys kisses her temple and
whispers something, the two of them intimately in tune with each other. She smiles, then
gets up and dings her glass with a fork a few times. “All right, ladies. This is what you’ve
been waiting for.” She picks up the gorgeous white gardenia bouquet that’s been sitting in
water since the ceremony ended. Several women rush over, almost tripping over each other
in their enthusiasm. Rhys’s personal security guard, Angelo, moves surr eptitiously toward
them, although a man big enough that he can’t wear off-the-rack suits doesn’t do stealth
very well. I tilt my head. What’s he doing? Did he spot somebody looking sketchy? Exc ept
everyone here is vetted and a genuine friend... I stand up, suddenly uneasy and ready to
lend a hand if there’s a problem. Max turns around, her back to the crowd, then throws her
bouquet. She gets her back into it and the cluster of flowers launches into the air like a
rocket. Suddenly Angelo picks up speed. Wait a minute... Is he trying to get the bouquet?
The women shriek and start to move backward, but the bouquet’s too high in the air. I st ep
forward in case Angelo tackles one of them in his eagerness to snatch the flowers. If he
collides with one of the ladies, we’ll need to call 911. Something plops on my head, and I
instinctively raise my hands to grab it. Angelo comes to a shuddering halt, his eyes wide.
“Nooo!” I look down and blink. The bouquet lies in my hands. “Oh.” He looks at me over his
sunglasses like I just interc epted a game- winning pass. “You gonna be next to tie the
knot?” “Uh...” I shrug. The only woman I want to marry is... No. I don’t even want to think
about it when she’s set on marrying someone else. The quartet strikes up “I Put a Spell on
You,” and Rhys and Max have their first dance. Their movements are beautifully in tune,
with them gazing de eply into each other’s eyes. Grandmother arches a dark eyebrow in
surprise—probably can’t believe Max can dance without embarrassing herself. The
granddaughter of an
Italian count and a Russian mining heiress, she thinks most people are uncouth and
uncultured. And her Mariinsky pedigree certainly didn’t lessen her snobbishness. She
probably would’ve rejected Grandfather’s proposal outright if he hadn’t impressed her with
his knowledge of ballet and art. “All right, so who’s dancing with Max next?” Silas asks, his
gaze swe eping over the brothers with that not-so-subtle you-better-remember-
who-makes-the-bro-brunches look. Exc ept none of us will let him win the honor without a
fight. Finn raises a finger. Gideon shakes his head. “Nope. You made the toast.” “Right. And
so I get to dance with her first.” “Nobody wants to dance with a director from her own
company,” I scoff. “Fine. Rock paper scissors,” Roarke says. Xavier gives him a theatrically
dim look. “How old are you?” “It’s random and fair. Unless you’re too chickenshit to try
your luck.” Roarke shrugs, his palms up. “Fine,” I say, although catching the bouquet
probably used up most of my luck. And whatever’s left I’d prefer to use to pull Olivia out of
the black-magic trance Tyler has her in. “Oh yeah,” Roarke says, cracking his knuckles.
“Come on.” Despite his smirky confidence, Roarke is out after the first round. We laugh at
his stunned expression. “Tough luck, bro,” Xavier says, showing absolutely zero sympathy.
“Asshole.” “Losers whine, winners get to dance with Max,” Silas says. Three rounds later, I
stare at my palm. “Wow.” “Damn it!” Finn shakes his fist. “You’re just lucky.” “Hah. Pure
skill.” Lucky? He has no idea. My luck isn’t that great—the woman I’ve been thinking about
for twelve years barely registers my existence. “I was going to go with scissors...” Finn’s
tone is mournful since he was so close to winning. “At least you just made a lot of money at
work,” I say to soothe his pain. He hates losing. “How do you know?”
“Call it a wild guess.” I slap his shoulder, then head over to claim my prize. “You guys are
hilarious,” Max says with a laugh in her eyes as we walk onto the dance floor. “Rock paper
scissors? Seriously?” “We aim to amuse.” The quartet plays the jaunty melody from “Cheek
to Cheek.” I sing it under my breath. “You know the song?” Max’s mouth forms a surprised
O. “Of course. Don’t you?” “I know the melody, but not the lyrics.” “Oh ye of little romance,”
I tease as I spin her. “That’s why I work at RF Investment, not at Kingswood Stones &
Designs.” She sighs softly, then gives me a sly look. “You’re the romance magnet. Even the
bouquet knew. Maybe you’re next.” I laugh. “More likely last.” Or even more likely—never.
“Don’t be so negative. You’re perfect—ready for a torrid romance.” She shines with so much
warmth and care, exc ept she doesn’t know the only woman I’d want to marry is engaged to
another man. “There’s a woman who’s just waiting for you to burst into her life and swe ep
her off her feet.” “Like this?” I execute a perfect swe ep and dip. She lets out a peal of
laughter, then places a soft kiss on my cheek as the quartet hits the final note. “Yeah, just
like that.”