Page 5

DIESEL

G ood thing that woman is hot, or I’d be hightailing it far away from this Godforsaken wedding.

I can tell from the building alone that this event is going to be wastefully posh. The beer will be imported. The liquor high end. Servers in black. Plated dinner.

I did this shit as a kid before Merrick and I blew out of town.

But here I am.

I’m the only latecomer squeaking in at the last minute. The parking lot is filled with Lexus, Mercedes, and BMW. Not my scene. Give me a Ford F-150. Or a Harley. Hell, I’ll even suffer a lame-ass Yamaha over this show-off class.

The front door is heavy and ornate. I pull it open, still grinning over spotting Symphony spying on me. Maybe this will be fun. I can be the rogue element. I don’t know these people.

I couldn’t drag Merrick along for the life of me. He insisted he had to watch the bar, given it was a Saturday night, and I’ll be tied up until who the fuck knows when.

It’s all right. I can raise a lot of hell on my own.

The building is an old mansion. When I step inside, the entryway is glossy with marble. Stairs curve up to a second floor.

A sign that reads “Wedding Guests” points to French doors in the back. They’re thrown open. I guess that’s the entrance to the ceremony.

There’s a hall on the same side as the window where I spotted Symphony. Probably the dressing rooms. She’ll come out from there.

I’m tempted to wait and let her walk by, but a man in a suit appears from inside the French doors and asks, “Bride or groom?”

“Bride, I guess.” I’ve met her, at least. Bailey, if I remember right.

He gestures to the rows of white chairs.

It’s all typical. Flowers everywhere. Well-dressed guests. I sit near the back.

I’ve barely made it in time. Up front, a side door opens, and a man in a tux enters, followed by two other men and a woman in a long black gown.

Wait.

I know them.

Holy hell.

I haven’t seen that bunch for a decade, but I’d recognize them anywhere. Rhett Armstrong. His brothers Court and Axel. And their younger sister Nadia.

The Pickle family. The other side of it.

My motherfucking cousins.

Why are they here? Why are all of them here?

Then I realize—shit, Rhett is the groom .

This is his wedding.

He’s marrying that chick.

That means all the Pickles are here.

The whole family I escaped.

What the actual fuck?

There is no woman hot enough for this. I escaped this Pickle nightmare. I’m not getting dragged into it now.

I stand up and stride casually through the French doors. My eyes are fixed on the exit when an arm grasps my elbow.

Assuming it’s the usher, I try to shake him off, but the grip gets tighter. I’m about to force the issue when a familiar voice says my name. And not the one I use now.

“Dean Sawyer Packwood, where do you think you’re going?”

Fuuuuuck.

Only one person on this planet calls me that.

My mother.

I blow out a long gust of air. I am one hundred percent royally fucked.

I consider making a run for it. The idea lingers for a moment.

But I’m not a chicken-shit.

Time to settle up.

I turn to her. “Mom.”

Dad is with her, and if pissed were a picture, it would have his mug in the frame.

“I didn’t realize Rhett had invited you,” Mom says. “And certainly not that you had RSVP’d. That would have been big family news.”

I don’t answer any of that. Every word feels like a trap.

“Son,” Dad says, his voice sharp.

He means to make me answer, but I have zero intention of doing so. There’s no explaining that I cut a woman out of her underclothes in my bar and ended up on the wrong end of blackmail.

I don’t have that much beef with Mom and Dad, other than they were ready to turn me over to the meat grinder of Pickle, Inc. It’s not like I never called. Merrick and I told them we had joined the Army. After we shipped out to basic.

And we sent Christmas packages from Afghanistan back in the day.

We just never went home.

We chose Miami after two tours because we used to vacation here. Mom and Dad live in Jersey. So does my sister Greta and her husband and kid.

But I’m realizing there must be a Pickle outpost in Miami. That’s probably where Bailey met my cousin.

I’ve walked straight into the belly of the beast.

Or got dragged here. Did Bailey know? Was the whole bachelorette party a plan to reunite the lost sheep of the Pickle family?

Now I’m fucking pissed. I’m ready to drag all those girls out by their rhinestone earrings and force them to fess up.

But that won’t solve this problem. My parents are right here.

“You’re sitting with me,” Mom says, linking her arm through mine. “Come along, look, there are the bridesmaids ready to go in.”

She’s right. The whole Easter-egg line of them is approaching from the hall in pink, yellow, and blue. Symphony leads two little kids.

She spots me, and her gaze shifts to confusion as she takes in Mom’s arm through mine.

So, she didn’t know I had family here. That’s something.

I want to see Bailey’s expression, but she’s farther down the hall in the shadows.

