1
DILLON
“You have the rest,” Ash says, dumping the remainder of the bottle of white wine into Viv’s glass. “You look like you need it.”
My wife arches a brow as she stares at her sister-in-law-slash-best-friend. “Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”
“Puh-lease.” My sister rolls her eyes. “That’s a virtual impossibility. You always look stunning, babe.”
No truer words have ever been spoken. My wife is a fucking goddess, and she only gets more beautiful with age. I regularly pinch myself. I still can’t believe she’s mine. That I get to share such an incredible life with her. Viv has given me everything I never dared to dream of, and I love her so fucking much.
We fought hard for our love, and I never take it—or her—for granted.
My heart melts as I look at her, admiring her natural beauty and the elegance she exudes from her every pore. Viv inherited some incredible genes. Lauren, my mother-in-law, is sixty-six and still one of the most stunning women in Hollywood. She has chosen to grow old gracefully, refusing plastic surgery and proudly showcasing the thick streaks of gray lining her jet-black hair. She eats well and works out regularly, and she still has a beautiful figure. Viv’s dad is no slouch either. He looks years younger than his seventy-six, and he is fit as a fiddle and sharp as a tack. If they keep it up, they may outlive all of us.
Ash reaches around Jamie to squeeze Viv’s arm. “It’s my way of telling you you look stressed. You work too hard.”
I wish that was all it was.
Viv takes a healthy gulp of her wine as I slide my arm around her shoulders and move in closer to her in the booth. This Italian restaurant is Viv’s favorite primarily for the large velvet-backed circular booths that are comfortable and perfect to fit the six of us with ease. It’s also tucked away in a quieter part of L.A. and not one of the trendier celeb haunts. No one pays more than a passing interest in us when we come here. The food is also to die for, and they serve this bramble gin cocktail Viv loves.
“I have three words for you. Pot. Kettle. Black.” Viv drills Ash with a knowing look.
“The difference is I have one child to look after. You have four.”
“And two teenage boys is no picnic,” Audrey adds, swirling the wine in her glass.
“Tell us about it,” I say, knocking back the last of my Peroni.
“More trouble?” Alex asks, quirking a brow.
“The boys got suspended from school for five days,” Viv admits, and I hear the strain in her tone.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to her temple and hold her close, wishing I could absorb all the stress for both of us.
“That isn’t like either of them,” Jamie says, gesturing at the waiter. “What happened?”
I wait until we have ordered another bottle of wine and three more beers before replying. “Some shitheads at school got their hands on a Saffron Roberts porno, and they printed out stills of it and plastered it all over Bodhi’s locker,” I explain.
Jamie curses under his breath.
“As if that wasn’t bad enough, they taunted him about her, and that’s when Bodhi lost it,” Viv adds. “He threw the first punch. Then East got involved, because you know he always defends his brother, and it turned into a massive fight in the hallway.”
“I hope they suspended the pricks who did this.” Alex’s jaw is tight, his eyes blazing with the same anger Viv and I felt when we first found out.
“They should fucking expel them,” Jamie says. “And Bodhi shouldn’t be punished for standing up for himself.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Alex says. “The school can’t be seen to condone any type of violence. If Bodhi threw the first punch, he’s equally as culpable in their eyes.” Alex knows what he’s talking about. Until the twins were born, he worked as a football coach at a local private high school. He understands how volatile teenage boys can be with all that testosterone and aggression flooding their bodies.
“Everyone involved was suspended,” I confirm, nodding in thanks when the waiter places a fresh beer in front of me.
Audrey tops up the girls’ wineglasses as a waitress appears, depositing our main courses on the table.
“That sucks for Bodhi,” Audrey says, lifting her cutlery. “Kids can be so cruel.”
“The boys have had to deal with this kind of crap before.” Viv twirls pasta around her fork. “But this is a new low. Bodhi isn’t handling it well.”
That’s the understatement of the year. “I have to practically frog-march him from his bedroom to join us for dinner,” I say, grabbing a slice of my pizza. “And he has barely said a word to any of us all week.”