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He grinned even wider and said, “Riley’s already planning three more weddings. Said helping Sloane pick that dress scratched an itch she didn’t know she had.”

“She wants to go into planning full-time?” I asked.

Maxim gave a half-shrug. “She wants to give it a name and a business card. Probably an empire by next month.”

“She planning yours and hers again?” Ivan muttered without looking up from his phone.

Maxim took another drink, but I saw the corner of his mouth and his hand twitch at the same time. “She just might.”

Aleksei chuckled, leaning back in his chair with his usual lazy charm. “Amy’s going the other direction. She just leased a new gallery space, old textile building downtown. High ceilings. Terrible heating. She says she wants to open with somethingmeaningful.”

I glanced over. “She finally hanging that photo of you in your birthday suit?”

Aleksei shook his head and chuckled. Maxim reached for the bottle, refilled our glasses, and lifted his with quiet certainty.

“To wives,” he said. “The women who stand beside us.”

Aleksei raised his own. “To Amy. Who keeps me on my toes each and every day.”

I lifted mine. “To my Sloane.”

Ivan, surprisingly, raised his glass a beat behind us. “To finding something that quiets the noise. Even if it’s just for a while.”

We all drank.

Even Sergei gave the faintest grunt and knocked his back in one motion.

“Guess that means we’re next, brother,” Ivan said, glancing Sergei’s way with a crooked grin.

Sergei didn’t even blink. “Not a fucking chance.”