“Come along,” Mom insists. “Everyone is going to be tickled pink.”

Dad comes up behind me as if to ensure I don’t break away. I walk Mom up the aisle.

A lot of faces turn my way. I don’t know anyone in the back, but as we get closer to the front, I see the whole Pickle clan has showed up. The other cousins. Jason, Max, Anthony. They all have women with them.

Then there’s Uncle Sherman.

He nudges his mother. My throat tightens at spotting Grammy Alma. I’ve missed her. Merrick and I sneaked up to see her at the deli shortly after Sunny married that prince. We knew she’d be lonely without our sister, who’d helped her all those years.

Her whole face lights up upon spotting me. “Dean Sawyer!” she whispers hoarsely. Okay, maybe all of them are going to use my full birth name. Figures.

On the other side of her is my sister Greta, with her useless husband Jude. I’ve never met him, but Grammy was worried when they got married, and Grammy loves everybody.

Their kid isn’t with them, and I realize the boy with Symphony was probably my nephew Caden. It makes sense that he’s the ring bearer.

The front row has Ronan and Caprice, my aunt and uncle, parents of all the cousins up front. They turn, their expressions shifting with surprise when they realize who I am.

“Sit here,” Mom says, pushing me onto the row with Greta. My sister scoots over so I can sit between her and Grammy rather than next to my parents.

She always was an all-right sibling. Mom and Dad move past Jude.

“What the ever-loving hell?” she whispers.

“Nice to see you, too,” I whisper back.

“This is absolute batshit!” But her happy smile is almost worth it. Almost.

“No Sunny?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “They couldn’t get away. Some royal ambassador thing. Plus, having them go anywhere is, like, a situation .”

Grammy takes my hand and squeezes. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Hey, Grammy.” I pretend to be chill, like I planned this all along. I glance around, realizing the front row of the bride side is empty. “Where’s Bailey’s people?”

Grammy leans in. “It’s only her and her dad left. He’ll sit there after he’s walked her down the aisle. Not everyone has a big family like us.”

A gray-haired man in a suit emerges from the side door, holding a black folder. When he’s in place, the music changes for the processional.

Fucking weddings. Maybe this was a coincidence, and Bailey didn’t know I was a Pickle. Or maybe her lack of family made her come find me when she learned I was blowing off mine. I wasn’t that far, at least not from her and Rhett.

Either way, I’m trapped like a rat in a cage.

Caden walks in with arms outstretched, holding the pillow with a fake ring tied to it. He looks like his dad, now that I’m paying attention. He’d be six or seven. I wasn’t around when he was born.

The little girl is bound to be a Pickle, too, given that Bailey has no other family. Or maybe a friend’s kid. I can’t figure out who else would have popped out an infant since I’ve been gone, other than the princess baby Sunny had three years ago. I haven’t met her kid either.

I’m not the kind of uncle anybody wants around.

I want to ask Grammy about the kid, but I can tell by the way she’s watching Caden that he’s probably the only Pickle blood.

And by then, I’ve got another distraction. Symphony has appeared as the first bridesmaid, her poufy pink skirt swaying as she walks. She holds a metric ton of flowers. She keeps her eyes on the kids the whole time.

The other chicks from the bachelorette follow behind, and the three of them settle opposite my cousins at the front. Symphony sends Caden over to Rhett’s group and keeps the flower girl with them.

I watch Symphony scan the rows, probably looking for me.

Even as the music changes and we all stand to watch for the bride, she keeps looking. I don’t bother checking out Bailey. I want to see what happens when Symphony spots me.

I know the minute she does. We lock eyes. She takes in a sharp breath. Her eyes move from me to the family around me to the fact that we’re in the second row on the groom’s side.

I can tell she’s dying to ask questions. But she’s stuck.

Bailey arrives at the front, and Grammy squeezes my hand again. “She’s lovely.”

I tear my gaze from Symphony. Bailey’s lanky father kisses her cheek and shakes Rhett’s hand. Grammy dabs a handkerchief at her eyes. “We’re going to be a right proper family for that girl.”

My jaw twitches. I get what she’s saying. And I get why she’s saying it. Bailey has almost nobody, and she’s holding on tight.

Merrick and I have a lot, and we abandoned it.

Bloody hell. This is going to be a long night. I’m ready to bail the moment we’re cut loose.

But Symphony keeps sneaking looks at me during the wedding speeches. I figure either she’s not guilty in getting me here on purpose, or she’s got Oscar-level acting skills.

But what I really aim to find out is if she’s got another one of those contraptions under her dress.

And what will happen when I cut it off her this time.