"Same to you, son," Leon called, waving an impatient hand at the others to quiet them. "And the tie just needs a woman's touch, Henri," their grandfather muttered to the beleaguered Hurricanes starting quarterback. "If you got laid more, your tie would look just fine."
Gramps waggled shaggy white eyebrows and the four of them howled with laughter. Henri's laugh was loudest of all, since he tended to disappear in coat closets at the drop of a hat with his wife lately. He didn't seem to be suffering in that department.
But even better than Leon's perfectly timed insult was the fact that he looked so clear-eyed today. The old man was on his game despite the Alzheimer's and that pleased Jean-Pierre to no end. Their grandfather hadn't given them the most traditional upbringing once he'd stepped in to take charge with the unruly foursome, but he understood boys. He'd always been able to break the tension with a laugh. And despite his shortcomings, that showed a level of caring that would help Jean-Pierre be a better father.
When the room had quieted enough to hear him again, Leon set a wooden box on the desk beside Jean-Pierre. He opened it to reveal the dark Scotch whiskey inside.
"I'm not staying, you know. I've got a nursemaid hovering by the door even now, ready to box my ears if I enjoy the free bar at this shindig." He pointed a crooked finger at the archway where a placid, middle-aged woman checked her hair in a mirror. "But I wanted you all to enjoy a toast on me."
They crowded around the bottle-a sixty-two-year-old reserve blend-just as they had when Gramps brought a fifties-era Harley-Davidson bike to the ranch to give them a lesson in engine rebuilding. The motorcycle had been in crates when he bought the relic, but by the end of the summer they'd taken turns seeing how fast it would go on the private ranch roads.
No doubt it was the wedding making Jean-Pierre sentimental today as he thought about the past. And about how much he wished Tatiana would make things permanent between them so they could be a real family. Because even though that summer rebuilding the bike had been fun, he wanted a different kind of family for César.
"Thank you, Grand-père." Gervais clapped the older man on the shoulder. "I hope you'll stay for the toast even if you won't have a drink."
"No, I'm feeling my age and want to step out while I'm still fresh." He shook his head while Dempsey found glasses in a bar cabinet and Henri opened the bottle. "This is a day for the young. Enjoy it, boys. I'm proud of you all."
Jean-Pierre was heartbroken to see Leon's eyes mist over. But then their grandfather stalked out of the room toward his nurse, taking her arm like an old-time suitor on a first date.
Gervais wasted no time pouring the Scotch, the dark amber liquid fragrant in a room grown more somber.
"To Leon." Gervais lifted his glass.
They all nodded agreement, their glasses raised. But they had a family tradition of toasting around the horn, so they all added one.
"To the groom," Jean-Pierre offered.
"To fatherhood," Dempsey added, shooting a meaningful look at both Jean-Pierre and Gervais.
"To family," Henri added, bringing his glass in for the clink.
Jean-Pierre downed his fast, never having been a hardcore whiskey drinker. But this was smooth and rich, without the burn of a cheaper blend.
Outside the library, he could see the wedding guests filling in the seats down by the beach. He hadn't seen Tatiana since early that morning and he wanted to find her soon to be sure he sat near her after his brief part in the ceremony.
He wondered if she'd been looking for him since he'd lost track of the passing hours in the library.
"Gentlemen?" The minister stepped into the room, a friend of Gervais's from Louisiana. "We'll need to take our places outside. It's time."
As they filed out, Dempsey hung back to walk with him.
"Today is the day. You know that, right?" Dempsey tugged his elbow to slow him down.
"It seems like a good evening for a sunset wedding," he agreed pleasantly.
"It's a good night for a proposal," Dempsey asserted with the authority of a lifetime matchmaker. Too bad he was just a nosy football coach who actually had no idea when the right time to propose might be.
"We'll see." Jean-Pierre had been thinking about it, in fact. There was a boathouse on the Tides Ranch that reminded him of the one where he'd taken Tatiana to fool around back when they'd been dating.
That had significance, right? He wanted to show her he was trying. That he cared about how she felt and what she thought. Yet he also knew time was of the essence. He wanted to be married when they introduced César to the press and the longer they waited to the tie the knot, the greater the risk of discovery. And once the press knew about the baby, wouldn't she be less likely to say yes? As it stood now, Jean-Pierre suspected that she felt at least some social pressure to marry.
But once the news was out and she weathered that storm, what if she decided she didn't need to wed?
"You have a ring, right?" Dempsey asked.
"Since when are you the local ambassador of marriage?" He'd actually had a ring at the ready all week, but he wanted to find the right moment. As he exited the side stairs of the main ranch house, Jean-Pierre searched the wedding guests for a sign of Tatiana.
He'd seen the yellow gown she planned to wear hanging in a clear plastic garment bag, but had left before she'd dressed. When he'd seen her last, she'd been backed up against the white tile wall of the shower stall, her cheeks suffused with red from what they'd shared under the hot rush of water.
"I'm looking out for you, and you know it. You're rolling the dice with your reputation and hers, too. By not tackling this head-on, you're juicing up the press to get more and more inventive with headlines." His older brother straightened his tie as he hit the carpet. "Do you see Adelaide?"
Despite Dempsey's hard-edged veneer, he loved his former personal assistant with a passion he never bothered to disguise. He wasn't the kind to drag her into coat closets, but his eyes followed where she went.
"Dude." Jean-Pierre grabbed his brother's arm before he could leave. "How did you know it was the right time to ask Adelaide to marry you? That she'd say yes?"
"You think I knew she'd say yes?" Dempsey shook his head, as disappointed as if Jean-Pierre was a rookie who didn't understand a play. "Brother, you have to go all in even when you don't have any idea. Put yourself on the line. Or I promise you, she'll never say yes."
Without a single word of encouragement, his brother spun on his heel and melted into the crowd to find Adelaide, leaving Jean-Pierre just as clueless as before.
So it wasn't exactly ideal timing that Tatiana found him then, her dark curls spilling over one bare shoulder in a side-swept hairstyle that exposed the smooth skin of her neck. As always, she looked good enough to eat.
But he didn't have any idea how to tell her he wanted more from her than that. That he wanted to be a husband to her. A father to their son. He knew that without question.
"Blair Jones is here," she blurted suddenly, her words a hushed hiss of sound. Her expression, he realized, was venomous.
"Your client? The same Blair who lied about Marcus under oath?" He'd told her as much from the very beginning of the case, but Tatiana had explained to him-repeatedly-the rules of her job as Blair's attorney.
Now, however, she didn't appear as calmly accepting about Blair Jones as she had last winter.
"The same." Tatiana wrapped her hand around his forearm and turned him away from the crowd milling around the beach seating. A small chamber orchestra played, alternating zydeco music with classical selections from Erika's homeland. "And would you believe, she just admitted to me in private that she did exactly that? Lied under oath about Marcus?"
Jean-Pierre thought he might have spotted steam wafting up from her ears. Her cheeks were definitely red again, but not in the good way they'd been this morning in the shower. She was livid, he realized.
"I can't say I'm surprised," he admitted. "I thought as much all along."
Up front by the flower-covered archway, his brothers waved him over.
"Well, I'm reporting her to the judge," she growled, her eyes snapping emerald fire. The sea breeze lifted a few curls to blow them across her cheek. "I've been used by a greedy liar who doesn't care whose reputation she ruins." She bit her lip and arched up to speak more quietly close to his cheek. "But I'm also terrified she'll find out about César and run to the press for a lucrative payday."