by Sam Mariano
Now that Sebastian isn’t all over me, Griff drifts closer, taking a sip of his coffee and looking at the veggies on the counter. “Need any help?”
I shake my head as I finish chopping up the cauliflower and start on the broccoli. “Nope, I’m okay. Thank you, though.” I miss a beat. “How’d you sleep?”
“Much better than I expected to,” he answers. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
He comes in for a brief kiss of his own now. “Of course,” I answer. Then, flashing him a hopeful smile, I add, “I hope you’ll come back to bed tonight, though. I’m greedy. I want both of my big, strong men in bed with me.”
He rolls his eyes, but nods his head. “I’ll come back to the bedroom.”
We don’t talk as I finish up the broccoli and move on to slice up a couple of potatoes. Griff lingers by me though, like he’d rather stand over here than go sit with Sebastian. I know he’ll get over it. I know it’s inevitable they’ll lock horn sometimes—they always locked horns sometimes, and that was before they occupied all the same spaces. Now they’re going to work together, live together, and sleep with me together.
Now that selling his house is less complicated, I hope they’ll hurry that along. I like having Griff here, but I want it to feel permanent. I want him to make this his home, not shuttle his belongings between places—especially now that the other house is tarnished by what has happened to Ashley. God, I don’t think he’s been back there since before, unless he went last night. I don’t want to make him go alone.
Flipping the veggies in the pan, I take a step back and drift closer until I’m standing next to Griff. He’s shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants this morning. He looks damn good in just sweatpants.
“Have you gone back to the house yet?”
His gaze darkening, he looks down at his coffee cup and shakes his head.
“I’ll go with you, if you want,” I offer.
“I don’t want to go there at all,” he tells me.
Flicking a glance at Sebastian, I consider pointing out Sebastian could go instead, then he wouldn’t have to. Given what he said last night, I doubt he’ll take that route, even if it is easiest. He’s such a stubborn brute sometimes.
Struck by a peculiar sting of fondness, I smile softly and lean my head on his shoulder. He’s surprised by the contact, but he puts his coffee down so he can gently grab my waist and tug me around front, pulling me close.
“Good morning,” he adds, more tenderly. “I forgot to say that.”
I lean in and hover above his lips for a moment before kissing the corner of his mouth. “Good morning right back.”
“You snuck out of bed like a ninja,” he informs me.
I grin. “I had breakfast to make.”
“Seb might’ve starved,” he mockingly agrees.
I nod solemnly. “He probably would have.”
Rolling his eyes, Griff says, “He wouldn’t starve. The man can pour cereal into a bowl, can’t he?”
“I’ve never appraised his cereal dumping skills, but it’s just easier to assume the answer is no and feed him myself.”
Sebastian pipes in from the table, proving he’s eavesdropping. “I also don’t eat cereal for breakfast. I’m above the ‘cereal for breakfast’ age.”
“I don’t think there’s a cut-off,” Griff states. “I’ve had cereal breakfast lots of times as an adult.”
“Yes, well, you didn’t have Moira.”
I nod my head in agreement. “I prefer a hot breakfast to start the day. With cereal, I’m always hungry again in an hour.”
Unconvinced, Griff tells me, “Cereal one morning wouldn’t have killed him—and hey, if it did, karma.”
I scowl. “Hey, now.”
Griff lifts his eyebrows, shrugging, but apparently not sorry he said it. “I’m just saying.”
“You wanna say that a little louder and to me instead of my wife?” Sebastian replies.
Placing a stabilizing hand on Griff’s chest, I steal his attention before he can turn around and start fighting. “Come on, guys. Play nice. For me?” Since Sebastian requires no convincing, I flash my puppy dog eyes at Griff.
Sighing heavily, he said, “That’s not fair.”
“It’s so fair.”
“I shouldn’t have to play nice. He’s the one who doesn’t play nice.”
Smoothing my hands down over his muscular biceps, I tell him, “Yes, but we already knew that, so we can’t really be surprised. Besides, he’s been fair plenty of other times. Remember when he decided to let us fuck each other on the regular? Super nice.”
