Chapter 36 - Ethan
ETHAN
The tie is straight. The suit is bespoke, Italian wool, cut to fit my shoulders perfectly. My hair is perfectly styled.
I look in the mirror, and for the first time in my life, I don’t see a CEO preparing for a board meeting. I don’t see a soldier preparing for a mission. And I definitely don’t see Richard Branson’s son looking for the nearest exit.
I see a groom.
“You’re staring,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn. Owen is leaning against the doorframe of the master bedroom suite in our new Westlake estate. He’s wearing a suit identical to mine—midnight blue, crisp white shirt—but his tie is loose, and he’s grinning like he already won.
“I’m checking for variables,” I say, adjusting my cufflinks.
“There are no variables,” Asher says, stepping out of the walk-in closet.
He’s also dressed in the blue suit, but his is buttoned with military precision. He walks over to me, reaches out, and adjusts my pocket square by two millimeters.
“The logistics are sound. The weather is optimal—seventy-five degrees, low humidity. The guests have arrived. The security perimeter is secure.”
I look at my brothers. My best men. My co-grooms.
Technically, legally, the marriage license sitting on the dresser bears two names: Ethan James Branson and Tessa Marie Hartley.
We discussed it for nights. We ran the models.
For the sake of the twins, for the sake of the company’s insurance and inheritance laws, one of us had to be the legal husband.
Owen voted for me because I’m the oldest. Asher voted for me because my credit score was two points higher than his.
Tessa voted for me because she knew I needed it. She knew I needed the piece of paper to prove to the ghosts in my head I wasn’t going to run away.
But today isn’t about the paper.
Today is about the vows.
“Do you have the rings?” I ask.
“I have the rings,” Owen says, patting his pocket. “All four of them. Which, by the way, costs more than the GDP of a small country.”
His smile fades. He runs his thumb over the velvet box in his pocket.
“God,” he breathes out, a harsh sound. “To think we almost broke her over fifty grand.”
I look up from my tie, my hands paused on the knot. The room goes quiet.
“We didn’t know,” I say, my voice rough with guilt. “We thought we were managing a risk. We didn’t know she was the asset.”
“It wasn’t about the money,” Asher says from the doorway. He’s holding the marriage license, but he’s looking at the rings. “It was about control. We tried to buy her compliance because we were too terrified to ask for her loyalty.”
“She never has to worry about money again,” I say, pulling the knot tight. “She never has to worry about anything again. We spent the first month trying to trap her with debt. I’m going to spend the rest of my life freeing her with this.”
“Sterling is gone anyway,” Owen notes.
“He’s gone,” I confirm, turning from the mirror.
“The #MyMosaic campaign triggered a bidding war. Sequoia Capital swooped in with an expedited term sheet and a better valuation this morning. We used it to secure a bridge loan and buy out Sterling’s Series A investment entirely. He took his check and walked.”
“He sent a gift basket,” Asher notes dryly.
“He’s afraid of us now. Especially after the SEC raid on Nebula last week.
With Markus indicted for corporate espionage and Greg facing federal hacking charges, our market dominance is absolute.
The #MyMosaic campaign increased our valuation by three hundred percent. We’re untouchable.”
“We aren’t untouchable,” I correct him, looking out the window at the sprawling green lawn where rows of white chairs are arranged. “We’re just united.”
I look at the crowd gathering below. Harper is in a silk dress, directing the caterers like a drill sergeant. Tessa’s parents are there—her dad looking uncomfortable in a suit, her mom crying already.
And then, there she is. My mother.
She’s sitting in the back row, stiff as a board, wearing sunglasses even though the sun is behind the clouds. She came. I didn’t think she would. I didn’t ask her to. But Harper insisted on sending the invite.
“She’s here,” Owen says, following my gaze.
“She is,” I agree.
“Does it bother you?” Asher asks.
I watch her for a moment. I wait for the old anger, the resentment, the fear proving I’m a disappointment. It doesn’t come.
“No,” I say honestly. “It doesn’t.”
I turn back to my brothers.
“Ready?” I ask.
Owen claps a hand on my shoulder. “Born ready.”
Asher checks his watch. “We are T-minus five minutes to deployment.”
“Then let’s go get married,” I say.
