Chapter Thirteen
Michael pulled her aside at the entrance of the resort’s restaurant, a four-star establishment called Serendipity. Grace introduced Nick and frowned sternly at him when Michael winced as they shook hands. Nick shrugged and winked at her, completely unrepentant.
After brief pleasantries were exchanged (none of which involved threats to disembowel her baby brother if he hurt his sister, thank God), Nick pressed a kiss to Grace’s temple and excused himself.
She tried, and failed, to keep her gaze off his butt as he ambled into the restaurant. Really, what the man did for a pair of black dress pants was damn near criminal.
Michael cleared his throat and Grace lifted her guilty gaze to his. “Really, Gracie? You’re banging Sadie’s brother? Since when? You don’t find that a little weird?”
Grace had a pretty good idea that banging Nick would be anything but weird. Spine-melting, life-altering, multi-orgasmic, all-kinds-of-awesome hot, yes. Weird? No. Complicated, for sure, but never weird. “I met him on the flight here. And, no. I don’t find it weird. It’s not like we’re blood relation or anything,” she said, repeating Nick’s early take on their situation.
Michael frowned at her. “He’s going to be our brother-in-law.”
Her chin lifted. “Yes, I’m aware. What’s your point?”
“Just that it’s weird. Incestuous, sorta.”
She narrowed her eyes on him and gave him her best dead-eyed lawyer stare. “You know what I find weird? The fact that my little brother who’s never even had a serious girlfriend before now is getting married.” She paused for effect. “Married. At nineteen. What’s that all about?”
He shifted his weight as he always did when she gave him her lawyerly stare. “Jesus, Gracie,” he muttered. “You still talk to me like I’m a kid. I’m a grown-up, damn it.”
Grace gave him a good once-over. OK, she’d admit that at a quick glance, he looked like a grown-up. He was, after all, a good nine inches taller than her, and his green eyes sparkled with intelligence. But on the flip side, his sandy blond hair still stood up in the front thanks to the terrible cowlick he’d inherited from their father, and under an ill-fitting suit jacket that looked like it had never met an iron, he wore a white T-shirt with “Suck it, Trebek” printed on it.
Yeah, no way was Michael Montgomery a mature grown-up who was ready to be someone’s husband.
“You are a kid, Michael,” she hissed. “I just don’t want to see you make a terrible mistake.”
He shook his head, visibly shutting her out. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“What do you mean you’re not talking about this with me? You used to talk about everything with me.”
“Well, not anymore.”
“Okay, ouch,” she said, absently putting a hand over her heart. “So now that you’re a big adult about to be married you don’t need your older sister anymore?”
His lips turned up slightly. “I wouldn’t say I don’t need you for anything. I was going to ask you to be my best man, but now…”
Her jaw dropped. “You were? Oh my God, Michael, that’s huge.”
“So what do you say, Gracie?” he asked sheepishly. “Will you be my best man?”
“Of course I will,” she said, grabbing him and pulling him to her for a hug. “I love you, Michael.”
“I love you, too, Sis.”
And it wasn’t until he walked away that she realized he’d totally distracted her from her point, which was that he was too young to get married.
“Damn,” she muttered. The slippery little bastard should have probably considered law school instead of art school.
Good old Brad could take a few lessons in executing a proper stink-eye from Grace’s mother.
Sarah Montgomery was a formidable woman, Nick thought. Sure, on the outside she looked harmless with her cloud of soft blond hair that reminded Nick of cotton candy and five-foot-nothing stature. But the look in her blue eyes could only be described as glacial as she eyed the man who stood between Grace and Brad, whom she obviously saw as her best shot at a grandbaby daddy.
What the hell was he doing here? Families always made him feel uncomfortable, like an outsider. Like the orphan he was. He didn’t belong here.
But then he thought of his sister’s beaming face when he’d seen her earlier and remembered exactly why he was here. He sighed. Damn it. Bailing wasn’t an option.
On his left, Grace’s stomach growled again. He grabbed the bread basket and shoved it toward her. She smiled gratefully up at him and he felt gut-punched, suddenly knowing he could tolerate anything Brad and Sarah could throw at him if it meant earning even one more of Grace’s smiles.
