“Elliot has a problem with my career. He calls me a sellout. And he called your mother’s menu . . .” Spencer bites his knuckle, then chokes out, “Pretentious.”
Dante and Franki both audibly gasp, their fingers covering their mouths in identical expressions of offended dignity and horror.
I’m just confused. As far as Elliot knows, his brother is a personal assistant to an extremely boring businessman. And themenu isn’t fussy at all. Though, maybe, I’m not the best judge in that department.
“You haven’t sold out in any way, shape, or form. He doesn’t know Henry or anything about him,” Franki says hotly.
“Elliot used the menu to take a cheap shot at you. That menu is the opposite of pretentious. It’s traditional food,” Dante grumbles.
“It’s rustic and wonderful,” Franki agrees.
I wink at my wife, determined to remind her of what we’resupposed to bedoing right now. “I like many rustic things.”
Leaning down, I whisper against her ear, “Banging my wife in our rustic cabin is my favorite thing.”
Franki swats me gently for my bad timing and worse joke, but her lips twitch in a repressed smile.
My PA scowls. “Why are you winking and whispering? It’s disturbing.”
“I’m a man. I think about sex at inconvenient times,” I drawl.
Dante and Spencer offer commiserating head wobbles of “you’ve-got-a-point.”
Franki attempts to guide the conversation back on track. “This situation is salvageable. Dante, just ask your dad to distract your mom. And, Noah, you have your mother keep Elliot out of trouble.”
“She is no longer capable of keeping him in line. He’s twenty, not five,” Spencer says.
At twenty, he should be capable of keeping himself in line, as far as I’m concerned.
Dante exhales slowly. “Dad is patient. But if Mom loses it, he’s backing her up. He’s not running interference against his own wife. He’ll step in himself.”
Dante’s father has been a McRae soldier since before I was born. If Clay decides to act, it won’t be pretty.
Spencer looks my way with entreating eyes. “We need you to keep my brother occupied and away from everyone but my family.”
“No.” It’s a complete sentence. No room for interpretation or argument. I will not be swayed. My wife needs rest, sunshine, and copious orgasms, not stress.
Spencer sighs deeply. “For nearly a decade, I’ve managed all the irritating details of your life for you. It seems a small favor to ask in return.”
“Managing the irritating details of my life is your job, which I pay you to do,” I say acidly.
“Agreeing to be Dante’s best man is a social contract,” Spencer returns.
“I agreed to guard the rings and arrange a bachelor party with excellent charcuterie, not involve myself in your family problems. You and Dante are more than capable of managing this situation.”
Dante runs a hand over his cropped black curls and juts out his bottom lip. “We’re busy getting married. We’d hoped we could enjoy it.”
“I’m not falling for clear emotional manipulation. Stop giving me puppy eyes. It’s beneath you,” I say.
Dante wipes the look off his face. “We thought since you’re so good at—”
“Yes, I know. I’m good with logistics. But I’m terrible with people,” I say. “This is a known issue.”
“That’s not true,” Spencer says, in what I can only categorize as a blatant lie.
Franki opens her mouth to say something, lifts a finger, then snaps her lips shut and snatches her finger back without a sound.
“It’s profoundly true. I don’t soften things. I don’t—” I gesture vaguely with one hand. “Charm.”
