28. Gabriel #2
“Glad to hear it,” my mother says. I can tell she’s being genuine by the way her voice softens.
She looks at Alexis for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, before nodding approvingly and gesturing toward the kitchen.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on the progress of dinner. You two can feel free to take my seat.”
“Do you mind if Peyton comes with you?”
“Not at all,” she says, smiling down at Peyton. “Come with grandma, love.”
My mother brushes past, heading for the kitchen, where her personal chef is undoubtedly working to ensure everything is just right. Peyton skips along behind her.
I sit down, and Alexis joins me on the couch.
“Can I get you guys anything to drink while I’m over here?” Jackson offers, looking up from the drink cart.
“Grab me one of whatever you’re drinking,” I say. “Alexis, you want anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good for now.”
“Roger that.” Jackson gives a little salute, then bends down to rummage for another glass. While he does that, I steeple my hands and focus on Dominic.
“So. What the hell was that death trap sitting in Mom’s driveway?”
The mood shifts at once as all of my brothers sense the chance to go in on Dominic. The target of everyone’s loving sibling jabs is constantly shifting, but he seems to get it the most, since he’s the most capable of both dishing it out and taking it.
“Are you talking about my Ducati?” Dominic asks calmly, raising an eyebrow.
“I knew it was yours. I fucking knew it.” I snap my fingers. “When did you get a new bike?”
“A month ago. I’ve been riding it to work for weeks. Keep up, man,” says Dominic.
“This is the first time I’m noticing it too,” Tristan comments.
“Yeah, because you’re always in the office by seven-thirty. You don’t see anyone come in, and you don’t see anyone leave.”
Dominic’s attempt to move the sights over to Tristan is as transparent as it is useless. “Don’t deflect,” I say, leaning forward. “Dude. Why are you always riding motorcycles? You can’t afford a car?”
Dominic sits up straighter, lifting his chin. “Excuse me, that bike is a Ducati Superleggera, and it probably cost more than Tristan’s Audi.”
Tristan laughs. “You paid that much for the thing that’s going to kill you?”
“Oh, come on, it’s not that danger—”
“No, seriously, he’s right. What’s going to happen if you get into a crash on the freeway?” Reid says, chiming in. “Statistically, bikers are way more likely to—”
Dominic scoffs, then affects a mocking tone, pushing an invisible pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Statistically? Come on, man, you know I don’t give a shit about the statistics. Some random numbers have nothing to do with why I ride, I’ll tell you that much.”
Jackson can’t resist his snort of laughter as he moves back over to join us, setting a glass of whiskey down on the coffee table in front of me. I accept the drink with a nod of thanks.
“Do you even wear a helmet?” I ask, picking up the drink and taking a sip. “Tell me you’ve at least started wearing a helmet.”
“I don’t need one,” Dominic shoots back archly. “Because I’m not going to crash.”
“Oh, good lord,” Chloe mutters under her breath, just loudly enough to be audible.
Tristan shakes his head, grinning. “This man’s having his quarter-life crisis.”
“Damn, just imagine what his mid-life crisis will be like at this rate,” Jackson drawls. “What’s he gonna get into then? Bull riding? Great white shark cage diving, minus the cage?”
Everyone gets a good laugh out of that. Even Dominic, who’s making an admirable effort to look disdainful, cracks an involuntary smile.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’ll be just fine. You guys will be eating your words when I pull up in a couple of years with a Ducati collector’s edition and a fuckin’ People Magazine Sexiest Man Alive nomination.”
“Right, unless you hit a pothole before then,” I deadpan. “In which case, we’ll be reading your obituary in People instead.”
For just a second, Dominic’s jaw goes tight, and I wince internally.
Fuck. Even though I have no problem giving him a bit of shit, I didn’t mean to poke at an old wound like that.
Dominic went through some rough shit a while back, and it took the loss of a good friend to snap him out of it, but I know that loss still bothers him.
Hell, I think it’s a big part of why he does dangerous shit like riding a motorcycle on the freeways of LA.
I catch his eye and give a small head shake, silently retracting my words. There’s a moment where the tension lingers in his face, but then he snorts, returning to our easy banter.
“You’re just jealous, Gabe.” He leans back in his chair and swirls the whiskey in his glass. “You can’t put a car seat on a ride like mine, so you’re stuck with your four-door.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “Nah, not jealous in the slightest. I’ve got air conditioning and windows that roll up. You, on the other hand, are going to bake alive in the summer and get bugs in your mouth. I’ll take my Maserati any day.”
