Sloane tapped her chest and nodded, looking like she was still trying to find her voice.

Brady went for her other hand, but she snaked past it for a napkin instead. She didn’t meet his gaze. He had a feeling when she did, it wasn’t going to match the smile she’d been giving him before Ruby had opened her mouth.

That smile had been unexpected. For a moment, Sloane De Carlo had looked almost happy. With their plan, their act—with him. Who cared that they’d been in their roles for only a night and a morning? It was a vibe he’d been feeling himself.

But no. Ruby “Once Got Drunk and Admitted She Wanted to Be Adopted by the Robertsons” Cartwright had to piss in their Cheerios.

Though, in hindsight, Brady admitted that maybe he should have warned Sloane about his ex. Especially since that ex was getting hitched to her once, and maybe current, true freaking love.

Details, details.

“Well, what did we miss?” Carol went into detective mode, ready to uncover the “hot goss” that she’d missed. Ruby opened her mouth again. Brady didn’t think Sloane could take another round. He stood up and extended his hand to Marcus.

“Some damn good Bellinis and sweet tea,” he answered Carol. Then to Marcus: “Thanks for letting us crash your lunch, man.”

Marcus was all smiles as he took his hand.

The worst thing about Golden Boy Robertson? He was actually a decent guy. Brady had talked to him a few times over the years at the bar and hated to admit that, if Marcus had belonged to any other family, he’d probably be buddies with the man. As it was, he was a red flag walking just by proxy. Now that he was marrying Felicity? There was no way in hell Brady was going to rub elbows with the man. Decent or not.

“Not a problem at all.” He thumbed over to his sister. “Though, let’s be honest about who’s the boss around here. I almost didn’t get in because I was late.”

Carol huffed. Then Felicity moved into view. Everyone around them got quiet.

Brady cleared his throat. “Nice to see you again, Felicity. Congrats on the news.”

Felicity had what Brady used to call a politician’s wife smile. She wore it every moment she was in public. A default polite. A mask she put on alongside her pristine makeup in the morning. It was only behind closed doors that she’d let her hair down and slip into something more comfortable.

Now wasn’t one of those times.