Bring out the mourners, for he is gone ...
From the market, at least.
“What the ...” I glance up. Letty is smiling a real smile now. “What is this? Reads like really bad funeral poetry. Who died?”
“Read the rest.” She puts her fingers to her mouth as though to suppress the chuckle that makes the flowers in her hair tremble anyway. “It’s hilarious, I promise.”
So eyes down, I scroll.
It’s a sad day indeed for London’s single gals, as the last of the Maven Inc. bachelors is no more.
“No more ...” I murmur, lifting my head to scan the crowd below.
“Don’t worry—they’re all there. Present and accounted for.” Letty sounds so amused right now. “None of them have fallen off the terrace and suffered a terrible death on the rocks below. At least, I haven’t pushed them,” she adds, all wide-eyed innocence.
“Let’s try to keep it that way. I’d like to keep your brother around for the next fifty years or so.” A subtle thrill shimmers through me.
“Read the rest,” Letty demands.
So I glance back and read a little more.
The dark-haired and mysterious Matías Romero is to be married this morning, so we’ve heard.
“What in tarnation?” I say unironically as I hand back her phone. “Is this for real?”
“I knew he wouldn’t have mentioned it! I’d like to say he’s a dark horse, but personally, I think he’s more like a donkey.”
“Flattering!” I laugh a little. I mean, he does have that ass.
“There’s no accounting for taste, no offense,” she adds with a grin. “But the thirsty ladies of London are really into him. You should read some of the comments—they’re a hoot!”
“He has a fan club?”
“Yeah, but he’s last on the list of three. Which, to my mind, makes him the equivalent of the weird-looking, slightly bruised melon left in the produce aisle.”
“Not nice, Letty,” I playfully chastise. This family’s love language is torturing each other. And I am here for it!
“Weird how they think he’s a catch.”
I’ve opened my mouth to respond—to defend my man’s honor—when the sound of his voice makes us both turn.
“I am a catch.”
I get a little excited hitch in my chest when our eyes meet.Hello there, handsome.
He stands, framed by the terrace doors, so suave in his wedding suit of pale, lightweight linen. A matching vest skims his trim waist, and his white shirt is open at the neck, his face tan and his hair a little long.The perfect length for fastening my fingers in.
His boutonniere is in honor of our daughter.Maeve, the queen of roses.And in his hand, he’s holding ... a folded newspaper?
“You, a catch?” Letty’s dismissive snort breaks the spell between us. For some reason, she mimes reeling in an invisible fishing rod. “Like an auld boot when you’re expecting a rainbow trout.”
“I feel like I’m missing something,” he says, sounding mildly confused.
“I was just showing Ryan your fan club news. We haven’t gotten to the comments yet.”
“What?”
“That stupid column—the one that’s been chasing you Maven boys.”
