Devon elbowed him. "Be respectful. Whatever else they are, they just lost their father."
"I know. Doesn't mean I have to like Monica."
They joined the receiving line, moving slowly toward the family. Devon caught sight of Gabe and Olivia near the church entrance. Gabe wore a dark suit that looked uncomfortable on his normally casual frame. Olivia stood beside him in a simple black dress, her hand resting protectively on her stomach despite the recent miscarriage. She was petite, barely reaching Gabe's shoulder, with dark hair pulled back in a bun that emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face. Even from a distance, Devon could see the grief etched in her features—not for David, but for the loss she'd recently endured.
"Boone brothers," Winston said, as they reached him, extending his hand first to Bryson, then to Devon. His grip was firm, professional, utterly devoid of warmth. "Thank you for serving as pallbearers. It means a lot to all of us, but specifically our mother.”
"Our honor," Devon said, meaning it. Whatever complicated business existed between their families, David had been a decent man, and their mother a sweet woman.
"How's your mom holding up?" Bryson asked.
"As well as can be expected. The suddenness of it has been difficult." Winston's polished veneer cracked slightly. "One minute, we're discussing harvest projections, the next..."
He trailed off, and for a moment Devon glimpsed genuine pain beneath the careful composure.
"If there's anything we can do," Devon offered.
"Actually, there is." Winston's expression shifted, hardened almost imperceptibly. "I'd appreciate it if we could have a word after the service. About business matters."
Before Devon could respond, Callie stepped forward. Up close, her perfume was overwhelming—expensive and cloying, like flowers left too long in a closed room.
"Devon." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I heard you've been busy lately. Hiring new staff. Making... interesting choices."
The emphasis on “interesting” carried the kind of weight that implied something Devon didn’t appreciate and demanded a response, even if it meant another elbow to the ribs by his little brother.
"We hired an exceptional authenticator," Devon said carefully. "Someone with credentials that speak for themselves."
"Do they?" Callie's sunglasses prevented him from reading her expression fully, but her voice dripped with false sweetness. "Because from what I've read, her credentials include public humiliation and questionable ethics. But I suppose that's Stone Bridge's problem now, not ours."
Bryson tensed beside him, but Devon kept his expression neutral. "Emery’s brilliant at her job. The scandal at Terroir and Gavel was Harold's doing, not hers."
"If you say so." Callie dared to shrug. "But I have to wonder about the wisdom of mixing business with pleasure. Doesn't that usually end badly?"
"Callie," Winston said sharply. "This isn't the time."
She shrugged, already turning to greet the next mourners. Monica leaned closer to Winston, whispering something that made his jaw tighten.
"That was pleasant," Bryson muttered as they moved toward the church entrance.
"I want to believe she’s hurting, and that’s the only reason she tossed that in my face." Devon’s stomach churned. “But she was too smug about it.”
Bryson paused at the door. "The question is why she cares enough to bring it up at her father's funeral."
If this had been three months ago, Devon would’ve known the answer—jealousy. But this didn’t feel like a woman scorned.
Inside, the church's air conditioning provided blessed relief. Stained glass windows cast colored light across polished pews, creating patterns that shifted as clouds moved overhead. The smell of lilies and incense hung heavy, mixing with the subtle scent of old wood and candle wax.
"Devon. Bryson.” Riley appeared from a side pew, looking elegant in a simple black dress. Beside her, Erin offered a subdued wave. Both women had their hair pulled back, their faces reflecting the particular gravity of a funeral for someone who'd been a fixture in their lives despite complicated family dynamics.
"How's it looking out there?" Riley asked quietly.
"Tense," Devon said. "Callie decided to take a shot at Emery."
Riley's eyes twitched, like they always did when anyone said something that offended her. "At her father's funeral? Seriously?"
"Winston shut her down, but the damage was done." Devon scanned the filling church. “I take it you couldn’t talk Emery into coming?”
“Nope,” Riley whispered. "Said it didn't feel appropriate given everything happening."
