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“Both of you, stop. Jesus, we’re not seven.” Logan stepped away from them and walked between the rows of chairs. As he did, he caught Daniel’s eye, and they shared a knowing look.
The two older men hadn’t spoken in twenty-six years. As the eldest on both sides of the family, Logan and Daniel each felt a responsibility to ensure today went smoothly.
“Son,” Andrew said in greeting.
“Hello, darling.” His mom kissed his cheek and went to say hello to Amy and Aidan.
“Dad.” Logan nodded and handed him a service booklet. “Let’s go join the others.”
Before they could take a step, Jonathan walked over, and Logan heard his father curse.
Jesus, could he not wait one goddamn hour?
“Andrew,” Jonathan said. “It’s been a long time.”
His father slid his hands into the pants of his Armani suit and stared at his brother. No offer of a handshake.
No one said a word for what felt like an hour but was probably only thirty seconds.
Logan went to open his mouth, but Daniel beat him to it.
“How about we do this afterward?” Daniel said, crossing his arms. The six-foot-something CEO of the Dufort Hotel Group might have been a couple of years younger than Logan, but there was no doubt he had an innate, powerful authority about him.
Then again, they all did, to one degree or another.
“Jonathan.” A tall woman with long dark hair pushed past them all, holding out her arms.
His aunt Samantha.
She was top to toe in black Hermes. And by top, Logan meant she wore a dramatic hat even the British would approve of. It sat appropriately at an angle on her head with a small veil.
“My brother,” she cried, and the two embraced.
“Sammy,” Jonathan replied thickly, “it’s good to see you.”
Logan’s father turned away, a cynical look in his eyes. “We should take our seats. The priest has arrived.”
Aunty Samantha ignored Andrew and hugged Daniel. She shook her head and held her hands out to Fletcher and Hunter, who were standing a step behind their father.
“Look at you,” she said, then turned. “Blake, Jacob. Come meet your cousins.”
Logan smirked at Jacob, who was only twenty-four and grimacing at all the family shit. Blake nudged him with his shoulder. He was a year older, but they were both trouble.
Good looks, muscle, and they had too much money.
Like all the Dufort men.
“Christ. Everyone sit down,” Andrew said. “Let’s honor my mother and then do this all later.”
“Darling—” Logan’s mother started, but Andrew rarely listened to her.
“Stop being so bossy,” Samantha said, frowning at Jonathan. “He hasn’t changed.”
“I have no doubt,” Jonathan mumbled. “And given I’m paying for this goddamn service, we will sit when we are good and ready, brother. Sit your ass down if you want.”
Fuck.
Logan had about five percent of his usual patience today after only sleeping a few hours.