“That was nice,” Griff grudgingly admits.
“Uh huh,” I agree, grabbing his hands and planting them on my waist. “And now you get all the Moira time you want. A mean best friend wouldn’t have agreed to that.”
“I’m not saying he never has good ideas.”
“His good ideas far outweigh his bad ones,” I point out.
“Yeah, but his bad ones are murder. Do I get a free pass to kill someone and you’ll still love me?”
I hear Sebastian’s cup hit the table with far more force than it should and look up to see my husband standing. Aw, shit. His brow is furrowed, his jaw set. His blazing blue eyes are narrowed.
I attempt subtlety as I move in front of Griff, holding my hand out to intercept my husband’s passions. “Honey—”
Sebastian interrupts, glaring at Griff. “You don’t say shit like that to my wife. I’m done with this. I’m done with the sulking.”
I place my second hand on Sebastian’s chest and step closer, trying to ease him back.
It fails hard, because Griff just comes closer from my other side. “What are you gonna do about it, then, huh? Kill me?”
“Griff,” I snap, shooting a look of disapproval over my shoulder at him.
Instead of helping me keep things civil, my husband replies with menacing calm, “That depends; are you in my way?”
“He’s kidding,” I tell Griff.
“No, he fucking is not,” Griff shoots back. “He killed Ashley.”
Sebastian reaches past me to grab Griff by the throat, but I catch his arm and remain in his way. “Stop it. Please.”
“You’re an ungrateful bastard,” Sebastian tells Griff. “I wish you’d left.”
Gasping at cruelty of that blow, I say, “You do not.” I look back at Griff to reassure him. “You know he didn’t mean that.”
“I don’t know anything anymore,” Griff states, holding Sebastian’s gaze and shaking his head.
“I do everything for you, and all you do is fucking bitch about it,” Sebastian fires back. “You were falling apart at the seams. You were miserable. She was taking everything from you—from us. Everything we spent our whole goddamn lives building. Maybe you’ll let people roll over you, Griff, but that’s not how I work.”
“No, because you’re the one who does the rolling,” he fires back. “Everything is your call. We open the businesses you want, buy the spaces you want, live where you want—I didn’t even want to stay in Philly, but you didn’t want to leave. Did I make a mess? Yeah, I made a fucking mess, but it was my mess. When you said you’d handle it, I thought you meant with lawyers, not with a fucking bullet in her skull!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sebastian says, shoving me back to get at him. “Stop fucking saying that. You think you’re going to poison Moira against me? You think she’ll believe you over me?”
“Stop it!” I call out, finally raising my voice.
Both men look at me, faintly surprised. I’m not generally noisy outside the bedroom, but fuck. They’re still on either side of me, vibrating with barely restrained rage.
“Okay,” I say, lowering my voice to a more civilized level. “There are a few elephants in this kitchen today. I wanted to just pretend they were part of the décor, but that doesn’t seem to be working. You two have to stop attacking one another. Sebastian, you don’t have to worry about Griff turning me on you. I told you,
that isn’t possible. He doesn’t want to, anyway. He loves you and you love him. You two are not opponents, you’re partners, and it’s time you remember that. We all lose with you on opposite ends. Now, you two got me into this fucking situation, and you’re not going to turn on each other over some other woman. Are you?” I glance back at Griff, eyebrows rising.
Griff scowls, not appreciating my wording. “That’s not fair.”
“It is fair. You both love me, right? You both love each other? You both wanted this relationship?” Pointing to Griff, I say, “You emotionally blackmailed your best friend with abandonment issues into sharing his wife or losing you.” I point to Sebastian. “You made me do this in the first place. Now I’m in it, I like it, and I’m attached—you two aren’t going to fuck it up over a dead gold digger. Now, I’m sorry to say that, Griff, I know she was your wife, but she’s not anymore. If you both love and want me so much, stop fighting over another fucking woman.”
“We aren’t fighting over—you make it sound… He killed someone.”
