“It just means you do the normal couple stuff. Hold my hand, kiss my cheek, get me drinks or food.”

“That last part makes it sound like I’m just your servant.”

“No, not at all. You’d make a terrible servant anyway.”

“It’d give me more chances to poison you.”

“Hmm, charming.” I wrestle on my pants, pulling the belt tight around my waist. “Just do … whatever comes naturally.”

Wyatt doesn’t say anything from the living room area; all I can hear is the sound of him changing his clothes. I rear back on my bed, trying to get a look to make sure he heard me, but all I get instead is a view of his butt in his boxers.

The least he could do is warn me that he’s half naked.

“Did you hear me?” I ask.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“And you don’t have anything to say.”

“I was thinking.”

“Hmm, forgive me, I didn’t see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

Wyatt picks that moment to walk in through my door, his bare chest on display for the entire world to see, farmer’s tan leaving some of his skin a paler white than the rest of his body. “What did I say about being mean?”

“My apologies; my mouth is quicker than my brain today. Must be the jet lag.”

“No different than usual.” Wyatt sighs as he walks into the bathroom to grab his deodorant before he pulls on a red-and-black flannel shirt.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

Wyatt looks down at the shirt as he buttons it slowly. “Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“So much. First, flannel … in California? You’re going to die of heatstroke. And second, I know we packed dress shirts.”

“Well, I don’t have that many. I wanted to save the ones I brought for the important events.”

“This is an important event. It’s all important.” I shake my head, grabbing my dress shoes. “Guess we’ll add shirts to the list of things to get you when we go to get your suit.”

“I keep telling you that I’m not going to let you buy me a suit.”

“And I keep telling you that you need a suit for the wedding. I’m not going to be the one blamed when you’re underdressed.”

“What’s so wrong with the shirt?”

“You look like a bumpkin.”

Wyatt gives me a glare.

“Hey, you asked that time. I just told you the truth.”

“Maybe your family won’t mind?”

Oh, they’ll mind all right. But maybe this is good; it can be a learning moment for Wyatt. Maybe after today he’ll believe me when I say that my family is nothing but awful, terrible people. Well, awful, terrible people, and my cousin. Though she’s awful and terrible in her own way. Maybe he could wear one of my shirts? It might be oversized on him, but that’s the fashion.

Except Wyatt’s got a good seven inches on me in the height department.