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Prologue
DRAKE—AGE 23, NEW YEAR’S EVE
Ialways loved the sound of ice clinking against glass. It reminds me of summers when I was a kid. As an adult, it comes with the promise of a good Scotch. Which is exactly what my father is pouring into six tumblers. He hands a glass of the fifty-year-old Macallan to each of my brothers and me. My two older brothers stare absentmindedly out the window, watching the fireworks that herald the new year.
Maddox stares blankly at his drink, keeping up the pretense that he has no idea what to do with it. He might be the youngest of us, but I know for sure that he’s capable of telling a single malt from an Irish blend.
Mason is the first to say what I suspect we’re all thinking. “Does anybody else feel like it’s weird that it’s just us?”
New Year’s Eve was always a big deal in our house. It was a time for dancing and drinking, for family and friends. Tonight, the place feels empty, apart from all the memories. Just five miserable brothers who miss their mom and a dad who can’t see past his own pain.
Elijah suggests putting on the TV to watch the ball drop, probably just to fill the silence, but I object straight away. “Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “She used to hate that, remember? Wasalways convinced the time was off by a few seconds.” I smile as I say it, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach my heart. It’s too soon for that.
Mason laughs though, taking up the story. “Remember how she’d always insist on using Great-Grandad’s old Navy diving watch to determine when it was midnight instead?”
This is all we have left of her now. Memories and nostalgia, and in my case, a great big dollop of guilt.
“Where the hell is that thing?” Nathan says, frowning. Maddox pulls the watch out of his jeans pocket and holds it up to show us, tears making his eyes shiny.
“Jesus, it feels so weird without her here.” Mason downs his Scotch and gets to his feet. “Like this house has no fucking soul anymore. Let’s get the fuck out of here and go somewhere.”
That’s Mason for you. Always in motion.
“Like where, jerkwad?” I ask, rolling my eyes. He’s acting like he has a plan, but I know better.
“I dunno. A club or something. A place where there’s life.”
Life. I think we’ve all forgotten what that is. I know I have. All I’ve done since I lost her is focus on my studies and work my ass off. I still feel like shit, but it’s helped distract me from how much I miss her. How much I regret.
Maddox pulls a face. He’s big—football-star big—but he’s still only sixteen, and he won’t get into any clubs. “And what about me, dickface?”
“Nobody is going anywhere,” Dad snaps, shutting down our bickering in the way only he can. “So quit your whining and drink your Scotch.”
“Sorry, Pop.” Mason drops back down onto the couch.
We all watch our father down the rest of his drink, his silhouette outlined by the streaks and flashes of color coming from the window behind him. Dalton James is a big man. A tough man. He built his business empire into one of the mostsuccessful in the world and made his first billion by the time he was thirty-five. He’s impressive in every way—but to us, he’s Dad. A dad who was always strict but also fair; a dad who adored all five of us boys but worshipped the very ground his wife walked on. He hasn’t been the same since she died, but I guess none of us have. We hoard our grief, him most of all, because that’s all we have left of her.
“I have a piece of advice for all you boys,” he announces. It’s clear that he’s serious, and not even Mason rolls his eyes. “You live by this, and I promise that you’ll never know a day’s heartache in your life.”
Too damn late for that, I think.
Elijah looks up at him. “And what’s that, Dad?”
Dad pauses, and we all wait to hear what he wants to share with us. His eyes swim with tears I know he will never let fall. He’s too hard for that, at least on the outside.
He clears his throat and says, “Never fall in love.”
Chapter
One
AMELIA
Weddings suck.
At least they suck if you’re single and too scared to mingle. Or if your confidence is blown after discovering your husband was giving more than dictation to his twenty-three-year-old secretary. Or if you’re so low on funds that your credit card screams for mercy when you buy the cheapest thing from the couple’s Bloomingdale’s gift registry.
And if you happen to check off all of the above? Then weddings suck even more. I would have skipped it if I could have and stayed home with a bowl of ramen and the latest season ofBridgerton. But this isn’t just any wedding—this is the wedding of my best friend, Emily Gregor. It’s hard to skip out on a wedding when you’re the maid of honor, and besides, I love Emily to pieces.