Page 4 of Mess With Me

I let out a long-suffering breath and go over to him.

“Take your jacket off.”

Eli huffs, but I don’t miss the relief that crosses his face as he tosses it onto a chair.

“Hey, thanks for showing up,” he says as I make a finger swirl in the air to get him to turn around.

“You think I wouldn’t show up to your wedding?”

“No. But I know you do important shit, so thanks anyway.”

I say nothing, just yank at the cummerbund’s strap.

“Ow. Do I want to know why you know how to fix one of these things?”

“Nope.”

“Course not.”

His tone isn’t annoyed so much as resigned. Even when we were kids, I preferred the company of an old radio I could take apart or my fishing rod and one-man tent to my rowdy family. It’s pretty much true today, too. Not that I don’t love the shit out of them. But now sharing isn’t just something I prefer not to do.

Eli tugs at his bowtie. “This thing’s too tight.”

He’s nervous. I cinch the band at his waist. “I know you’re not nervous about getting married.”

Eli lets out a frustrated sigh. “Obviously. It’s just all the secrecy.” Clearly he’s relieved to get to talk about this. “I never thought I’d have to screen my wedding guests three times. I barely got her team to agree not to make everyone sign NDAs.”

I grimace. He doesn’t know I strongly suggested not waiving NDAs to her team lead after looking over the security plans. He’d agreed with me.

“So what are you worried about?” I ask, tucking the band in place.

The question’s not flippant. People think I’m lucky when I correctly predict results—political campaigns, movies, relationships—with surprising accuracy. But it’s not surprising, and it’s not luck. It’s paying attention. Sometimes hunches turn out to be paranoia, but the seeds of problems can be found before the problems arise if you look hard enough.

“Honestly? I’m worried about the most important moment of my life being blown up by tabloids,” Eli says.

Done with the cummerbund, I hand him his jacket. “That it?”

“And Reese, being safe,” he admits. “But I’m always worried about that.”

Eli’s fiancée is a folk crossover singer, and her latest record recently went platinum.

“I don’t have much control over the tabloids,” I say. “But the second part’s under control today.”

My brother meets my eye with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Reese’s already got a good team, but he knows I’m the insurance policy. I won’t let anything happen to any of my loved ones or theirs.

“Heyooo!” A deeply annoying voice cuts through the tent. I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes at our other brother Jude—the youngest of the three Kelly boys. I also have to fight the smile wanting to arrive on my lips at the sight of him. Despite his personality being my polar opposite—a.k.a. he’s a motormouth who’s never without a grin on his handsome face—I do love the little fucker.

“Come here, big guy,” Jude says, throwing his arms around me. I don’t bother hugging him back, but I’d never tell him I don’t mind his exuberant affection. To a degree. He finishes with a punishing clap on my back that nearly makes me wince. Jude used to play pro tennis, and that arm is still in good form.

“You done yet?” I grumble.

“I guess so. So you guys are friends again? Eli looked about ready to kick your ass a minute ago.”

“Untrue,” Eli says, shrugging his arms into his coat.

Jude laughs. “I told him you’d knock him on his ass before he even got started.”

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