Another year, another Kavanaugh family holiday party. Only this year I wasn’t wondering who I was going to take as my date. I wasn’t taking orders from my PR rep Lola and stewing over getting the right camera shots to rehab my image. I was the happiest man in the room with my gorgeous fiancée on my arm.

This time the engagement ring was all Ana’s, not on loan from a store, not picked out for its wow factor by a PR company rep. And I’d been right, there was a stone in Ana’s family I was able to use in the setting, giving it a personal touch and emotional tie to her background. Her mother had been so pleased when I’d asked. Though it was a small diamond, I knew its worth far exceeded the others I included into the design. And there were others. I didn’t go cockroach-sized like Lola had, but I wanted my girl to have some sparkle.

“I can’t wait to see Gigi!” Ana squeezed my arm as we walked through the grand entrance of the Waldorf Astoria. The two of them had started corresponding regularly, discussing wedding plans and who knew what else. That friendly woman from Montana, the one who’d married my surprise! half-brother Declan, she was in on it, too. They seemed to be having a ball.

“Tulips,” Gram declared as she walked over to greet us, looking regal as always. “It came to me last night as I was reading a fascinating biography of Katherine Graham. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I became instantly convinced, you need to go with tulips.”

Good thing Ana seemed to know what she was talking about. The two of them hugged like long lost relatives, which I guess they were soon to officially become. Our wedding was set for the springtime, only a few months away. And apparently we were going to have tulips at it.

“Asher.” An older, jowly British relative cornered me the moment I entered the ballroom. “May I have a word?” I watched my fiancée and Gram walk away, knowing there was no getting out of it. It was time for my annual disapproving lecture.

“Jolly good show young man.” Say what now? I looked at him in surprise. “That new album of yours, quite excellent if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“That second number you have on there.” He started humming and I suppressed a wince. Apparently I hadn’t inherited my musical abilities from him.

He was talking about my latest album, released just last month in time for the holidays. I’d recorded an album of standards with some of the greats, legendary jazz musicians with more talent in their pinky fingers than many of the pop stars I knew and couldn’t say I loved. I’d learned a lot from them and had a blast.

We’d roughed up the songs everyone knew, given them some Ash Black signature style but still kept them true to their roots. So far, the album was selling great. It was the kind of thing I never would have considered doing before I met Ana. Now, I couldn’t imagine not having done it. It felt great to break out of the mold and have some fun, not worry so much about looking and seeming cool and instead simply enjoy making music.

Meanwhile, “Undone” had been nominated for a Grammy in a couple of categories. The success of that song still blew me away. But more than that, I was grateful for how it brought me and Ana back together. Had she not been invited to that BMA show, we might have kept right on keeping on, each of us stupidly thinking the other wanted it that way. We’d wasted enough time as it was.

Since that show, I’d barely let her out of my sight. We’d divided our time between S.F. and New York, and Ana had a whole new role at the library now, overseeing the disbursement of the funds I’d established to refurbish and expand children’s programming and services. I’d never seen anyone so happy about making other people happy, but Ana lit up about it, spending time visiting children’s branches and asking them about what they could use to improve their offerings. Me, I liked making her happy and if that meant making a bunch of kids happy, too, well it was a win-win.

She also made me appear on a poster. I wasn’t too happy about that at first but, hey, it was for a good cause. Styled like the celebrity posters that simply said “READ” and featured celebrities with a book, she had me photographed with a book. Only she had them reverse the R in READ. It was eye-catching, I’ll give her that. And it was all to raise awareness and funding to help kids with learning disabilities like dyslexia, the kinds of processing differences that made reading a struggle.

Talk about uncool. Ash Black from a year ago would have laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Get on a poster to promote reading? No. And then on top of it, advertise my learning disability? Become the poster boy for dyslexia? Not going to happen.

Then I fell in love with Ana and it turned out she could talk me into absolutely anything. And it turned out people loved it and the campaign was raising all kinds of awareness about and money for kids with learning disabilities. All kinds of celebrities had taken to social media, sharing their own stories about struggling in school, feeling stupid, and how they’d gone on to overcome it all. Add it to the list—the long list—of things I never would have pictured myself doing before Ana. Now, I was so grateful I had.

“Thank you so much for your guidance, Chester.” Gram swooped in, rescuing me from my jowly relative whose name was apparently Chester. All these years I’d never known. I’d have to send him a signed copy of the album he so enjoyed.

“I have to say.” Gram walked us through the room, Ana on one arm, me on another. “I am so pleased by the alacrity with which you followed my directive.”

“Alacrity?” I mouthed at Ana.

