Lucas

Who doesn’t love a wedding, especially when it involves a divorce lawyer and a wedding planner? There’s a certain smug glee to be wrung from this because of the parties involved. Max and Charlie had us on tenterhooks for a while, so we’re all here—in a bloody cold church in November, mind—to celebrate these two crazy kids as they trip toward the altar. We’re about ten minutes to liftoff—though that’s a guestimate given how brides have prerogative with timing on their day of days—and there’s an expectant buzz in the air as people settle.

“Can’t believe he didn’t include me in the fucking wedding party,” I mumble in my pew four rows back. Aunts and uncles and third cousins twice removed, many of them wearing big-ass hats that will block the view of the plebs in the cheap seats, are taking up prime real estate that really should have gone to close friends. I plan to have words with Susanne later.

“Watch that sexy mouth in a house of prayer,” Trinity whispers, leaning in close so her scent reminds me that my head was buried between her beautiful thighs less than thirty minutes ago.

As lovely as the memory is, I refuse to be distracted, not when I still have grievances to air. “What kind of wedding planner goes this minimalist for her own shindig? Only one bridesmaid. One groomsman.” Max chose his brother to be his best man, which I suppose is understandable. The rest? No clue. “Bad marketing, if you ask me.”

“No one is asking you,” Grant, seated on my other side, grumbles out of the side of his mouth.

“At least he didn’t choose you,” I say. “That would have really hurt my feelings.”

Trinity laughs. “You’re such a diva.”

Before I can protest this rather accurate characterization, Aubrey slides into the seat beside Trinity.

“Hey, princess.” A neon pink cast on her forearm covers her hand, its shiny newness blaringly obvious as it sits in a sling. Three perfectly manicured nails peek out of the opening.

Trinity touches her upper arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“Just something stupid.” She squints at the collection of hats in front of her, then looks over her shoulder. “Maybe I should sit back there.”

A shadow enters my field of vision. This shadow has a name: Grant “The Ex” Lincoln. “What happened?” he grits out to Aubrey as he leans across, getting right in my personal space.

“None of your business.”

“How did you get here? Because it looks like you can’t drive.”

Aubrey’s eyebrow arch is beyond dismissive. “Big city, Grant. Lots of cabs.”

A muscle ticks in Grant’s jaw. “What are you going to do about going home for Thanksgiving, Bean? Unless you’re suddenly okay with flying.”

Trinity mouths Bean at me, and I can only shrug. I’ve never once heard him call her that.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Aubrey shoots back, her cheeks rapidly coloring.

“You don’t like flying?” Trinity asks.

“Um, no.” And then louder: “But I’ll figure it out.”

Grant snorts beside me.

I wave a hand between them, my matchmaker brain churning overtime. Hey, it worked for #Chaxie. “Would you two like to sit together?”

“Certainly not!”

“Hell, no!”

They turn away from each other—and us—leaving Trinity and me mystified. God, I’m so glad to be out of that world of single misery.

Trinity narrows her eyes and moves her lips close to my ear, yielding a delicious shiver.

“What’s going on in that wicked mind of yours, Lucas Wright?”

“Just thinking about earlier,” I say, so low she has to practically sit in my lap to hear me. “When you made that little squeak and—”

“Lucas!”

We grin like fools. The last couple of months have seen us grow closer with every glorious passing second. She even moved into my place in Lincoln Park (though she was very disappointed I had no stripper pole). Emily and the kids are living in a smaller town house in Edgewater, and the divorce decree should be granted any day now. The sisters made up, but my girl has figured out that her own life needs nurturing as well. I’m so proud of her.

Now that we’re in this for the long haul, I was a little worried she might not be able to handle unadulterated Lucas 24/7, but it’s amazing how good she is at absorbing my energy. With her I can be on, I can be off, I can be a blubbering mess (I’m man enough to admit I still get blue). Mostly, I can be myself.

“You okay?” she asks.

I move my mouth over hers gently, sweetly. “With you I am.”

Her golden-brown eyes heat with the sun of her smile. In them I see all the love I’m not sure I deserve, but that I’ll hold on to for dear life anyway.

I pat the breast pocket of my jacket.

“Still carrying my card around, weirdo?”

“Sure am, Whiskey Woman.” She doesn’t need to know that there’s a ring in there as well, one I plan to slip onto her finger before the day is through. In fact, if this wedding doesn’t start soon, Diva Lucas might stand on a pew and pop the bloody question.

I don’t carry with me quite the same antimarriage bias Max once did, but I’m conscious that any overtures from me in that direction might be viewed with skepticism. One, I’m a divorce lawyer. Two, I’ve recently lost someone who was part of me for my entire life. Jumping headfirst into marriage could be interpreted as a craving to fill the void she left behind.

But if I’m being honest—and I always try to be—Trinity is no pale substitute for Lizzie. She’s her own person and certainly not a bit player in the Life of Lucas, or in her own life for that matter. She grounds me like no one else and lifts me up the few inches I need when I’m down.

“I think I need to mess up your makeup,” I say before taking her mouth and making it mine.

A small whimper I’m immensely proud of emerges from her throat. “Lucas,” she breathes against my lips. Her eyes shine with emotion. “Have I thanked you properly for wooing me?”

Stand on the pew, LuLu. Steal the bloody show.

That little voice sounds like Lizzie, who pops in to visit on occasion. But Max would kill me if I stole his thunder on his big day, and as for Charlie? The woman wouldn’t go nearly so easy. I see a good old-fashioned hanging, drawing, and quartering in my future. Lizzie’s mischievous giggle echoes in my head.

Aiming for the adult response, I inhale a yoga-quality breath and speak my truth. “You’re here. You’re mine. It’s all the thanks I need.”

Organ music winds up and we stand, ready to bear witness to two lives becoming one. I’ll keep the proposal for later, when Trinity and I are alone, snuggled in bed, lusting, loving, and laughing.

Where we’re the best version of us.