“What the actual fuck?” Rhys growled.

Dylan turned his wide eyes to him, glad it was him who’d broken the stunned silence. After a day of tipping the world upside down, shaking it, and searching for an answer, he hadn’t been entirely sure if he’d imagined what Emma had just said.

“You heard me,” Emma said calmly, though the jitters in her hands gave her away. “My brother and your brother have decided to make honest men out of each other, right here—right now, in actual fact. The registrar will be here in half an hour.”

More silence. Dylan took in the faces around him. Rhys’s expression was hard to gauge, and Angelo was blinking, clearly bemused, but it was Jevon who came to life first. His half smile broadened, and he pounded Rhys on the back. “What about that, eh? Good job I brought my favourite bow tie.”

Rhys glowered at him. “You did not bring a bow tie.”

“You reckon?” Jevon shoved a hand in his pocket and came back with a pink and yellow dickie bow. He fastened it around Rhys’s neck and thumped him again. “Just as well too. Can’t have you showing your brother up.”

Reality crept slowly into Rhys’s stormy gaze. The edgy confusion faded, and real joy seeped in. He tore his eyes from Jevon and looked at Emma. “You’d better not be shitting me.”

Emma beamed. “As if I would. Now come with me . . . all of you. We’ve got about an hour to make this awesome.”

Dylan pushed his chair back, as stunned as everyone else apparently was. A couple of beers and a double pepperoni pizza had been the only things on his radar, perhaps some lazy fucking if Angelo had been game. A wedding? Damn. He’d have been less surprised if Emma had burst into the kitchen with newly grown horns.

Beside him, Angelo was slower to his feet than everyone else. Dylan broke ranks to look at him, but there was no pain in his face, only a smile that threatened to split it in half. “I knew they were up to something with that barn.”

“What barn?”

“The one with half a roof down by the stream. Harry said something about cleaning it up for summer weddings, and he’s been over there loads the last few months. I figured he was planning some renovations in the spring.”

“You never said.”

“Didn’t I?”

Dylan shook his head. “No, but I didn’t ask either. Joe’s barns have never been high on my list of things to grill you about.”

Angelo started to say something else, but Emma got between them and grabbed their arms. “Come on.” She tugged them towards the door. “We’ve got a derelict barn to make nice, and someone has to convince Joe to do something with his hair.”

Emma was a force to be reckoned with when she took control of her nerves. And as she herded them to a corner of the farm Dylan had never been, he wondered if that was why Joe and Harry had sprung a wedding on the world like this, with little time for anyone to do much more than turn up.

And when they got to the barn, it was clear that whatever was going down tonight had been given more than a few hours’ thought. The broken-down barn had a new roof, new floors, and a bar installed at the back. A warm glow bathed the rustic space, and simple, vintage touches finished an intimate venue any Pinterest board would be proud of.

“Wow.” Dylan spun in a slow circle. “What the fuck is even happening right now?”

Harry’s deep chuckle came from somewhere behind him. “Don’t get too excited. We didn’t do all this for us. It’s for the farm, to raise money for a new stable block. You’re the one who said Cornish weddings were big business, remember?”

“I was drunk-reading Vogue. That’s not the best time to take me seriously, mate.”

“Noted.” Harry laughed again and slung his arm around Angelo who was still painfully bemused. “I was kinda surprised you didn’t figure it out, though. You answered the phone to the registrar last week, and she thought you were me.”

Angelo shook his head. “I remember that, but I thought I’d misunderstood, then I lost my phone when we were trying to find Jevon, and . . . fuck, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Give me a break, Harry. I never have a clue what’s going on around here.”

“Neither do I, apparently.” Emma joined them. “When you said it was happening in the barn tonight, I pictured us all huddled up in the rain in our coats. Harry, this place is incredible. How have you done this without anyone noticing?”

Harry shrugged as Joe appeared seemingly out of nowhere and wound his arms around him from behind. “It was easier than you’d think, actually. Angelo, by his own admission, is pretty oblivious, and you don’t come out this way. Toby and George were in on it from the start, and we did most of the work at night.”

“Were you planning your own wedding all along?” Rhys asked.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “That only came up a few weeks ago when you said you’d try and get here for Christmas. With Dylan coming too, we figured it was probably the only time we’d get with all of you here. That Jevon’s with us too is more than we dared hope for.”

Rhys beamed and gave his crutches up to Jevon to hug his brother. Warmth bubbled in Dylan’s gut and threatened to burst out of his chest. He clutched Angelo’s hand, eyes burning, and yanked him away from the touching scenes.

