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“Yes. Be. In. Love.”
“How am I supposed to guarantee that?” I squint at him. “And how are you supposed to know that? You can’t read their minds.”
“I can read their behaviors,” Weggers says. “Your grandfather has entrusted me with judging for myself whether you meet the terms of the will and his other instructions?—”
“I should have contested!” my brother Rhys cries.
“You definitely should have contested,” I growl at him. “Remind me again why you didn’t contest!”
Rhys looks at Quinn. Quinn looks back at Rhys.
“It wasn’t entirely a rational decision,” Rhys says. “It just…” He shrugs. “And then it kind of…” He doesn’t seem to be able to finish the sentence.
“Didn’t happen,” Quinn says, unhelpfully.
We all stare at both of them because neither of them is a guy who’s ever deliberately evasive or vague. Rhys is a family attorney—read: shark of a divorce lawyer—and Quinn is a brilliant scientist.
“They didn’t want to fuck things up for me,” Hanna says.
We all turn to look at her. She rolls her eyes at us.
“Just admit it, guys,” she says. “You did it for me. And now it’s too late to contest.”
We all squirm. No one speaks. But we do hang our heads, remembering how her husband, Easton, pulled us aside and ripped us a collective new one about being shitty brothers.
“We haven’t exactly done the best job ever of being there for you, Han,” Rhys says.
It’s an understatement. My brothers and I got the hell out of Dodge—meaning Rush Creek—as soon as we could. And I’m pretty sure all of us have questions about whether we did the right thing. Or maybe that’s just me.
“No,” she agrees—which is Hanna for you. Honest sometimes to the point of bluntness and refreshing as hell. “But this is too much to ask of anyone.”
She looks tired. And guilty. Hanna is one of those people who has boundless energy and never bothers with unnecessary emotion, so seeing her like that makes me feel…
Like a shitty brother.
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “I mean, all I have to do is recruit a couple. There are a million people in Hollywood falling in love every day.”
“Are there?” Rhys asks, scowling. He’s our resident cynic—not that any of us has a glowing opinion of marriage and family life, but you can imagine that our divorce lawyer brother has the worst view of both.
“There are,” I say, which makes Hanna perk up, and that’s really all I need to see.
Because if anyone’s been a shitty brother, it’s me. I left and never came back, not even for Hanna’s wedding. And for what? The least admirable reason of all—fame and fortune.
I plant my hands on the table and stand. “I’ve got this, guys. How hard can it be to come up with one celebrity couple who are actually, really, and truly in love with each other?”
2
Five Months Later—Ivy
My ex-boyfriend, Anthony Fessa, is sitting on the front stoop of my house in Rush Creek.
And the worst part is when I get out of my car, start up my front path, and see him, my heart gives a teeny, tiny leap of joy.
You’d think that particular organ would have been too broken by Anthony’s treatment of it to even try to leap…but apparently old habits die hard.
Even though my heart and I are supposed to hate him, he looks good sitting there, surrounded by the early May flowers blooming in my garden and the recently painted white picket fence. Broad-shouldered, strong-jawed, built like a movie actor—which is to say someone who spends a huge amount of personal effort on eating right and working out so there won’t be an ounce of fat anywhere it’s not supposed to be. The effect is—well, more or less the same as it was the first time I laid eyes on Anthony. He’s, objectively, gorgeous.
Plus once upon a time, I thought I might come home to Anthony and a white picket fence…
