Cavan

“Not a tux,” I said. “Anything but that.”

My brother leaned back in his chair and looked out over the California night. “I wouldn’t do that to you, man.”

“You better not.” This was Max, coming out onto the deck from the back door, carrying bottles of beer. We were at the house in Diablo, and we had just finished dinner. Dani, Olivia, and Gwen were still in the house, talking and laughing. “I don’t do tuxes,” Max said. “Not for anything.”

Devon glared at him as he pulled up a third chair and sat down, the slight hitch in his gait the only clue that he was missing part of his leg. “This is all your fault,” he said to Max.

Max shrugged and swung his legs up onto an opposite chair. “You keep saying that, and I still don’t believe you.”

“You were supposed to have the nice wedding,” Devon said. “You were supposed to get Gwen all dressed up and do the big thing. Then Olivia would be satisfied and not want to do it herself. That way, I could just take her to City Hall. But no, you had to go and do a quickie wedding. So now I have to do the big thing.”

“Too bad,” Max said, handing me one of the beers he’d brought out. “That’s what she wanted. Thank God. She wanted to get the wedding done so we can have a kid.”

“Yeah, well, Cavan’s no good to me,” Devon said, grabbing his own beer from Max, “because he’s already married. So now I have to do the dress and the flowers and all that stuff.” He pointed at me. “No tux, but you’re wearing a suit.” He pointed at Max. “You, too.”

I took a sip of my beer. I loved Portland as much as Dani did—so much that we’d bought a condo there and intended to stay—but I had to admit that the house in Diablo was pretty fucking nice. Classy, just big enough, set back in the hills with no one behind it. Devon had ripped out the fussy, high-maintenance landscaping and replaced it with this deck, where we could all sprawl comfortably and look out at the view or up at the stars. “Tell me you’re not going to have a big crowd,” I said.

“No crowd,” Devon agreed. “We’re going to do it here at the house. Just us,” he said, motioning to us and the women who were still in the house. I glanced at the windows and saw Dani holding a glass of wine and laughing at a story Gwen was telling, while Olivia shook her head and tried not to laugh, too. The three women got along really well, which made me happy, though I had a sneaking suspicion that Gwen’s story—that they were all laughing at—had something to do with one of us. Gwen had done acting training years ago, and when she told a story, she could really perform. She was holding a glass of water, since she had given up alcohol just in case she was pregnant.

“I invited Ben, too,” Devon said, “and I told him to bring a date.”

I turned away from watching the women and looked at him. “Who is he bringing?”

“His assistant.”

“I didn’t know Ben had an assistant,” Max said. “I hope he pays her a lot.”

“He better,” Devon agreed. “Ben is a fucking mess. I needed a copy of the seller’s paperwork from the L.A. house, and he found it behind the beer cooler in his garage. He still has no idea how it got there.”

“Maybe she’ll fix him, if she’s good,” I said.

“Ben is unfixable,” Devon said. We were quiet for a minute, because we all knew Ben’s history. He’d had the divorce from hell a long time ago, and he’d been a confirmed bachelor ever since, living his life like a lone wolf. I’d lived that way, too, and I’d been miserable, but Ben was happy with it. He had no desire to change his ways.

“So who’s the best man?” Max said, changing the subject.

“Forget that shit,” Devon said in his usual, straightforward way. “Olivia and I agreed. There are going to be eight people at this wedding, and two of them are us. Everyone’s the best man, the maid of honor, whatever.”

“We Wilders really know how to do romance,” I said, and Max laughed.

“We’ll do the thing in a few weeks,” Devon said, giving me a glare. “It’ll be nice, the place will be decorated, we’ll all wear suits. Then you guys have a drink and get the hell out. Got it?”

“Seriously, man,” I said, unable to help needling my brother. “You’re a billionaire. You couldn’t fly us all to Fiji or something?”

“No Fiji,” Max said. “My leg doesn’t get through security.”

I glanced back at the house again just as Dani turned, too. Her gaze caught mine, and we traded a look. She looked happy and beautiful. We were going back to Portland tomorrow so she could go back to her classes and I could go back to the tattoo shop I ran. I didn’t do the ink every day anymore—only once in a while—but instead I hired the best artists out there and gave them the opportunity to be creative and develop their skills. We had everyone come to the shop from CEOs to rock stars, and there was never a boring moment.

Financially, neither of us needed to work. We had plenty of money. But we both liked what we did, and what was the point of money if you couldn’t do what you liked?

This is it, I thought, watching Dani. These people, this place, this life, her. This is it.

Like she was reading my mind, Dani smiled. It’s good, isn’t it? that smile said.

It was.