I should just hire somebody to beat the hell out of Joey. Wonder if any of my brothers knows somebody who knows somebody. Money’s no object. Keeping Joey permanently away from me is.
On top of that, my grandmother isn’t even trying to talk to me anymore. She sent me ten different wedding invitation designs, all of which have my name and a blank for the bride’s, since I haven’t chosen which Webber yet. Then came fifty bouquet options. Why the hell does she think I care about what flowers should be at the matrimonial farce I don’t plan to participate in?
Then she texted me that it’d be tragic if I was cut off from the family, and I had to stare at the message, trying to figure out what she wasreallytrying to communicate.
Has she forgotten that I have my own money, my own career and my own last name? Maybe threats like this work well on Uncle Prescott and some others in the family—although I can’t visualize them working on Mom—but I’m immune. If getting cut off means no more Huxley & Webber on retainer, so be it. Highsmith, Dickson and Associates would love to have my business.
I park my Lamborghini in front of Emmett’s mansion. I spot a few other cars, including the Bugatti Noah loves so much. It’s a little shocking that he hasn’t gotten a custom paint job to make it look like cheetah skin. And more shocking that he got here before I did.
Emmett’s place has gone through some renovations, mainly to accommodate his and Amy’s little daughter Monique. There’s a pink baby grand in the center of the great room that looks out onto the lush garden. Monique apparently wanted to play a pink piano after seeing another girl playing one, so that’s what Emmett got her.
Right now, the gigantic home has only us brothers. When we have our brunches, Amy prefers to hang out with my other sisters-in-law—four of them, since Noah and I are the only bachelors left, although even he has an all-but-wife girlfriend now. We told them we wouldn’t mind if the ladies wanted to join us, but they said it was our man-bonding time, and they didn’t want to intrude.
Which just shows how smart they are, because the purpose of our brunch is exactly that. It’s always been just the seven of us. We were in the same grade in the same schools, and always had each other’s backs because we knew from early on that we couldn’t necessarily count on our parents. So what if our fatherwas a legend in the movie business and there were seven women who could’ve taken on a maternal role? They were busy and had their own interests. The only one who came close to being a mother figure to me was Emmett’s mom, but only because she’s nice and unassuming, not because she’s boring or had nothing better to do.
So even though we’ve been out of school for years, we make sure to spend time together. To see what’s up with each other’s lives. And, of course, give each other shit, because that’s just how we roll.
I’m the last to arrive. All seven of us were able to make it here today, in the huge dining room with a massive brunch spread. Emmett has catered the meal because he doesn’t want to kill us with his cooking. To be fair, none of us are any good in a kitchen. Ted Lasker gave us many things—dark hair, square jaws and enough money that none of our mothers needed to work to provide for us while we were growing up—but not culinary ability. Of course he probably can’t wipe his own ass without Joey, so wielding a knife in the kitchen… Not a good idea.
I grab some sausages and bacon and sit down with a mug of strong coffee.
“Playa del Carmen is a great choice for a month-long birthday celebration,” says Nicholas. “But a little crowded with all the gringo vacationers.”
“Whose birthday is this?” I ask. Nicholas is so whipped he might just go ahead and book an entire resort for a month for his wife.
“My mom’s,” Emmett answers. “She wants to have a quiet vacation on the beach.”
Emma is the polar opposite of Dad in every way. Sane. Rational. Loves peace and quiet. Enjoys reading romance and mysteries. Not a big fan of parties, and she stays away from mostof them except for Dad’s birthday bash because he’s impossible otherwise.
She’s nothing like the other six mothers, either. God must’ve taken pity on Dad to let him dazzle a woman like Emma enough to spend a night with her. But of course, he botched it by returning to his degenerate lifestyle the next day and promptly impregnating the rest of our mothers.
They had no desire to put aside their own interests and careers—from modeling to photography to being a rich jewelry heiress—while my brothers and I were little. They voted to ship us off to boarding schools. A lot of our brothers like to blame Dad for that decision, but if you think about it, it’s obvious he never cared about us deeply enough to ponder where we should get our education. As long as we didn’t die, he was fine.
The boarding schools were convenient for my mother, who was never around because her legal career demanded everything she had to give. But not Emma. She moved to Europe to live near the schools and acted as our guardian. She taught me to be a better man than my father, and even tried to teach us how to cook, saying it was an essential life skill. In addition, when I was fighting for the right to steer my own future, she was the one who told me to take my time to consider what I truly desired.
“Follow your heart, Huxley. You only get one life. Don’t live it for someone else.”
The woman might not have given birth to me, but spiritually she’s been more of a mom than Jeremiah ever was. And I love her for it.
“Rent out an entire resort with a private beach,” I say. “That way she can just invite the people she wants.”
“That’s the plan,” Emmett says.
“Good. It’s the least she deserves.” My eyes fall on the Belgian waffle on Noah’s plate, and I scowl.Still can’t figure out whyGrace ran out on me.I checked with the Aylster concierge in case she’d gotten in touch that way, but nothing.
Noah must feel my gaze. He looks up from his phone—he’s always on his phone, checking social media feeds. “What? You look like that stick up your ass suddenly got bigger.” Then he munches on the waffle with sheer bliss radiating from his face. He’s never met a carbohydrate he couldn’t fall in love with. But he manages to maintain a lean frame, probably from chasing all those cheetahs he loves so much. He’s a wildlife photographer, albeit a part-time one, since he doesn’t need the money. None of us do, thanks to the early investments we made with Emmett and Grant, who are financial geniuses.
“Probably just met a chick who wouldn’t succumb to his charms.” Sebastian shoots me a sly grin.
“Who?” Noah says, finally putting down his phone.
“No way!” Grant says. “Hux would never bother.”
“Exactly. Women are dime a dozen for him.” Griffin yawns. Probably his children kept him up all night again—he never lacked for sleep until his wife popped out three at once. He teaches, does an enormous amount of research and publishes like his life depends on it—he is in academia, after all—but he never, ever had to give up sleep for what he wanted to accomplish.
“Besides, if he puts his mind to it, I’m sure he can charm any woman.” Nicholas’s words are measured. He has a calm, settled way of speaking that makes you instinctively trust him. I wish he’d do some voiceovers for our bank commercials, but he’s not interested. He is as intensely private as Griffin, who does everything in his power to hide who his parents are. To the point that his mother has complained that she “isn’t some serial killer to be ashamed of.”
Seb snorts. “I have it on good authority that he took a girl to the Aylster a month ago. She didn’t leave until zero dark thirty the next morning.”
