It was expensive and highly demanded property and he’d lucked out getting a lease through Ryan’s Uncle Alexander Stavros who owned the land and building. But now that he’d died, Braden worried he’d lose the lease which had expired a few days ago. He’d called George, Alexander’s attorney, several times to extend or renew the lease, but he hadn’t called him back.
“When Ryan and I were six, we took a blood oath to never fall in love. Instead, we would join the Navy, explore the world, and after our stint with the military ended, we’d become pirates on our own ship. Sadly, that dream ended when Ryan went on his first cruise and spent the entire time throwing up in his room.” Everyone laughed, including Ryan.
Both the eldest sons in Greek families, Ryan and he'd formed a bond when they'd met in grade school. Their parents expected them each to someday run the billion dollar corporations their families owned. High expectations for a couple of five-year-olds who would rather play Batman and Robin, although they'd spent most of the time on the playground fighting over who'd play who. They hadn't changed much twenty years later. They'd each chosen to forge ahead and follow their own dreams rather than that of their ancestors. Ryan had started out in law school, but through Portia’s influence, he was pursuing his talent in whittling wood, creating chess sets and statues, while teaching disadvantaged youth art on the side. Sucker.
“Before Ryan met Portia, he’d forgotten how to smile. I worried about him for a couple of years, especially when he moved in with me and I couldn’t get him to move out.” He paused for the chuckles. “Portia helped rekindle the missing fire in him and inspired him in ways which his friends and family never could, and on behalf of all of us, I’d like to say ‘thank you’ to her for giving us back our Ryan. And last, I can say with all honesty and sincerity, from the bottom of my heart and other more important parts, that I’m glad it’s you getting married and not me. Congratulations and na zisete!”
Assuming he’d been joking, most of the guests laughed and clapped. Only his parents shook their heads while Ryan and Portia gazed up at him with sad eyes and half a smile. He didn’t want their pity. He’d told them over and over, marriage wasn’t for him. Besides, between his parents, they’d been married and divorced nine times.
He smelled her before he spotted her, the subtle hint of lavender in the air. Throwing her guitar strap over her shoulder, Lola strummed the strings and ran up the steps to the stage, her long skirt flowing around her ankles. Three of her band members followed. When had they arrived? Lola hadn’t said a word about playing at the party. In fact, he remembered quite clearly when they’d planned this thing, he’d specifically told her not to perform. He didn’t want the event to become about her and it was hard to ignore a pink-haired, tattooed, pierced, five-foot-two siren, especially with a microphone. Which she grabbed from his hand.
“Nice speech, Braden, and I second that emotion.”
“Lola. What are you doing?” he muttered under his breath loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough the mic didn’t transmit it to the guests.
She turned off the volume on the microphone and with her chin pointed up in defiance, said, “What I always do. What I want.”