“Brisk and cheerful readiness,” Gram replied, apparently picking up on my confusion.

“Eagerness,” Ana offered as a synonym.

“Quite so,” Gram agreed.

“So, you’re happy we’re eager…” I still needed someone to connect the dots.

“Last Christmas I told you that you needed to go and get yourself married. Here we are, a year later, and you’re properly engaged to a lovely young woman who does a tremendous credit to our family.” She paused in her progress across the room, looking first at Ana, then at me. “I could not be more thrilled.”

“You are so kind.” Ana beamed at her.

“You know I always try to follow rules.” I couldn’t help teasing Gram. I’d reformed some of my ways, but not all.

“Pish posh.” Gram dismissed my assertion without any real annoyance. “So, that’s two of you tucked in nicely if we count Declan, as we certainly should.” Her keen eyes roved through the crowd, searching for her next target.

I spotted my older brother Colton standing tall and regal talking to a dreadful looking woman in a black suit. She looked like she was attending a funeral instead of a holiday party.

“You should tell Colton he needs to get married next.” I snickered as I leaned down to Gram, speaking loud enough for Ana to hear.

“Hmm.” She seemed to consider it, and I half believed she had the power to make it happen should she wish. But, as if pressing on the top of a loaf of bread, declaring it not done yet and popping it back into the oven, Gram shook her head. “No, he needs more time. Still coming into his own, you know.”

“Colton’s been in his own since the day he was born,” I insisted. No one was more confident and sure of himself than my pompous older brother, CEO of Kavanaugh Industries.

“No…” Gram paused, surveying the crowd, searching, searching, until… “Ah, yes. Perfect.”

“No,” I disagreed, seeing the poor sibling she’d alighted upon as the next up to get married.

“I’m not following,” Ana admitted.

“She’d deciding which one of us is next to get married,” I explained.

“Of course,” Ana agreed, as if it made perfect sense. Maybe she perceived my Gram as all-powerful as well.

“I’m 84,” Gram declared. “And I still have three grandchildren unattached. It simply will not do.”

“I agree.” Ana nodded.

“Heathcliff,” Gram announced as if by decree. “By this time next year—”

“Gram, I hate to interrupt you—”

“And yet you insist on doing it.”

“I do, because Heath is not going to get married next.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Please, enlighten me as to why not. But first let me remind you that last year you declared that under absolutely no circumstances were you going to get married.”

“Oh, did he?” Ana asked, amused.

“He most certainly did. But this was before you,” Gram assured her. “Back in the days when he refused to wear shirts.”

I cleared my throat. It was true, I did used to take off my shirt a lot. I had to do something for the ladies, like a public service. But now all I had to offer belonged to Ana.

But this was about Heath, and Heath was a different story. “Heath doesn’t shower.” I started with the obvious.

“You’re exaggerating,” Gram dismissed me.

“His beard is the size of Texas.”

“It is formidable.” Even Gram had to admit it. We three stood in a row surveying Heath. Poor Heath. He had no idea.

He lurked in a corner looking like a massive bear that had stumbled out of the wilds and found himself in the midst of black tie event in New York City. It sounded like the rough premise for a Disney movie. Only Heath didn’t look Disney, he looked R-rated like a sniper about to pick off a target. And I bet the ladies would love it if he took off his shirt. The man was massive, built like a goddamned tree. He got bigger every time I saw him. But right now he didn’t seem to be enjoying the attentions of any ladies. He was most definitely giving off a “leave me the fuck alone” vibe, clearly counting the seconds until he could declare he’d fulfilled his duty as grandson and leave the party.

“Beards are in,” Ana insisted, inspiring a slightly jealous look from me. “But he could use a trim,” she conceded.

Finally sensing himself in the crosshairs, Heath looked over. As soon as he saw us, his scowl deepened and he ducked into the crowd for cover. Smart man. But I doubted even mountain man Heath had the cunning to avoid the skills of Gram.

“I think Heath would do well with some feminine company.” Gram decided it right then and there.

“Do you think someone outdoorsy, like him? Or maybe opposites attract?” I could already see Ana going through her mental file of friends, starting to play matchmaker.

“Seriously, the last thing Heath wants is company.” I knew it was a losing battle, but the guy had really been there for me this past winter right when I’d needed him. The least I could do was defend a man’s right to privacy.

“Perhaps an outdoorsy woman would do.” Gram considered the idea, not sounding convinced. “Either way, we have time before your wedding. Almost five months. Plenty of time to see which way the wind blows for our Heath.” Looping her arms through ours once again, she resumed our former journey across the floor.