Outside, concern marred the happiness lighting Angelo’s gaze.

Dylan frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Dylan pulled him close and found solace in Angelo’s neck, burying his face there a long moment before he found the composure to look up again. “I’m just so happy for them, you know? Harry was so lonely when we met him, and Joe is everything to him. It’s how life should be.”

“You don’t think life is like that for us?”

“Of course I do.” Dylan sniffed. “It’s the reason I know Harry was lonely. Because he told me once that he wanted to love someone like you loved me . . . like I didn’t already know I was the luckiest man in the world.”

“Dylan—”

“Don’t.” Dylan clamped a hand over Angelo’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re the lucky one, that you’d be nothing without me and all that bollocks, because I’m tired of it, Angelo. People don’t find what we have as a given, and it wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t hard sometimes.”

Angelo freed his mouth from Dylan’s hand. “I bloody know all that, you fool. I just forget sometimes, like I forget everything else except the fact that I love you more than anything.”

“Stop it. You’ll make me cry for real.”

“You started it.”

“Not true. They did.” Dylan jerked his head at the barn. “I feel so emotional right now, I might literally cry for the rest of the night.”

He was joking . . . mostly, and Angelo seemed to know it. He kissed Dylan like it was their wedding night and then took his hands, entwining their fingers together like ivy clinging stubbornly to weathered bricks. “I’m so happy for Harry and Joe, it just makes me love you more. I am hard work, Dylan . . . perhaps we both are, but it’s worth everything to be with you.”

“I know, baby.”

“Good.” Angelo kissed the very tip of Dylan’s nose. “Now let’s go inside and watch our best friends get married.”

Laughter, tears, and joy—there was plenty of all three as Harry and Joe married each other in front of their family and friends. Even Harry’s mother got a look in through a carefully placed phone camera.

Angelo sat between Dylan and Sal—who’d arrived at the last possible moment, crying and swatting Joe upside his head—passing tissues and trading hugs when emotions bubbled over.

“My precious boy,” Sal said. “All I’ve ever wanted for him is to see him so loved.”

Angelo smiled. “I think he loves Harry just as much.”

“Of course he does. He wouldn’t understand if he didn’t. You can’t take that kind of love from someone without giving it back.”

“I know, Sal. I know.”

And Angelo did. The last few months had been a train wreck, but loving Dylan had never been so easy, because Dylan loved him back, and together they were stronger than anything else life threw at them.

The ceremony drew to a close. Joe, dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and braces, tossed his grandfather’s hat into the air. It landed on Rhys, and Jevon’s uproarious laugh filled the barn to the rafters, seeping into every soul in the room, filling what little space Joe and Harry’s love had left behind.

Angelo laughed too, turned to Dylan, and kissed his cheek. “I wish I’d caught it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a good hat.”

“Dick.” But Dylan’s smile told Angelo he’d heard the words unsaid: One day, baby. One day.

Maybe, at least. Marriage had never crossed Angelo’s mind before the twenty minutes of pure joy he’d just lived through, but he wanted the smile on Harry’s face to be Dylan’s, and the smouldering happiness in Joe’s roguish eyes to be his. Dylan deserved it—they both did.

The party moved to the bar. Jevon and Dylan helped Emma fetch long-forgotten bottles of homemade wine from the house and order enough pizza for a small army while Angelo sank into a couch with Rhys, watching the world turn around them.

Angelo knocked Rhys’s arm. “All right?”

“Think so.” Rhys shook his head slightly. “Is it me, or have the last few weeks been totally fucking bananas?”

Up until a week ago, Rhys had been working on an air ambulance, so Angelo was willing to bet Rhys’s life had been crazier than anything that had happened on the farm, but he nodded anyway. Insanity was subjective. “It’s all good now, though, right? You and Jevon know what you’re doing, me and Dylan are getting there . . . Emma too. And those two goons?” He jerked his head at Harry and Joe who still fended off emotional relatives. “Like we didn’t already know they were made for each other.”

“Disgusting, ain’t it?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve been meaning to have a proper conversation with you, though,” Rhys said after a protracted silence. “And I probably should’ve done it before we got busy in your living room.”

Angelo snorted. “We’ve never worried about shit like that before. Remember the Mother Love Bone night last Christmas? I don’t think me and you exchanged more than two words before then.”

“Yeah, well . . . that’s gonna change, mate. I—uh—I’m a pretty shit friend, and I’m not going to be around much once I’m back on my feet, but I’m hoping you and me can fix it all up before I go away. Harry said you’re good with ankles, so I was wondering if you’d help me out with some physio?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me to get some physio.”