“I never get bugs in my mouth,” Dominic mutters.
“Sure you don’t, Dom.” Reid rolls his eyes, then glances toward the kitchen. “Anyway, let’s all agree that Dominic is living on borrowed time and change the subject before Mom comes back.”
“Hear, hear,” says Tristan, nodding.
At that moment, there’s a knock at the front door.
“Hey, right on cue,” says Jackson with a smirk. “There’s our subject change.”
“I’ll get it,” Ivy says immediately, bouncing to her feet.
She practically skips into the foyer to welcome Beckett inside.
I can hear the murmur of their exchange, but not the words themselves.
A few seconds later, the two of them enter the living room, Beckett already looking chagrined even before we start to make fun of him.
“Don’t say it,” he mutters. “I know. I know—”
“Well, well, well, “ says Tristan, rubbing his hands together.
“Look who finally made it,” Dominic adds. “You, my friend, are forty-five minutes late.”
Beckett groans. “Jesus. Guys. It’s actually not my fault for once, if you can believe it.”
“You’re going to have to apologize to Mom,” I say. “She said six.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Beckett sighs. “I will. I was on the phone with the stupid venue.”
A cloud seems to pass over his face, and immediately, the grins on everyone’s faces dim. Beckett has been mired in the early arrangements for his upcoming nuptials to a woman named Meredith Ballard, and just like I was, he’s clearly less than thrilled about the whole thing.
The mood shifts instantly, and even Dominic, who’s always quick with a snarky remark, seems to hesitate. Beckett’s irritation is palpable, his shoulders stiff as he drops into the empty chair next to me.
“You doing alright?” Reid asks sympathetically.
“I’ll live. It’s just… dealing with all this shit is exhausting.
” He gestures vaguely, as if encompassing the entire mess of the arranged marriages and everything surrounding it.
“I don’t know. To be honest with you, I didn’t think I’d ever get married, or at least not for like a decade.
Now…” He shakes his head, looking miserable.
“I hear that,” Dominic mutters. “It’s not exactly a fairytale.”
Beside me, I feel Alexis shrink a little.
My jaw sets, and I reach over to lace my fingers with hers, giving her hand a little squeeze.
Dominic and Beckett are only complaining because they’re not in their arrangements yet.
They don’t yet know that it doesn’t have to be terrible. That it can actually be amazing.
I can see my thoughts reflected in Tristan’s eyes as he meets my gaze, but he lifts his shoulders in a tiny shrug. I can tell what he’s thinking. Let them figure it out for themselves.
The room falls into a quiet, contemplative pause.
“I mean,” Beckett continues, his voice quieter now, almost to himself, “it’s not that I don’t get it.
The whole family business thing, the legacy and all that…
but the idea of being stuck in a marriage with someone I barely know, let alone like…
” He glances at Alexis, then Chloe. “No offense to you two. I mean, Tristan and Gabe struck gold, you ladies are awesome.”
“Thanks.” Chloe chuckles lightly, then makes a face. “I get what you mean though. Nothing about the situation is ideal, at least at face value. We got lucky and fell in love.” She smiles at Tristan, and he places his hand above her knee. “But that doesn’t mean all of you will.”
“Yeah.” Beckett sighs. “No kidding.”
His expression turns a bit sour as he gets to his feet and wanders over to the drink cart to fix himself something.
“It’s nice when love finds you in unexpected ways,” Ivy says almost to herself as she watches Beckett make his way to the cart. “I can’t say I’m thrilled about my arranged marriage either.”
At that, I wince. I’d almost forgotten the Langfords were arranging a marriage for Ivy. She’s in the same boat as the rest of us, which isn’t too surprising. It’s a fairly common practice within our social circles, a method for shoring up wealth and protecting a family’s legacy.
“I always wanted a grand love story, you know?” she continues, leaning on one hand. “Sweep you off your feet, head-over-heels type of love.”
Dominic lets out a noncommittal grunt, then takes a long drink of his whiskey, draining the glass.
“You know, I used to think the same thing,” Chloe says, her eyes meeting Ivy’s. “But then life happened, and I stopped wanting the fairytale. And then, boom.” Her fingers twine with Tristan’s. “Sometimes, it turns out that the story you get is better, even if it’s not what you imagined.”
There’s a flicker of sadness in Ivy’s expression that doesn’t go away. Her gaze strays back to Beckett, then to the floor. “Yeah, maybe.”
Beckett pours himself a whiskey, then returns to his seat. “We don’t really have a choice in the matter, do we?”