“I don’t care,” I state.
At least now I have Sebastian’s attention. He cocks his head, as if surprised.
“Now, let’s put this behind us,” I suggest. “Griff made a mess; Sebastian may have gone a little far in fixing it. Everybody feels badly about it, but it’s done and over with. Going forward, Griff doesn’t want you to make all his decisions for him. He wants to be consulted. He wants to feel that his input is respected and he has control over his life. In return, Griff is going to stop holding Ashley over your head like a golden ticket, because I’m the only person he could possibly be trying to influence, and I’m only going to say this one more time: I don’t care. This is my family. Two days ago, my family was in trouble and now we’re all free to be together. I say, we make the most of that freedom and get back to enjoying one another. That’s reasonable, isn’t it? Can we all agree to that?”
“I guess,” Griff grumbles.
Sebastian just watches me. I take that as agreement.
“Okay, good,” I offer, brightly. “Now, unless you both want your breakfast burned, stop trying to rip one another’s throats out and let me finish cooking.”
I keep one hand at each of their chests for a few seconds, then take a tentative step back. When they don’t lunge at one another, I slowly lower my hands and take a few more steps back.
“Are we good?” I ask them, glancing between them like tigers running loose at the zoo.
“I can let it go if he can,” Sebastian states, arms crossed over his chest.
“I guess, as long as he’s not going to keep doing shit like this,” Griff mutters.
“Do you have more wives I need to get rid of?” Sebastian asks, dryly.
Griff cuts him a dry, unamused look. “I get the situation, but it was still a shitty fucking thing to do.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Sebastian agrees.
“And you should have told me what you were planning,” Griff adds.
“Didn’t want to get you involved. Plus, I knew you’d never go along with it.”
I grimace. It was a stronger argument without that second half, but at least he’s being honest, I guess.
“I can’t feel good about this,” Griff tells him.
“You don’t need to feel good about it. That’s why I took the burden onto my shoulders—so you wouldn’t have to feel anything about it except relief.”
I don’t want to interrupt, but I have to duck between them to retrieve my scrambled egg mixture to pour over the other food in the skillet. “Don’t mind me.”
“Part of me does feel relieved,” Griff admits. “But that just makes me feel worse.”
Sebastian shrugs. “Wasn’t your doing; no need to feel bad.”
I dump the eggs in and set aside the bowl, grabbing my spatula.
“I’m sorry I said I wish you’d left,” Sebastian says, surprising me. My husband is not a big apologizer.
Griff is dismissive. “I knew you didn’t mean it. I’m sorry I told Moira things I shouldn’t have.”
I glance back over my shoulder to see how that one lands. Sebastian’s gaze lingers on me, his lips tipped up at the corners. “That’s all right. I kind of like knowing she loves me anyway.”
Sparing him a little smile and a private wink, I remind him, “Like I said at the church, for better or worse. Now, why don’t you two hug it out?”
Griff rolls his eyes. “We don’t need to hug it out.”
“Your new wife disagrees. Wives are always right.” I gesture between them. “Go on, I’m waiting.”
Griff still isn’t all the way on board, but Sebastian doesn’t wait. He grabs Griff and gives him a hug. My insides get all mushy and warm. Seb winks at me and smiles.
Yep, it’s official.
I’m the luckiest woman in the world.
Epilogue
Griff
“You look so handsome.”
I stand near the double doors of the crowded ballroom, like I’m ready to flee at any given moment. Moira stands before me in a dark blue ball gown, the cut of her dress drawing my poor, helpless eyes straight to her cleavage as she fixes my bowtie.
“There, perfect,” she says, smoothing her hands across my chest and down my arms.
“I feel dumb wearing a tux,” I tell her.
Eyebrows rising, she looks me over, making no attempt to hide her appreciation. “Well, you do not look dumb, if that’s any consolation.”
Putting my hands on her narrow waist, I draw her closer. “I’m tired of talking to these people. I want this thing to be over. I want to take you home and get you out of this dress.”