“I do like—” Rhys began to protest before he caught Angelo’s grin and flicked his ear. “Prick. Dylan’s way nicer than you.”

“I know, but of course I’ll help you out with your rehab. I was going to offer anyway, but I thought you might want Harry to do it. And, I’m not a physiotherapist—not yet, anyway. I do rehab programmes and muscle recovery.”

“You know as much as I need,” Rhys said. “Besides, me and Harry would kill each other if we had to spend regular, forced periods of time together. I love him more than anything, but he gets on my nerves.”

Laughter burst out of Angelo’s chest. “How can Harry get on your nerves? He’s the nicest bloke in the world.”

Rhys gave Angelo a comically flat-eyed stare. “My point exactly. He’s so fucking reasonable I want to brain him half the time.”

“Then you’re the prick.”

“Tell me something new.”

Angelo laughed again as someone somewhere turned some music just loud enough to amp up the party without disturbing the horses on the other side of the farm. An old rock beat filtered out of hidden speakers and into Angelo’s veins. His muscles twitched, desperate to move, and in a moment of reckless abandon, he didn’t question it.

He nudged Rhys again. “Can I dance with your boy?”

“Sure.” Rhys waved his hand. “It’s only fair, seeing as I’ve had your boy’s balls—”

Angelo sprang from the couch before Rhys could finish his crude sentence and crossed the fast-filling-up barn to where Jevon was setting out pizzas on the bar. “Wanna dance?”

Jevon didn’t take much persuading, and Dylan, Toby, and Lacey soon joined them, though Jevon was the only one who could keep up with Angelo.

“Stop,” Dylan growled in Angelo’s ear. “I’m so fucking horny watching you two throw each other around. Do you want me to screw you right here?”

Angelo wouldn’t have complained, but he got the feeling Joe’s friendly neighbours might’ve. He whirled away from Dylan and straight back into Jevon’s waiting arms. Somewhere behind him, Rhys heckled something crass, but Angelo barely heard him. To move was to be free. And to be loved by Dylan on top of that was all he’d ever need.

Angelo was glorious. Dylan could’ve watched him dance all night if the need to hustle him into bed wasn’t so strong, though it was the early hours by the time someone turned the music off.

They emerged from the barn to a crisp, clear night that promised a frosty morning and trudged across the farm to the chalet they’d committed to call home in the very near future. Though sure of his path, nerves had plagued Dylan even as he’d planned up a storm with Emma, but tonight’s festivities had washed them away. Home was where the heart was, and Dylan’s heart belonged to Angelo.

“Are you hungry?”

“Hmm?” Angelo glanced up from navigating the potholed path. “Nah. I ate all that pizza.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you danced it all off.”

“Then I’ll have plenty of room for stuffing tomorrow.”

Dylan acknowledged the innuendo with a smirk, but Angelo’s answering smile was too sweet to be dirty, so Dylan let it go and guided him around a puddle. “Remind me to call my dad in the morning.”

“Is he spending Christmas with Tammy?”

“Yup. I don’t think she goes home much anymore. He wants us to visit after the New Year, which should tie in well with telling him we’re moving down here permanently.”

“Will he be upset?”

Dylan shook his head. “Doubt it. He might’ve been a year ago, but he’s got a whole new life now—and a cat. He doesn’t need me in his face all the time.”

“At least he gives a shit.”

“Your mum cares.”

“Uh-huh.”

There was no challenge in Angelo’s tone, but Dylan heard it all the same. “She does,” he insisted. “In her own way.”

Angelo snorted. “Her own way sucks donkey dick.”

Dylan let him have that one and pushed all thoughts of anyone else aside. Tonight had been about nothing but love, and they still had a few more hours to enjoy it.

They reached the chalet. Angelo unlocked the door, but Dylan stopped him before he could go inside and caught him in the kind of kiss they didn’t often have the patience to wait for. Tender and sweet, it was a slow burn and reminded Dylan of the very first kisses they’d shared after their explosive first encounter at the club. Those kisses had been such a perfect contradiction that Dylan had known from the start he was falling in love with this beautiful man.

My beautiful man.

Angelo’s back hit the doorframe, and he gasped, his legs shaking, perhaps as much from Dylan’s touch as his wild night on the dance floor. But it didn’t matter how hard Angelo’s illness ever shook him, Dylan would always be right here, arms tight around him, holding him up.

Finally breaking their kiss, he slipped an arm around Angelo and guided him inside. There weren’t many places in the chalet they hadn’t fucked, but right now, the bed was calling their names.

Dylan eased Angelo down onto his back. “Did you clean up in here?”

