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“What’s this?”
I smiled. “Just try it. You’ll love it. It’s my favorite drink here.”
“Really?” She took a sip and her face lit up. “Dear God, this is amazing.”
“Ryan’s a cocktail genius.”
“I love that man,” Rachel said with a sigh, and I narrowed my eyes.
“No, Rachel.” I felt like I was scolding a bad puppy.
“I know, I know.” She waved me off, but her eyes told me otherwise. She’d take a chance with Ryan in a heartbeat, and I knew it. But so would most women, so I couldn’t blame her for it.
“He’s just so delicious,” she said dreamily. “I mean, look at him.”
I turned my head, but my eyes sought out Nick instead of Ryan. He was the only Fisher brother I could see, the only one I wanted, the only one I needed. Nick’s eyes met mine, and he paused for a second before giving me a wink. My insides melted at the gesture. Everything he did went straight to the core of me.
Eventually, the bar cleared out, leaving Rachel and me alone with the guys as they cleaned up.
“I heard a rumor the other day,” Ryan said over the music that played in the background.
“What kind of rumor?” I asked.
He laughed. “That your best friend moved to London and was being wooed by a prince, or something to that effect.”
I turned to Rachel, wondering why she was sitting next to me if she was supposed to be in London.
“Not your real best friend.” Ryan gave Rachel a nod. “Carla.”
“Oh.” My eyes widened when everything clicked. “Shut up. A prince?”
“He’s not a real prince, but she’s playing like he is, posting all over social media with him.”
“As long as she’s over Nick, that’s really all I care about.” I practically groaned as I remembered the hell she’d put us through. Nick and I had come so far since then, our relationship so solid, so beautiful, so completely fulfilling.
“I hope he’s a prince who lives in some small-dick country, and she marries him and has to live there forever,” Rachel blurted.
When she downed the rest of her third cocktail, Frank doled out five shot glasses that were only partially filled.
“To small-dick countries and staying there forever.” He lifted his shot glass in the air, and we all repeated the toast before downing without question whatever he had poured.
“Speaking of other countries, Dad called today,” Nick said, drawing everyone’s attention. “He said he loves Italy and he’s never coming back.”
The brothers’ relationship with their father was better than ever. He’d apologized profusely, to me as well, seeming truly remorseful for his behavior. We had family dinners when we could get everyone in the same room, but more often than not, Mr. Fisher could be found sitting here at the bar, tossing one back with his sons. It warmed my heart to see that relationship mended.
“Hell, can you blame him?” Ryan said with a laugh. “Next time I go there, I might not come back either.”
Frank scowled at him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I might, Frank. You never know,” Ryan said, trying to goad him.
“I’ve always wanted to see Italy,” I said with a grin. “I’ll go with you, Ryan.”
Ryan leaned across the bar and placed his hand on my arm. “We’d have the best time, sweetheart,” he said.
“Hands off my woman,” Nick said in a threatening growl. “I don’t care who you are.”
Ryan removed his hand slowly, his fingers lingering as he dragged them away, and I fought off a laugh.
