We’re the poster couple of wedded bliss. Almost.
Slate arrives at the same time we do, a smile tugging his mouth when he sees my wife. “Good morning, Michaela.” He kissES her on the cheek. “You look lovely, as usual.”
“Thank you and good morning to you, Slate,” she says.
“You look well rested,” he says. “I gather you approve of our mattresses.”
“That’s putting it lightly. Did you sleep well?”
My brother’s smile slips. “Until six o’clock, yes.”
“Oh.” Michaela frowns. “You couldn’t fall back asleep after waking up?”
Slate turns his attention to me, his gaze narrowed.
Is that anger I read in his eyes?
“What the hell was that about this morning in the pool? I was convinced you were trying to exorcize some kind of demon, or was that your way of purging all the alcohol from your system?”
No, it was my attempt to curtail myoverwhelming desire for my wife.
“And did you have to play music that loud while you were at it?”
Okay, the music might’ve been a bit too loud, but he doesn’t have to chew my ass off.
“What? I don’t deserve a good morning?” My tone is sarcastic.
“Not when you awake me before the fucking roosters,” Slate says.
“You didn’t have to sleep here last night.” I glower at him. “I specifically remember Dad’s invitation extended to my wife and me. You could’ve gone back to your place. Wilder did.” None of the guests stayed at my father’s mansion. He made arrangements at one of our many hotels for all the out-of-town guests.
“What crawled up your fucking ass this morning?”
The door to the theater room flies open.
Dad steps out. “Boys, you’re grown men.” His furious eyes bounce from me to Slate. “Stop acting like children.”
My brother and I simmer down.
“Come inside.” Dad gestures.
We obey.
Wilder is already here.
After a round of good mornings, Dad invites us to grab some food.
He doesn’t have to ask twice.
The five of us make our way to a table weighed down with a scrumptious feast. With generous plates in hand, we all sit at a round table the staff placed in the room. Dad and I flank Michaela.
“You two are trending,” Dad says.
“I haven’t checked social media yet. After my swim, I jumped on a conference call with my executive assistant. I had to give my approval on a few things relating to the Paris trip. Since Michaela and I leave tonight, time is of the essence.”
He nods. “Did you catch any of the headlines, Michaela?”
“No,” she says. “The media can be cruel when it comes to dissecting fashion, especially when it comes to a wedding. I’d rather keep my head in the sand for a little longer.”
