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“Whether a wedding was necessary or not doesn’t matter,” Harold put in, leaning forward. “The real question is: do you love her?”
I thought about Ciara, with her golden-brown curls and shy smile, and I couldn’t help my own goofy grin. “Yeah. I do.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
John pretended to gag. “Couldn’t be me. That ship has sailed.”
Brandon eyed him over his wineglass. “John…you’re twenty-five.”
“So? Just like y’all keep sayingwhen you know you knowabout the womenyoudeal with, IknowI’m not getting married. Ever. No woman’s gonna tie me down,” he boasted.
“Or maybe you’re waiting for the one woman to tie you down,” Damien noted. All eyes swiveled to him, and he shrugged. “Y’all remember his relationship with Ava, right?”
Ava Humphrey, Harold’s younger sister, was best friends with Mack and John, and had even dated John—but they broke up suddenly, and no one knew why. John had been hopping from woman to woman since then.
Eyeing John, Harold said evenly, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing to know, early on, that you’re not trying for marriage. It saves everyone the drama.”
“Hear, hear,” Brandon said, raising his glass to Harold. “Besides, traditional marriage doesn’t offer much these days. You tie your whole life to someone else’s, and for what? A ring and a piece of paper? It’s better to stay legally single. Or have a civil union.”
“Are y’all here to celebrate or rain on my parade?” I joked.
“He’s right,” Damien said. “We’re supposed to be celebrating, so let’s leave it at this: some people are meant for marriage; some aren’t. Nathan and Ciara are the former, and so are me and Alex. So cheers to that.”
We all looked at Damien as he sipped his beer. He looked back at us, eyes wide and innocent. “What?” he asked.
“Nowthat’ssome shit you don’t just brush past,” I said. “You and Alex are getting married?”
He shrugged. “Someday. Yeah. I’ve been carrying around the ring for weeks now, but it just hasn’t been the right time to propose.”
As the conversation shifted toward Damien and his proposal, and I looked around at my brothers and best friend, I smiled. What Damien said rang true to me: some people were meant for marriage; others weren’t. And though I was practically forced into marriage by my mom’s last wishes, ultimately, I was the former. And I was happier for it.
ChapterThirty-Seven
NATHAN
We all woke the next day in various states of hungover or tiredness. We had stayed up well past what was reasonable, drinking and playing cards. When my alarm rang at ten-thirty that morning, I felt like I had just fallen asleep.
“Turn that shit off,” John groaned.
“What shit?” Damien mumbled around a yawn.
“The alarm.” He stuffed his head under a pillow. “And the sun.”
“C’mon now, get up,” Harold said, snatching the pillow from a still-grumbling John. “I told you not to have that last margarita, but you didn’t listen, so anything you’re experiencing is your own fault.”
Brandon emerged from the bathroom, brushing his teeth with a raised eyebrow. “John complaining?” he asked Harold.
“Yup.”
“Knew it.”
“It’s a good thing the ceremony doesn’t start until two,” Damien said, eyeing John. “It’s not gonna take us long to get ready, and Dad wants us to stop by the house to get food.”
“Food?” John popped up. “Shit, let’s go, then.”
We all got ready in record time, piled into Harold’s SUV with our suits still in the bags, and made our way toward Dad. For almost the whole twenty-minute drive, John complained about his hangover and how tired he was, to the point where Brandon told him he’d strap him to the top of the truck if he didn’t stop.
Finally, we got to Dad’s—thankfully, without anyone being tied to the roof—and parked. Dad was waiting for us in the dining room, in front of a breakfast spread that had my mouth watering.
