“I take offense at that, yet admit that it’s true,” Izzy said.
“—and we were all a little in awe of you,” Dante finished. “Which is not to say you haven’t been a dick at times, of course. But we’re so proud of you, Lorenzo. Not because of the houses and the money and all that, which is great, of course. But because you did something amazing with what you had.”
“Exactly,” Izzy said. “Of course you’re freakishly smart. But you also worked your ass off. Mom and Dad still feel guilty about St. George’s, and Mom had a point. It was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. Keep the wunderkind home in a plain old public school, or send you somewhere where your brain would be fed the superfood it needed. They wanted the best for you, and here you are. The best.” She paused. “Sorry I was so bitchy at dinner when you were trying to talk.”
“You’re one of us, Lorenzo,” Sofia said. “You always have been. I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel any other way. We adore you, big brother.”
“True story,” Dante said.
And Lorenzo Santini, the guy with all the letters and titles after his name, would have answered, but he couldn’t, because apparently, he was crying, and then his sisters and brother patted and hugged and smacked him and told him to eat his pizza and drink his beer.
And so he did.
TWENTY-THREE
WINNIE
On the morning of December twelfth, Winnie woke up to a snowstorm, crashing waves, and a cold nose in her ear. “You want to go out?” she asked Fluffina. Fluffina did. She always did. After a romp on the beach, many sticks fetched, a brisk toweling off, brushing and breakfast, Winnie told Fluffina to be a good girl for Destiny, who would come over later to walk her. “I love you,” she said, kissing the dog on the head. “See you tonight.” Then she drove down to the Chatham Bars Inn to do her thing and marry off her brother.
Rosie declared the weather “magical.” She and the Smith family females were in a cottage getting hair and makeup done. Rosie was relaxed and happy, and literally glowing. “You go hang with the boys,” she told Winnie. “I’ll give you a shout if I need anything, but I think we’re all set.”
“I’m proud to have you as a sister,” Winnie said, giving her a hug. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re already my favorite.”
“I heard that,” Lark and Addie said in unison, and Harlow laughed.
Outside, the wind howled, and Winnie bent her head as she walked to the hotel proper. Robbie and the other guys were in the presidential suite, all looking very handsome. The ocean roared its wintry howl, and the wind bent the pine trees. “Lucky weather,” Winnie said. “It’s so you, Robbie.” And it was. Attention grabbing and romantic, just like Robbie.
“Winnie! You look beautiful! What a happy day!” Grandpop said, adjusting his bowtie. “You’ll be glad to know I’ve whittled my speech down to twenty-two minutes.”
“Hey, Aunt Winnie. Heard you got a dog. Is she here?” Matthew asked. Winnie swore he’d gotten taller since the summer.
“You’ll have to visit me tomorrow to meet her,” Winnie said. “You look wicked handsome, honey.” He was a groomsman, too. The men wore tuxedos, and Winnie wore a long black dress with a boat neckline and low back, scored with Destiny’s help from ThredUp.
“Austin, no shots,” Winnie said. Then her parents came in, and Mom started crying at the sight (and relief, no doubt) of her baby in a tux. Winnie instructed the photographer to get the right pictures—Mom pinning on Robbie’s boutonniere; Dad, Grandpop, Robbie and Matthew, the four generations; her and Robbie together, just the two of them. “In honor of us sharing a room for eight years and not killing each other,” she said.
“You clean up nice, Windmill,” Robbie said. “Some people might even say you’re pretty, but I’m not one of them.”
“Some people are saying you’re totally out of your league with Rosie,” Winnie said. “Which we all know is true.”
“Amen to that,” Robbie said. “Matthew, get in here, buddy. I want a picture of just the two of us. Damn, we look like twins.”
“Twins if Matthew had spent too many years drinking too many beers, smoking too much weed and not believing in sunscreen,” Winnie said. But yes. Their nephew looked so much like Robbie they could be brothers.
“You’re my cautionary tale,” Matthew said, grinning. “Fifty-factor for life.”
Winnie looked at her phone. “Time to get you married off before Rosie wakes up from her fever dream,” she said.
The inn sparkled with fairy lights, and dozens of white and velvety red wedding flower arrangements added luscious pops of color. Rosie’s dress was all lace, making her look like a frost princess, and her attendants—Harlow as woman of honor, Lark and Addie and Lorelei, a more recent friend—wore crimson. Esme, Imogen and Luna all wore white tulle dresses with crimson satin bows, and Mr. Wolfe cried as he walked his only child down the aisle. Robbie wiped his eyes, hugged Victor and told Rosie she was beautiful, his voice breaking.
Like most weddings, it was happy and meaningful, Winnie thought. Personally, she’d elope if the day ever came, then let her family know a month or so later. But her eyes were wet as her brother read the surprisingly lovely and solemn vows he had written himself. In the front row, her mom wiped her eyes, and Dad put his arm around her, while Esme and Imogen wrestled off to one side. Rosie cried through her own vows, and as Grandpop handed them their rings, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Then Robbie was told to kiss his bride, which he did with great enthusiasm, and everyone cheered. Winnie took Grandpop’s arm and they followed the couple down the aisle toward the cocktail and mocktail hour.
“I hope to see you get married, too, someday,” Grandpop said, squeezing her a little closer.
“I like being a spinster,” she said. “It suits me.”
“Well, then. If you’re happy, your ancient grandfather is happy. And I’m excited to be your first official client! Perhaps we’ll finally find my phone.”