The backyard of the estate is a masterpiece. Asher designed the layout, of course. It’s a natural amphitheater, overlooking the lake, framed by ancient oak trees.
We stand at the altar. Not one groom. Three.
I stand in the center, with Owen on my left and Asher on my right.
The guests whispered as we walked out. A few of the more conservative cousins from Cedar Creek look ready to faint.
I don’t care.
The music changes. The chatter dies.
And then she appears.
Tessa.
My chest tightens.
She’s walking out the French doors of the house, holding her father’s arm. She’s wearing a dress that isn’t white—it’s a soft, pale gold, like champagne. It flows around her, catching the light.
But the most beautiful part isn’t the dress. It’s the bump.
She’s six months pregnant. The twins—Babies A and B, who we now know are a boy and a girl—are making their presence known. Her belly is round and proud, hugged by the silk of her gown.
She’s radiant. As she walks down the aisle, her eyes lock onto ours. She smiles, and it’s that secret, intimate smile belonging only to us.
Her father walks her to the front. He stops. He looks at me. He looks at Owen. He looks at Asher.
He takes a deep breath.
“You boys take care of her,” he says, his voice gruff with emotion. “And my grandbabies.”
“We will, sir,” I promise. “With our lives.”
He nods, kisses Tessa’s cheek, and takes his seat in the front row.
Tessa steps forward. She hands her bouquet to Harper, standing as her Maid of Honor and wiping tears aggressively from her face.
Tessa stands before us. We step up to meet her.
The officiant—a friend of Harper’s who got ordained online just for this—smiles.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate a love refusing to fit in a box,” she begins. “A love breaking the rules to build something better.”
It’s a short ceremony. We didn’t want pomp and circumstance. We wanted promises.
“The grooms have written their own vows,” the officiant says.
Owen goes first.
He steps forward, separating from our line, and takes Tessa’s right hand. He brings it to his lips.
“Tessa,” Owen says, his voice thick. “Before you, I thought life was a game. I thought I just had to keep leveling up, keep moving, keep smiling so no one saw the cracks. But you… you stopped the game. You saw the cracks, and you didn’t look away.
You filled them with gold. You make me laugh, you make me crazy, and you make me want to stay.
I promise to be the fun one. I promise to make you laugh every single day, even when the twins are screaming at 3 AM.
I promise to love you loudly, wildly, and forever. ”
Tessa sniffles, a tear sliding down her cheek. Owen wipes it away with his thumb and steps back.
Asher goes next.
He steps forward, taking her left hand. He adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t hold a piece of paper. He memorized his vows.
“Tessa,” Asher says, his tone steady, serious.
“My life has always been defined by logic. Input. Output. Cause. Effect. For thirty-five years, I operated under the assumption love was an unpredictable variable, a risk to system stability. Then you entered the dataset. You proved love isn’t chaos; it is structure.
You’re the code making the system run. I promise to protect you.
I promise to optimize our life for your happiness.
I promise to be the logic when the world is chaotic, and the anchor when you need to drift.
You’re my primary variable. You’re my constant. ”
Tessa lets out a wet laugh, squeezing Asher’s hand. “I love you, you robot.”
“I love you,” Asher confirms, stepping back into place.
Then, it’s my turn.
The stillness stretches. I look at her. My strategist. My heart.
I take a step closer, towering over her, shielding her from the sun. I take both of her hands in mine.
“Tessa,” I say. My voice is rough. “You know my history. You know the ghosts I carry. You know for a long time, I thought I was broken. I thought I was destined to be a man who leaves.”
I glance at my mother in the back row. She’s watching, impassive. I look back at Tessa.
“I built walls to keep people out,” I continue.
“I built a company to prove I was strong. I built a fortress to protect my brothers because I didn’t trust anyone else to do it.
And then you walked into my office with a red pen and a smile, and you tore the walls down.
You didn’t just save the company, Tessa. You saved me.”
I release one of her hands and place my palm flat on her stomach, over our children.
“I promise to be the man who stays,” I vow. “I promise to be the father I never had. I promise no matter how hard it gets, no matter what the world says about us, I will never run again. I am all in. Today. Tomorrow. Until the code stops running. I’m yours.”
Tessa’s crying freely now, her shoulders shaking.
