Page 144 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

Gil Travis has been ravaged by illness.The sturdy rancher I’ve known all my life is just skin and bone now.But as he places his only daughter’s hand in Evander’s sweaty palm, there isn’t a dry eyeball in the house, counting mine.

Gil Travis is showing up for his daughter because that’s what it’s all about.

This is the fourth fucking wedding I’ve had to attend in the last year.And if I was the same man who went to all those previous weddings, I know what I’d be doing right about now.

I’d be curled in a ball in the corner of the Travis Ranch barn.I’d be hiding my eyes from the flowers and silky bows and whatever else kind of shit they used to decorate this place, cussing and complaining about how pointless it all is, a waste of a perfectly nice June afternoon.

That man didn’t believe in love.

I’m not that man anymore, the sad sack who had to be threatened with bodily harm to show up for the most important day in his brothers’ lives.

I’m no longer the asshole who rolled his eyes at Cal and Victoria standing on the dock together at sunset, hating how “romantic” the guests thought the ceremony was while I swatted at mosquitos and wondered what kind of beer they had back at the party tent.

I’m not the miserable bastard who bitched and moaned about being tired and hungry at Finn and Emma’s blowout, where delicious food was piled to the rafters and senior citizens danced into the wee hours.

And I’m not the idiot who, at Summer and Declan’s backyard “second wedding,” complained when my friend asked me to give her away and serve as ring bearer.

“Why would you wantthat?” I asked Summer.

“Because I love you, dipshit,” she said.

I didn’t get it, and I didn’t like it, but I did it just to get it over with.

That last wedding was only a couple of months ago.Today, at Evander and Phoebe’s traditional affair, I’m a different man.

Because I’m here with Boots.

I look out now to see her seated in the second row with Aunt Phyllis.She smiles at me and wiggles her fingers and one eyebrow, and I’m done for.

I’m so in love with Frankie that I can’t believe my life is real.This love between us has survived everything the world’s thrown at us.

It’s unstoppable.

I wake up every morning—Pussy on one side and the world’s best pussy on the other—sure that I’m dreaming.

And the craziest part is this: the strong, funny, and wickedly smart Frances Rachel Lyles, originally of Pine Haven, Oregon, loves me back enough to let me in.She’s okay that I know her.

The former hot headliner at the Lynx Gentleman’s Club of Las Vegas—daughter of the late Lou Lyles and granddaughter of Stan Lyles—now displays a gargantuan diamond ring on her left hand.She tells me every day how happy she is.How she’s never been filled with such hope for the future.How much she treasures me and my family.

We’re taking a trip to Oregon this summer to reconnect with her grandfather.We’re even talking about having kids--a bunch of them.

Yeah, I’m a changed man.I’m anengagedman, and if that isn’t the wildest sentence I’ve ever put together, I don’t know what is.

It’s a damn mystery how this all came to be.But I’m profoundly grateful for the day I wandered up on Washoe Ridge in search of a few missing head of cattle, only to fall head over heels in love with a wood chopper in go-go boots.

I smile back at her, and my heart jumps in my chest.I can’t help myself.

She’s mine and I’m hers and no matter what it took for us to get here, it was worth it.

I drag my eyes away from Boots long enough to witness Evander and Phoebe exchange their vows.Evander wrote eight versions of his promises to Phoebe—I know because he made me read all eight—yet here he is, stumbling over every syllable while Phoebe squeezes his hand in encouragement.

The MacLaine brothers are so pussy-whipped that it’s not even funny.

And I count myself among the proud.

The few.

The whipped.