“Yeah . . . when I came back from work. I know you get all horny for fresh sheets.”

“I get horny for you, but it’s so much more than that, baby.”

“I know.”

Angelo pushed Dylan’s coat off his shoulders and set to work unbuttoning the shirt Emma had forced them all into at the last possible minute before the wedding. It joined Dylan’s coat on the floor. They kicked off their shoes, and Dylan stripped Angelo of the rest of his clothes before standing to remove his own jeans.

Naked, he came back to the bed and crawled over Angelo, covering him with his body until there wasn’t an inch between them. He fused their lips together and hooked his arms around Angelo’s legs, lifting them gently until they were draped over his shoulders. “Okay?”

Angelo sucked in a shaky breath and nodded. “I’m so hard for you. Fuck me, Dylan . . . please?”

As if Dylan could refuse. As if he wanted to. He reached over Angelo’s head and found lube in the bedside table, then he slicked his fingers and worked Angelo open, all the while still kissing him like a drowning man.

Beneath him, Angelo trembled and his gasps rose in pitch to frantic moans. “Dylan.”

“What?” Dylan thrust his fingers harder, holding Angelo down with his other hand as he jerked from the bed. “What do you want? What do you need?”

“Love me,” Angelo gritted out. “I don’t care what you do, just love me.”

“I do love you. Always.” But Dylan heard the plea in the ragged words, and it matched the desperation building in his own veins. He reclaimed his fingers and coated his throbbing cock with more lube. Then he rolled Angelo onto his stomach to give his legs a break, lifting his hips from the mattress just enough for Angelo to grip his own dick.

Their bodies came together as Dylan pressed inside Angelo’s tight, wet heat. Seamless and smooth, it was like they’d been formed from the same mould, two halves of one coin. Lava pulsed where they were joined, and Dylan’s control began to slip. He gripped Angelo’s hair and tugged his head back, sinking his teeth into Angelo’s neck as he thrust inside him. “I love you so fucking much.”

Angelo cried out in response, muscles tight and straining, pushing back on Dylan as though it didn’t matter how absolutely Dylan filled him, it would never be enough.

Taking his cue, Dylan hunched over and began to fuck him, slowly at first, taking care to gauge the pain points Angelo seemed to have forgotten about, but when Angelo’s cries held nothing but pleasure, Dylan set them both free.

Over and over, he drove inside Angelo, the crazy heat sweeping through him and flooding every vein. Fucking Angelo was always like this, but it was . . . more than that now. Like something had shifted between them, solidified, even though they’d never tangibly known it was loose. Pressure built in Dylan’s gut, expanding with every thrust until his eyes rolled back and flickering dots obscured his vision.

He dug his nails into Angelo’s leanly muscled back. “I’m gonna explode inside you.”

Angelo groaned, deep and loud, and threw his arms out in front of him, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the clean sheets. “Do it. I’m going to come so fucking hard.”

A frenzied urgency stole over Dylan, robbing him of what little sense he had left. One hand moved to the back of Angelo’s head, pressing his face into the mattress, while the other kept balance at his spine, and then he let go, fucking Angelo with the abandon his heart desired, flesh slapping flesh the only sound in the room beyond harsh groans and squeaking bedsprings.

Angelo came first, releasing with a series of breathless cries that unravelled the swelling knot of pressure in Dylan’s belly, and then Dylan came too, his rhythm deteriorating with every jolt of pleasure until one last erratic thrust.

Dylan shot inside Angelo, shuddering through every pulse of his release until his body could give no more. Panting, he withdrew and pressed a clumsy kiss between Angelo’s shoulder blades. “I love you.”

“. . . love . . . you, too.”

Angelo’s exhausted mumble was barely audible. Dylan smiled and ruffled his hair. “Don’t fall asleep there. You’ll be stuck to the duvet when you wake up.”

Angelo groaned and lifted his head. “Don’t be so fucking practical.”

“Not sorry.” Dylan helped Angelo sit up enough so he could pull the covers back. “Wait a sec.”

He dashed to the bathroom for a warm, wet cloth and cleaned them both up, then he moved to the window to draw the curtains. “Hey . . . it’s getting light.”

“Leave them open then,” Angelo said. “We can watch the sun come up.”

Dylan left the curtains and padded back to the bed. He crawled under the duvet and lay on his back with Angelo curled against him, his head on Dylan’s chest, and together they watched the dawn break through the clouds and bathe the frosty fields in ethereal winter sunshine.

“Merry Christmas,” Angelo whispered.

Dylan smiled and held him impossibly tighter. “Merry Christmas, baby.”