I knock it back. The liquor burns a trail down my gullet and explodes in my stomach. A warm glow radiates out to my extremities. I hold out my glass. "More," I growl.
He splashes more of the Macallan into my tumbler. I snatch it up, drain it, then thunk the tumbler on the table.
"You trying to get drunk so you can pass out before the party starts in earnest, eh?" Weston strokes his chin.
"Shouldn’t you be using your mental capacity for whatever surgery you’re planning next?" Yep, my rat’s ass of a brother turned out to be much more useful than me when it came to his choice of profession. Bastard’s a leading cardiac surgeon in his field. Patients from around the world seek him out. He’s saved the lives of many, including Michael’s wife. The same Michael who just walked in the door. He’s followed by Karina’s husband Arpad.
Michael scowls at someone. I follow his gaze to find he and Sinclair are engaged in some kind of a stare-off. It’s no secret the two of them don’t like, so much as tolerate, each other. By rights, they should have shot each other, considering it’s Michael’s father who kidnapped Sinclair—as well as my brother Weston and their five friends—when they were boys. The incident changed the course of their lives… And mine. None of them know about how it impacted me, and it’s not something I’m going to share with them, either.
Of course, Michael is not his father. And no one should be held responsible for the crimes of their sperm donor. If Sinclair and Weston—who were more directly affected by Michael Senior’s actions—have been able to look past the repercussions of the incident to forge a tentative bond with the Sovranos, then I can do the same. Of course, it helps that Michael and Sinclair are married to sisters who are insistent that the two men get along. A dictate which seems to be working… Somewhat.
Michael jerks his chin in Sinclair’s direction.
Sinclair’s features are closed, but he tips his head in acknowledgement.
At which point, Michael turns his attention on me and snorts. "Lost your will to live yet, youpezzo di merda?"
"Gee, don’t all of you try to blow smoke up my arse all at once." I reach for the bottle of whiskey, but before I can get to it, Arpad is there.
He snatches it up. "Good whiskey."
Hunter joins us with two more tumblers that he places on my antique table.
"Fucking hell, at least use the coasters, you wankers," I grumble.
"That’s the least of your worries." Arpad tops up everyone's glasses, and by the time he gets to mine, the bottle is dry. "Sorry, ol’ chap."
The fuck?
I open my mouth to protest, but my best friend comes through. He appears at my elbow, a fresh bottle of Macallan—the thirty-six-year-old one. Good thing my pest of a brother didn’t find it earlier.
Hunter pours the liquid into my glass and keeps pouring until the liquor is in danger of overflowing. "Bottoms up."
24
Isla
"Oh, my god, you girls shouldn’t have."
I’m overwhelmed by the spread of food and drink on the terrace adjoining the living room. It’s a beautiful evening. The air is balmy, and the scent of flowers teases my nostrils. In the distance, the sun is beginning its journey toward the horizon. I heard the sound of the plane earlier and knew more visitors were arriving. I was sure it was Liam’s friends who’d touched down. In fact, I didn’t give it any more thought because Zara and Summer, along with Amelie and Karma were keeping me busy.
They insisted I try on my dress for them, then showed off their own bridesmaid dresses, which were gorgeous. In fact, Karma Sovrano ensured her creation celebrated Summer’s bump. Rather than trying to hide Summer’s condition, the design highlighted Summer’s pregnancy in a way that was both tasteful and sexy. Leave it to a pregnant woman to design something that not only didn’t look like frumpy pregnancy-wear, but in fact, flattered the mother-to-be’s figure and made her look captivating.
Not that I would’ve expected anything less from her, especially since Summer’s her sister. But still, the fact that she put so much thought into creating the dresses made me teary.
Damn, I really am getting into the mood of the wedding. So what, if it all started as an arrangement? Things are getting dangerously mixed up in my head. I’m already feeling emotional, so when I walk onto the terrace and see the food and drink laid out on the table, along with the familiar faces of Amelie Kincaid and Karma Sovrano herself, my emotions well up. My throat closes, and I’m unable to stop the tears that trail down my cheeks.
"Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" Amelie walks over to me. She throws her arms around me, enclosing me in a cloud of what smells like sugar and cinnamon. She squeezes me tightly.
"You always smell like a walking dessert," I murmur.
Amelie laughs. "Perks of being a pastry chef.”
I hear footsteps as first Summer, then Karma, and finally Zara—who’s not much of a hugger—put their arms around us.
"Group hug!" Summer chortles.
"Ooh, haven’t had one of these in a while. It feels so good, doesn’t it?" I hear the smile in Karma’s voice.