I shook my head. Poor guy didn’t know what he had coming to him. I didn’t know how it would all happen, but somehow I did believe that Gram would see to it that Heath wouldn’t be attending this party stag next year. It made me laugh. But now that Gram had said it, maybe I had to agree. Heath might need someone to shave him down and give him a reason to shower, at least every other day.

“Now, are you ready?” Gram asked me, sounding serious.

“To sing a few songs?” I looked at her and smiled. “Yup, I think I can handle it.”

“Excellent. They’ve been warned in advance this time. After their session break or set wrap or…” She gestured to indicate some sort of musician’s term.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll go on when they’re ready.”

“I’m so looking forward to hearing you sing.” She gave us each a hug and went off to welcome more guests.

“She’s got it all worked out for your brother, huh?” Ana looked up at me, a twinkle in her eye. I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. I couldn’t resist. She looked too tempting. I dipped my lips down to hers and gave her a kiss. No cameras here like last year, I could linger as I wished.

Until I heard a not-so-subtle throat clearing. And if I had to make a guess…I turned and, yes, it was my older brother Colton.

“Hey, man,” I greeted him with the usual warmth I felt when it came to him. Which was to say, not so much.

“Colton!” Ana declared, giving him a big hug. He looked surprised, but pleased. Big jerk, of course he was, with Ana’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. The minute she was done, I pulled her to my side again. “Good to see you,” she continued.

“Ana.” What, was that a smile from the Baron of Warwick? Should I alert the appropriate authorities?

“How you been?” I asked him.

“Not as good as you,” he retorted, giving me what might have been a conciliatory nod. “You’ve had a great year.”

“Ah, thanks?” It came out as a question. Because never before had praise come forth from the man who disdained me and everything I did.

“Good album, by the way.”

“You’ve listened to my album?”

“I have,” he agreed. “And I like it.”

I had nothing to say to that. This was turning out to be the strangest holiday party I’d ever attended.

“You think you’ll record again with your old band, or is this your new direction?”

What, was my older brother asking about my career as if he respected it as a legitimate choice?

“I think Ash is still figuring that out,” Ana supplied for me, sensing I was still too shocked by Colton’s line of questioning to come up with a response. And she was right. I hadn’t exactly quit The Blacklist, but we weren’t on the best of terms, either. Johnny, our drummer, had been fine with all my solo work, but Connor hadn’t. He’d hit the roof. He’d left me more than one drunk voicemail message at three a.m.—was there any other type of voicemail message left at three a.m.?—alternating between telling me I could go fuck myself to making fun of what a crybaby wanker I’d become with my new “touchy feely bullshit songs.”

Connor had a lot to sort out. I hoped he was able to do it, but I knew I couldn’t be his partner-in-crime any more. Hopefully one day we’d patch together a friendship again, but I wasn’t holding my breath. I had more important things to hold on to.

Wrapping my hand protectively around Ana’s waist, I drew her to me.

“Enjoy the party.” Colton nodded at the both of us, apparently already on the move. There, that was more like the big brother I knew, always large and in charge and moving from point A to point B on his to do list. Before he left, he leaned over to me.

“She’s a keeper.” But before I could agree and give him a “get in here, bro” hug, he added, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, not so much feeling the hug anymore. But he was right on both counts.

Then he was gone and I had Ana in my arms again.

“When do you have to go on and sing?” she asked me as she wrapped her arms up around my shoulders.

“Not for a while.” I leaned down and kissed her again. I’d never tire of her taste, her feel, the sighing sounds of pleasure that slipped from her parted lips.

“I know this secret passageway,” she whispered up into my ear. “Not even the catering staff use it.”

“Yeah?” I smiled, liking where this was going. “That sounds naughty.”

“It is,” she assured me. “Last year, all kinds of naughty things happened back there with this rock star I’d just met.”

“Oh, yeah?” I gave her earlobe a light lick, then a quick, teasing bite. “That sounds filthy.”

“So filthy,” she agreed. “Just how I like it.” She smiled at me, full of mischief.

“Is that right?” I had her hand in mine, quick, leading her through the crowd before she could say another word. People smiled and tried to engage, but I pushed on ahead. We had a place to go, and I had a woman to do.

That’s how it was between us, how it always had been, right from the moment we’d met. Like a match bursting into flame. And even now that I knew I had her, that I’d have her for the rest of my life, it hadn’t slowed me down, calmed my insatiable need. The gift of Ana to have and to hold, it spurred me on. I needed to hold her, to have her, right then. And again and again for the rest of our lives. Lucky dawg that I was, I got to do exactly what I wanted.