These days Chelsea is finishing up her graduate degree in art history; she went back to taking classes this year. She even has a part-time job lined up when she’s done, at a small gallery, a branch of the Smithsonian.

She slides her hand into mine and nods her head toward Riley, who stands on the sidewalk with a tall, skinny, dark-haired kid in a clip-on tie. “Riley would like to introduce you to her date.” She drags me over.

“Jake,” Riley says with a smile. “This is Parker Elliot.”

The kid holds out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

I stare at his hand, then his eyes, my face hard and unforgiving. My gaze travels over him down to his shoes. I look back to his face—and shake my head with a disgusted sound.

Then I walk away.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s like that with everyone,” I hear Riley say comfortingly.

Chelsea giggles beside me. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Good. The last thing I want the little prick thinking is that I’m nice.” Then I lean down and kiss her again—because she’s so goddamn pretty. And just because I can.

We walk midway up the stairs and I hold out my arms, gesturing for my party of seven—eight if you count fucking Parker—to gather around. “Let’s go, team—huddle up.” Their heads turn my way, their little faces attentive. I clear my throat. “This is a very special day for Stanton and Sofia and we want everything to go perfectly for them. So for the next forty-five minutes, I expect you to behave like ladies and gentlemen. That means no whispering, no pinching, no hair pulling, no teasing, no fighting, no giggling, no nose picking, no name calling, no crying . . .” I whisper to Chelsea, “Did I miss anything?”

“No looking at each other,” she whispers back.

“That’s right,” I say louder, “no looking at each other.”

That’s kind of a big one.

“Consequences will be swift and severe.”

“Severe” to them is a weekend without TV or Wi-Fi.

“Do we all understand?”

They nod. I smack my hands together. “All right, let’s head inside.”

Chelsea carries Ronan and leads the pack into the church, while I hang back and make sure no one gets left behind. Raymond brings up the rear. He’s staring at the bride’s limousine, which just pulled up, at the gorgeous bridesmaids who climb out.

One junior bridesmaid in particular.

“Presley looks great, doesn’t she?” he asks in a sighing voice while he watches the blond-haired, sunshiny thirteen-year-old hold up the back of Sofia’s dress as she gets out of the limo.

I’ll be damned.

“You know she’s older than you?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m gonna bide my time. Then, when I own my own multibillion-dollar software company, I’ll make my move.”

I smack him on the back and his glasses go crooked. “Sounds like a plan, Raymond.”

• • •

Stanton and Sofia’s wedding goes off without a hitch. Her dress is the perfect blend of sexy and stunning: ivory, beaded, and clinging with a teasing dip of cleavage that made Stanton stare. They both got choked up during the vows, and it was just damn good to see them both so happy.

The reception is an elegant, white-glove affair at the DC Ritz-Carlton. Stanton practically flew the entire town of Sunshine, Mississippi, in, and in addition to Sofia’s brothers and their families, she has a couple dozen relatives visiting from Brazil. Needless to say, it’s good food, good drinks, and really good people.

Rosaleen finds me by the bar, her hair curled into Shirley Temple ringlets, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “Jake! You didn’t say anything about my lip gloss! Riley let me use hers—isn’t it pretty?”

“You’re gorgeous, Gorgeous. As beautiful as your aunt.”

She grins even wider, and I laugh as she grabs Rory by the arm and pulls him onto the dance floor to dance with her.

Momma Shaw, Stanton’s mother, regards me with an appraising eye. “You know, Jake, I’ve seen you smile more in the last thirty minutes than you have the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Well, I have seven pretty amazing reasons to smile now.”

She pats my arm as I walk over to Chelsea. On the way, I pass Brent talking to Stanton’s sister Mary—channeling Pee-wee Herman.

“You don’t want to get involved with a guy like me, Mary. I’m a loner, a rebel . . .”

Chelsea’s arms wrap around my neck and we sway on the dance floor to some slow song.

“Guess what?” she asks.

I brush my nose against hers. “What?”

“I was just talking to your mother. She and Owen offered to take the kids back to the house tonight and stay over. Soooo . . . I booked a room here, for you and me.”

“Fuck, you’re brilliant,” I murmur. “Have I ever told you how much I love your mind?”

“I thought you loved my body,” she says teasingly, pressing it against me up-close and personal.

“Oh, I do, believe me. I’ll give you a thorough demonstration of how much I love it tonight—and tomorrow.”

“And we’re sleeping in tomorrow—Mr. Five A.M.,” she says insistently.

I smirk. “Well, we’ll be in bed . . . but there won’t be much sleeping going on.”

Chelsea rests her head against my chest. “Sounds perfect.”