“I love you,” she whispers. “I love all of you. I promise to keep your secrets, but mostly, I promise to be your truth. I promise to love this family, every part of it. The chaos, the logic, and the strength.”
“Do you, Ethan, Owen, and Asher, take Tessa to be your wife?” the officiant asks.
“We do,” we say in unison. The sound echoes off the lake.
“And do you, Tessa, take these men to be your husbands?”
“I do,” she says clearly.
“Then, by the power vested in me, and by the power of the State of Texas for the paperwork part,” the officiant winks, “I pronounce you legally husbands and wife, and spiritually bound as a family. You may kiss your bride.”
I kiss her first. I crush my mouth to hers, sealing the promise I made on the roof. Owen spins her around and dips her next, kissing her until she’s laughing. Asher pulls her upright, cups her face, and kisses her with precise, devastating intensity.
The crowd cheers. Harper whistles loudly. Even Tessa’s dad is clapping, wiping his eyes.
We walk back up the aisle together. Not two people. Four.
A phalanx. A family.
The reception kicks off fast and loud. The sun sets over the lake, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange—Mosaic colors. The string lights click on above the dance floor. We dance, eat, and drink sparkling cider for Tessa.
I find myself standing at the edge of the patio, watching the scene.
Owen is currently dancing with Tessa’s mom, charming her so thoroughly she’s blushing like a schoolgirl.
Asher’s sitting at a table with Harper and Tessa’s dad, sketching something on a napkin—probably explaining the structural integrity of a backhoe.
Tessa’s sitting in a plush chair, resting her feet.
I feel a presence beside me.
I turn. It’s my mother.
She’s holding a glass of wine. She hasn’t taken off her sunglasses, even though it’s dark.
“You did it,” she says. Her voice is unreadable.
“I did,” I say.
“The house is impressive,” she admits. She looks around the estate. “Better than the trailer.”
“Much better,” I say.
She takes a sip of wine. She looks out toward Tessa’s chair, her eyes lingering on the bump pressing against the silk of the dress.
“You weren’t lying about the twins.”
“I never lie,” I say proudly. “A boy and a girl.”
My mother pauses. She looks at me. A crack forms in the ice. The woman she used to be peeks through, before the bitterness took over.
“You look like your father,” she says.
I stiffen.
“But,” she continues, turning to face me fully. “You don’t act like him. Richard would have run away by now. Three men? Raising twins? He would have crumbled.”
She reaches out, hesitates, then pats my arm awkwardly.
“You did good, Ethan. You raised them well.”
Coming from her, it’s a surrender.
“Thank you,” I say.
She nods, turns, and walks away toward the exit. She won’t stay for the cake. She won’t become a doting grandmother overnight. But the war is over.
I walk over to Tessa.
“Hey,” I say, kneeling beside her chair. “You okay?”
“My feet are swollen,” she admits, smiling. “But my heart is full.”
“Ethan!” Harper calls out from the DJ booth. “Get over here! First dance!”
I stand up and offer my hand to Tessa. “May I?”
“Which one of you?” she asks, looking at Owen and Asher walking over.
“All of us,” Owen says.
We move to the dance floor. The song is slow, something acoustic and sweet. I take Tessa in my arms first. We sway to the music.
“Mrs. Branson,” I whisper against her ear.
“Mr. Branson,” she replies. “And Mr. Branson. And Mr. Branson.”
We rotate. Owen cuts in, spinning her, making her giggle. Asher takes her next, moving stiffly but perfectly on the beat.
Then, we just huddle.
We stop dancing traditionally. We form a circle. Arms around each other. Tessa in the middle, safe, surrounded.
I look at my brothers. Owen winks at me. Asher nods. I look at my wife. She rests her head on Asher’s chest, holding Owen’s hand, with my arm wrapped tight around her waist.
She looks up at me.
“We fit,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough. “We fit.”
I pull her closer, letting the music wash over us as Owen and Asher close the circle.
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE]
Ethan: Status report?
Asher: Guests departed. Security active. Babies sleeping (in utero).
Owen: Wife exhausted but happy. Feet rubbed.
Ethan: Good.
Tessa: Shut up and come to bed. All of you.
Ethan: Copy that.