Page 160 of The Trouble with Flings

He’s probably right, but Jamison’s on his own, because duty calls. The catering staff is wheeling a table out with the towering wedding cake and two smaller cakes, each adorned with red icing roses and pink icing butterflies. As tonight’s unofficial master of ceremonies, I drain the rest of my drink and head their way.

When the song ends, I’ve got a microphone in one hand and Jennifer’s smile spurring me on. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention, please.” I wait for the din to quiet. “First, thank you all for coming to celebrate Wells and Victory today. I wasn’t sure my brother would ever find a bride, but I guess this proves that even the runt of the litter can be housebroken.”

Laughter rolls through the crowd.

“For those who don’t know how these things work, Wells asked me to announce this event because I’m the best-looking Silver brother.” I flash a cheesy grin, earning more laughter. “He would like me to point out that that’s debatable, which tells you everything you need to know about his self-awareness.”

Wells shakes his head, but he’s laughing along with everyone else.

“Seriously, though, it is an honor to stand here tonight. I’ve had the distinct pleasure of watching my brother fall completely head over heels for this incredible woman, and I have to say, Victory, on behalf of the entire Silver family, thank you for finally putting him out of his misery.”

Victory laughs, along with everyone else, and hugs Wells.

“Cake cutting is a time-honored tradition, representing the first activity done as a couple.” I cock a brow. “We’ll pretend we don’t know they’ve been doing other joint activities for quite some time.”

Laughter rises from the crowd again, and my mother chides, “Fitz!” which makes everyone laugh harder.

“Sorry, Mom. Then there’s the sweet symbolization of feeding one another a small bite of cake to show their commitment to provide support to one another. Again, I’m pretty sure they’ve done that, too, but…”

My mother covers her face, laughing.

“All right, folks, before these two beautiful lovebirds disappear on a honeymoon and raise the bar with their excessive happiness, it’s time to cut the cake.”

The crowd claps and whistles as Wells and Victory step forward. Victory stands beside me. Wells catches my eye over her shoulder and says, “Thanks, brother.”

I nod, rooted in place as my brother leads the way on a journey I look forward to taking with my special girl.

Wells hands the knife to Victory and places his hand over hers on the handle. Tara stands off to the side, discreetly videoing them cutting the cake.

Once the slice is plated, they each pick up a small piece with their fingers, looking at each other like they’ve forgotten there are hundreds of people watching them.

They’re really fucking cute together.

“How about a countdown, folks?” I say, “Three. Two.” I set the microphone down as we all say “One!” and in the blink of an eye, Victory ducks, and I pick up a smaller cake, smashing it into Wells’s face.

For one glorious second, he stands frozen, mouth agape, frosting dripping from his nose, and the entire room goes silent. But in the next breath, laughter explodes around us. People are doubled over in hysterics, and my father’s laughter rises above all others. Victory is laughing so hard, she grabs the table for support.

Wells slowly wipes frosting from his eyes, looking between Victory and me.

I can barely form words through my laughter. “Compliments…of Little Bean!”

He looks at Victory, incredulous. “You betrayed me for my brother?” Before she can respond, he shoots me a hot stare and points at me. “And you…” A smile breaks across his face. “You freaking got me, bro!” He throws up a hand to high-five, and cheers explode around us.

I haul him into an embrace—frosting be damned—and say, “I’m so fucking happy for you. I love you, man. You deserve all of this. The happiness, the woman, and the face full of cake.”

As the night wears on, Jennifer and I dance, laugh, steal kisses, and smile until our cheeks ache. The music wraps around us, the air thick with joy and the faint scent of roses. Now we’re sitting at a table near the dance floor, our fingers still intertwined, surrounded by my sisters, Grant and Jules, and Leni and Raz. The glow of the string lights above us casts a warm haze over a night that feels perfectly, effortlessly right.

Bellamy eyes me over her drink. “Are you really going to move to the city?”

“I really am,” I say.

Jennifer looks down briefly before her eyes find mine again, reluctantly accepting my declaration. After she got out of the hospital, she tried to change my mind about moving to the city, saying I’d eventually resent her if I moved away from the island. She was wrong. I could never resent building a life with the woman I adore. But I would resent my family’s legacy if I were to stay here when she and our baby girl were in the city. Which is why I’ve spent the last week scouring listings for brownstones near Wells and Victory.

Bellamy smirks. “First you skip the conference to play hooky with a hot chick in Costa Rica—”

“Excuse me,” Raz interrupts. “But I think you mean knocking up a hot chick in Costa Rica.”

“Exactly!” Bellamy says. “And now you’re deserting us. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”