“Christian! The British are here!”
I glance up, hearing Rush’s voice from where I’m sitting cross-legged in Xander’s studio. We stare at each other for a beat, his tiny freckled face pale under his blue hair.
“There’s no way he’d come here, right?” I ask, and Xander shrugs.
“You both are adorably dumb for each other.”
I throw a dirty paintbrush at him, which bounces off his head, leaving a blackish streak from his hair down to his jaw.
Xander gives me a blank look. “Thanks for that.”
Before I can tell him he’s very welcome, the door to the room bursts open and it’s not Émile who walks in. It’s Elle.
“Youhaveto take him back. I’m sorry, Christian, but I’m not leaving here with no for an answer.”
Rush cringes. “Never mind consent then.”
“Consent?” She jabs a hand dramatically my way. “Are you really going to attempt to bullshit me that your boy isn’t half in love with my brother?”
Madden chuckles, coming to see what all the shouting is about. “No one would be that dumb.”
Elle’s smile widens. “Well, hello, cutie.”
“Gay.” Madden throws her a cheeky grin. “Sorry, babe.”
Thankfully he must have known we have visitors because he’s pulled on some loose gym shorts.
“Is it my turn to be fitted yet?” Seven asks, bulldozing into the room.
Rush sighs. “IsaidI’d call you when I’m ready for you.”
“Yeah, but when are you ever on time for anything?”
Elle meets Madden’s eye, holds up a hand, and then points to Seven from behind it. Madden gives her a double thumbs-up.
She grins and turns to Seven. “Well, hello, cutie.”
Dear god.
Seven does a double take like he somehow missed her when he walked in, and then he slowly looks her over. “Who in my pansexual-fever-dreams are you?”
I clear my throat, breaking up … whatever that is. “I know you came here for your brother, but you’re kinda failing at the whole crusade bit, honestly.”
She waves a hand, finally stopping to take in the room. “What’s all this?”
“Rush is making us groomsmen tuxes,” Xander says, bouncing on his knees. Out of all of them, I swear he’s the only one actually—externally, anyway—happy for me.
“Groomsmen … who’s getting married?”
I lift my hand. “Before you get all mad, Émile told me he hadn’t had a chance to tell you. He’s gotten a bit paranoid since everything happened.”
“Tell me what?”
“We talked, we’re still getting married, we just, uh, don’t know when or where or how or basically anything yet.”
“You’re still …” She throws her hands up. “So all this was for bloody nothing.”
“It was cute to see you all defensive for him if that helps.”