“You and me both. I wish we could go home, cuddle up on the couch with Sebastian, and watch Sabrina.”
“That is not where I thought you were going with that.”
“You guys owe me a movie. You always owe me a movie. Every single time I turn on a movie I like, you team up and distract me with sex. It’s not fair. I never get to watch anything I like.”
I cock an eyebrow. She’s right, we do that, but half the time I think she picks the movie just because she knows we will. “I’ve never heard any complaints.”
With a sly smile, she says, “I didn’t say I had any.”
“Then let’s bail and do that instead.”
“Nope. I’ve invested way too much time and effort into this benefit to beg off early. Come on, let’s go find Sebastian while we have a chance,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me across the ballroom.
Tonight we are attending—and hosting—a gala that Moira herself came up with and put together—the Better Tomorrow Ball, an annual gala in honor of Ashley Halliwell. It’s kind of egregious, exalting Ashley’s death given the circumstances, but Moira saw a chance to do good in the world in Ashley’s name, and she went for it.
Even though I never really liked this kind of thing to begin with, I’ve gotta admit, Moira did a hell of a job. The ballroom is decorated beautifully and the event is just about at capacity. Circular tables with elegant floral centerpieces fill the space around the dance floor, every single one bringing in thousands of dollars for suicide prevention programs. There’s even a scholarship in Ashley’s name given out to some high school senior who survived her own battle with depression and went on to have “better tomorrows.”
It feels a little morbid to me, but it makes Moira feel better about what Seb did. That’s what I tell myself, anyhow. Either way, it’s for a good cause. Not a cause that has a damn thing to do with Ashley, but I guess it doesn’t matter.
Our table is right in front of the dance floor, way too close to the live music. Seb is sitting there now, looking profoundly bored until he sees Moira hauling me across the room. His expression lightens and he pushes back his chair to stand.
“Done socializing for the moment?” Seb asks.
“Hey, I’m the hostess, I can’t just ignore everybody,” she states.
“I disagree. You’ve done your part
; now let them get drunk on champagne and make fools of themselves on the dance floor.”
“I wish people would stop mentioning her,” I say. “I never liked these things to begin with, but when they come with a dollop of guilt…” Regarding Seb, I ask, “You don’t feel weird about being here?”
“Why should I?” he asks. “I poured plenty of money into sponsoring this damned event.”
“Damned is right,” I mutter. “We’re all going to Hell.”
“Well, if we do, we’ll see Ashley again; we can tell her all about her party,” Seb says, easily.
“That’s horrible,” I state. “You’re horrible.”
As if innocent, he says, “What? She’d love it. Have you heard how nicely everyone is talking about her tonight? Nobody liked her that much when she was alive.”
I hold up a hand and shake my head. “Just… stop talking.”
Interceding, Moira goes straight into Seb’s arms to draw his attention away. She wraps her arms around his neck and gazes up at him like he’s the only man in the room. I’m not bothered by it, since just a few minutes ago she was looking at me the same way. “You’re a real Prince Charming, you know that?”
Smirking down at her, he points out, “Prince Charming isn’t your type.”
“True,” she allows. “Still, I wouldn’t say no if a certain dashing gentleman asked me to dance.”
“You must be waiting for someone else, then, ‘cause I don’t ask.” Resting his hand possessively on Moira’s hip, Seb glances over at me. “We’ll be back.”
I nod, dropping into my seat. “You kids have fun.”
Moira’s hand brushes my shoulder as she walks past. “Don’t worry; I’ll save the next dance for you.”
She drags a little smile out of me. “Lucky me,” I call, before she gets too far away.
I say it like I’m joking, but she knows I mean it. Seb and I are the luckiest bastards around, no contest.
Moira looks back at me with a playfully narrowed gaze before Seb leads her out on the dance floor. I turn in my chair to watch them. I don’t know why I do. It’s not like I can’t see her in his arms any day of the week—usually in fewer clothes. Usually right up close, where I can touch and kiss her, too; where Seb and I can team up to make her dizzy with pleasure, turn her to putty in either of our hands.