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“Not, Juliet. Mom. You know how she is. She hand-picked your wives and she thinks she can do the same for me, but she can’t. I’ll decide when and whom I marry, not Estelle.”
The waiter returned, cleared the empty plates from the table and left.
“Mom didn’t hand-pick our wives,” Remington argued, in a shaky tone of voice.
Chase wore a knowing smile. “Yes she did, and you hapless fools had no say in the matter.”
Ezekiel cursed. “That’s a lie. I wanted to get married and have a family.”
“Right and I’m a born-again virgin looking for true love!” Jonas joked with a laugh.
Everyone cracked up. They traded stories about their scheming but lovable mother, but Chase was thinking about his ex. They’d called it quits last year, but these days his mom and Juliet were closer than ever. Drumming his fingers on the table, he made a mental note to speak to his mother—again—about her friendship with his ex-girlfriend. Bright and brilliant, from a family of esteemed doctors, it was no surprise his parents adored Juliet and wanted her to be their daughter-in-law, but the horseback riding accident had changed everything and Chase didn’t want to rekindle their romance.
“Let’s take some pictures,” Antonio said, taking his iPhone out of his shirt pocket.
“Why? So you can prove to Evette you’re not in Ibiza with another woman?”
Everyone snickered but a frown darkened Antonio’s narrow features.
“To be honest, yeah. I love my wife, but ever since her breast cancer scare, her insecurities have gotten worse and I feel like I constantly have to prove myself,” he explained.
“Evette has nothing to worry about. She’s the only one who wants your sorry ass.”
Antonio crumpled his napkin into a ball and hurled it across the table, hitting Jonas in the face. “Keep it up and you’ll be wearing your spicy lobster stew!”
The cousins laughed and soon everyone was cracking jokes on each other.
“Come on, guys. Let’s do this!” Raising his iPhone in the air, Antonio positioned it in front of the group, then tapped the camera button repeatedly. “Say Ibiza!”
“Ibiza!” shouted a sultry female voice.
A floral fragrance perfumed the air, tickling Chase’s nose as someone bumped into him from behind. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed Demi standing behind him, snapping selfies with her bejeweled iPhone. She was wearing a cheeky grin, gold hoop earrings and a canary-yellow jumpsuit that complimented her flawless brown complexion. She’d photobombed their family photograph, seizing the attention of everyone at the table, and Chase wondered how long it would take for Jonas and Kendrick to ask her out.
Straightening to her full height, Demi wore an apologetic smile and waved at the group. “Sorry for hijacking your selfie, but I couldn’t resist. It’s not every day I see a table full of handsome men and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by. My followers are going to go bananas when I post these selfies.”
“No problem,” Antonio said. “You made the picture look a hundred times better.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Nodding, Demi winked then pointed at her mouth with an index finger. “It’s my raspberry sorbet lip gloss. It makes my lips pop!”
Everyone laughed and, realizing his cousins and brothers were as enamored with Demi as he was, Chase hoped they didn’t do anything to embarrass him. He introduced her to his family, and everyone greeted her with a nod and a smile—except Jonas. He kissed her palm then brushed his fingers against her skin. “As you can see, I’m Chase’s older, sexier twin.”
“Twins, huh? Cool.” Her gaze darted between them and an amused expression covered her face. “Jonas, tell me something. Are you the good twin or the bad twin?”
“Gorgeous, I can be whatever you want me to be.”
Demi pursed her lips, as if she was trying not to laugh. “You’re the kind of guy my mother always warned me to stay away from.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The only way to know for sure is to have dinner with me tonight. I’ll meet you at the Ibiza café at seven o’clock.”
Chase felt his eyes widen. His throat was so tight he couldn’t swallow. Jonas had a reputation that rivaled 007 and every scandalous, salacious story circulating around the Hamptons about his sexual exploits was true. He wanted to smack the smug grin off Jonas’s face, but he kicked him under the table instead and moved closer to Demi. “Ignore him,” he whispered. “He suffered a concussion last year playing flag football and never recovered.”
Demi burst out laughing and Chase felt five inches taller, was proud of himself for outwitting his brother.
“What happened to you last night?” Chase asked. “I returned to the table and you were gone.”
“I wasn’t about to miss Geneviève’s performance, so I pushed my way through the crowd until I was directly in front of the stage and danced my ass off for the rest of the night,” Demi explained.
“I should have known. Party’s your middle name, huh?”