Bailing definitely wasn’t an option.
“So, Nick,” Sarah began, and Nick mentally cringed, thinking, shit, is it my turn to talk again? “What is it that you do?”
She didn’t say “other than defile my daughter,” but it was clearly implied by her tone.
“Jesus, Sarah,” Gage muttered. “You know what he does. Why don’t you back off?”
At least Gage didn’t look at Nick like he was gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. It was really kind of pathetic how grateful for that Nick was.
Physically, Nick and Gage weren’t that different. About six-two, 190 pounds, dark hair, light eyes. That’s where their similarities ended, though. Gage was a year younger than Nick and about to finish his residency at Johns Hopkins, which kind of made Nick feel like the not-so-proud owner of the lowest IQ at the table.
He hated feeling that way, too. Nick was proud of his military service and of his current job, but sitting at this table full of white-collar professionals made him feel decidedly unaccomplished. Not that he could let those feelings show. Nick had no doubt Brad would use that weakness against him however and whenever he could.
Sarah placed a splayed hand over her chest and shifted a wounded gaze toward Gage. “What did I do? Am I not allowed to ask questions?”
“I told you what he did before we sat down, Mom,” Grace said, giving her mother a sharp look. “We know you’re fishing.”
“Like Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It,” Gage confirmed, reaching around Nick to snag the bread basket from Grace, who looked like she was considering stabbing his hand with a fork.
If the rest of the family didn’t arrive soon so they could start the meal, Nick feared she was going to go all Donner Party on their asses.
Brad, sitting across from Grace, raised a brow. “You can’t blame us for being curious, Grace. You show up at a family event with this…man. You can’t be surprised that we have questions.”
As Nick toyed with the idea of dragging Brad into the men’s room and flushing his head in a toilet a few times, Grace swayed forward like a viper preparing to strike.
“You know what, Brad? If I was a good person, I’d tactfully remind you that you lost the right to be curious about my social life when you dumped me for a woman the color of Cheetos whose bra size most likely exceeds her IQ. But I’m obviously not a good person. So I’m just going to remind you that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and your concern is neither needed nor wanted. You may leave at any time if you don’t approve of the choices I’m making for myself.”
“Hear, hear,” Gage said, raising his wine glass.
“Amen to that,” Michael muttered, leaning across the table to touch his glass to Gage’s.
Brad cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I really don’t know how many times you expect me to say I’m sorry, Grace.”
“You never said it,” Nick muttered.
The bastard had the nerve to look down his smug nose at Nick. “Excuse me?”
“Can’t think of one.” Gage chuckled as Nick added, “But I said that you never apologized to Grace.”
“He’s right,” Grace said. “You said you intended to win me back and that you realized you still loved me. You never said you were sorry.”
Brad sputtered for a moment. “Well, I should think that goes without saying.”
“Guess it has to in this case, huh?” Michael asked, ripping into a roll.
“Boys,” Sarah cut in sharply. “Leave Grace’s husband alone.”
“Ex-husband,” Grace and Nick said in unison.
Sarah ignored them. “I expect that kind of behavior from Gage.” She shot a quick glare at Gage, who shrugged. “But I expect more from you, Michael.”
“Jesus, Mom,” Michael grumbled. “I don’t know what you want me to—“
“Sorry we’re late, guys,” a sweet voice interrupted.
Sadie practically floated into the room. She looked happier than Nick had ever seen her. His heart pinched at the thought of what she’d gone through—what both of them had gone through-—to get to this place in her life.
Sadie wore a scooped-neck dress in a shade of deep blue that perfectly matched her eyes, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders, looking carelessly elegant. The woman in the wheelchair she was pushing in front of her, though? She was anything but elegant.
The woman’s hair was an odd shade of pale lavender and teased into a short beehive that looked like it was held in place using every pin in the state and possibly some Elmer’s glue. If Nick had to guess, he’d say she was about 200 years old.
A man in a tattered cardigan—the kind with leather elbow patches that Nick would’ve assumed only existed in movies about college professors—wandered in behind them, staring at a Kindle as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Liquid splashed Nick’s leg as Gage dropped his glass. Nick grabbed his napkin and started mopping up the mess. Grace grabbed her napkin and began swiping at his pants. “Christ, Gage,” she said. “What’s the matter with you?”
