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"Eh?" I glance toward Sinclair, who’s wearing an expression of delight on his face, and Hunter, who seems mildly amused. Something tells me the evening is going to get a lot worse.
"How did you guys get here? I didn’t hear the sound of a plane."
"Clearly, your mind was elsewhere."
That’s twice in a row. Un-fucking-believable.
"You guys dicking me around? You flew commercial then took the boat from the mainland, didn’t you?"
"Hate to tell you, but no, we landed half an hour ago. You must have been too absorbed in whatever it is you were up to. Don’t feel too badly, it happens to the best of us, ol’ chap, " Sinclair murmurs.
I glower at them.
"You were caught up in your feelings, trying to process everything that’s happening. It’s just the beginning, bro. It’s normal,” Weston says with a big smile on his face.Motherfucker.
"Make another crack about my emotional state of being, and I’ll knock your heads together,” I growl.
Weston clicks his tongue. "Temper, temper."
"This is nothing. Wait until you find yourself smiling for no reason in the middle of the day," Sinclair adds.
Weston points his fingers at me and makes a popping sound like he's shooting an imaginary gun. I scoff. Clearly, he didn’t get the memo that we’re adults and past the kind of teenage nonsense he revels in.
I narrow my gaze on Sinclair, who takes another sip of his whiskey. At least, he didn’t knock it back. Unlike my brother, the philistine.
When Sinclair contents himself with a smile, my scowl grows deeper. "Don’t you have another asinine remark to add to the proceedings?" I snap.
"Moi?" Sinclair adopts an innocent expression. "I’m here to lend you moral support as you go through this rite of passage."
"Bull-fucking-shit." I snatch up my glass of whiskey, when from outside the window comes the unmistakable drone of a Learjet.
"Ooh, hear that?" Weston cups his palm behind his ear. "It’s the fucking cavalry."
I pale. "You mean—"
"Your closest friends."
"I don’t have any."
"The people who consider themselves close to you should be here shortly."
I pale.
"Are you talking about—"
"The Seven." He nods.
Of course, he’s talking about the seven of them including Weston and Sinclair, who together with five of their friends run 7A, the biggest financial services company in Europe.
"Always thought it sounded like you guys belong to a boy band. Also, they’re your friends, not mine."
"We’ve appropriated you for the duration of your wedding. Couldn’t let you walk up the aisle on your own, could we?" Sinclair chuckles.
"I have no problem tying the knot on my own. In fact, if it weren’t for this upcoming IPO, I’d have insisted we get married in the town hall."
"Aww, where’s the fun in that?" Weston places his elbows on the table. "Besides, it’s to your advantage to have us in the picture. It’s a signal to the world that you have the support of the most powerful men in the country."
It’s true, and it’s the main reason I decided to go through with this event. That, and the fact the publicity will benefit Isla’s wedding planning company. Which means, I don’t have a choice but to get through this evening. Doesn’t mean I needed to stay sober. I turn in the direction of the bar, but Hunter’s already at my side. He tips the whiskey bottle, pouring the golden liquid into my glass.