Nick glanced up and saw exactly what was wrong with Gage. He was staring at Sadie, eyes glazed, mouth slightly agape. He was accustomed to this kind of reaction from men when they first saw Sadie, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Nick elbowed Gage sharply in the ribs. “That’s my sister,” he hissed under his breath.
Gage blinked, but kept his eyes on Sadie.
Grace reached around Nick and swatted Gage on the back of his head. “Michael’s fiancée,” she clarified sharply.
That did it. Gage gave his head a quick shake, seemingly breaking out of his Sadie-induced stupor.
Introductions were made all around, and Nick learned that the man behind the Kindle was Grace’s father, David, and the woman in the wheelchair was her grandmother and David’s mother, Ruthie Montgomery.
“O’Connor,” Ruthie grumbled, wrinkling her nose.
She looked at Grace over the top of her red-framed glasses and added, “Irish. He’ll get drunk and spend all your money.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “He has a job, Grandma. He doesn’t need my money.”
She harrumphed and gave him another once-over, then visually dismissed him. “Good-looking, too. There’s no one on earth you should trust less than a good-looking Irishman.”
Nick leaned over and whispered to Grace, “She knows I’m sitting right here and can hear her, right?”
Grace shook her head, exasperated. “She knows. She just doesn’t care.”
“You were better off with that one,” Ruthie said, gesturing to Brad.
“Thank you, Mother Montgomery,” he cooed with a smarmy smile, making Nick glance around. There has to be a toilet around here somewhere to flush this fucknut’s head in.
But Brad’s smile drooped as Ruthie added, “Better to have a faggot-y Englishman for a husband than a nothing-but-testosterone Irishman.”
“Wow,” Gage murmured. “You managed to insult gays and everyone in two countries in one sentence. That’s impressive, even for you.”
Ruthie frowned at him. “No one enjoys your sense of humor.”
“I do,” Grace said, clinking glasses with her cousin.
“It’s no wonder neither of you are married,” Ruthie grumbled.
“Grace is married, Mother,” Sarah said.
Ruthie’s upper lip twisted up into a snarl. “I’ve asked you repeatedly not to call me that, you spineless twit.”
Sarah smiled and discreetly pushed her bangs off her forehead with her middle finger. “I know,” she said sweetly.
“I’m not married,” Grace said at the same time Nick said, “She’s not married.”
“You seem happy, Grandma,” Gage said. “Did you run over a puppy on your way here?”
“Grace, Gage,” Sarah said, “don’t antagonize your grandmother.”
“She started it,” Grace said defensively.
“She totally did,” Gage agreed.
“I don’t care who started it, I’m finishing it.” Sarah threw her hands up. “I can’t believe I just said that to two grown-ups.”
“Sorry,” they mumbled in unison.
“Besides,” Sarah went on, warming to her topic, “this night is about Sadie and Michael. The least you can do is pretend you have manners until dinner is over.”
“That’s not the least I could do,” Grace said. “I could do way less.”
“David,” Sarah whined. “Speak to your daughter.”
David’s eyes didn’t leave his Kindle as he said, “Poodle, do as your mother says, please.”
Nick glanced at Grace. “Poodle?”
She rolled her eyes and said, “Unfortunate perm experience when I was a teenager. Not exactly a story I like to share.” He chuckled.
Ruthie leaned back and turned her attention to Sadie. “Are you sure you want to marry into this group of degenerates, dear? I’m sure you’re too good for Michael.”
“That’s no lie,” Gage said under his breath.
“Hey,” Michael said, sounding like a kid who’d been told he couldn’t be Batman when he grew up.
Sadie and Gage locked eyes for a split second before she blushed and looked down at the table.
Grace reached around him to pop Gage on the shoulder. “Snap out of it,” she hissed. “She’s Michael’s fiancée.”
“You said that already,” he hissed back.
She bared her teeth at him. “I thought it merited repeating.”
A waiter arrived and asked if anyone wanted wine. Everyone held their glasses up eagerly.
“Thank you, Jesus,” Grace muttered.
Amen and Hallelujah.