Cuff Me(11)

“Louboutins,” Luc said.

The rest of the men stared at him, and he shrugged. “What? I’m evolved.”

“Whatever,” Tony muttered. “Why is it so high-pitched in here?”

Again, Luc and Anth did that brotherly look that Vin pretended not to see. Which wasn’t hard. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Jill.

She looked… different. Same bright blond hair falling around her face, same wide blue eyes, same ever-present smile.

But tonight, she was… happy. Granted, Jill was always happy. The woman was never without a smile and had more energy than a Chihuahua with a doughnut, but she hadn’t been this glowy before.

Jill was getting married.

“Jill’s getting married,” Vincent said to his father. Maybe if he said it out loud, it would start to feel like a comprehendible fact.

He sipped his beer. Waited.

Nope. Still felt totally wrong.

“Bullshit,” Tony said.

Vin nearly smiled at that.

His father was, well… exactly what you’d expect a lifelong cop to be who’d once run the entire NYPD without ever having to raise his voice. Tony Moretti was tall, broad, and serious looking, and Vincent sometimes thought his father was the ultimate combination of all his children.

Anth’s protectiveness. Marc’s smarts. Elena’s temper. Luc’s people skills. Vincent’s confidence. Or ego, if you wanted to speak plainly.

“Jill’s not getting married,” Tony said, repeating his disbelief.

“She met a guy in Florida when she was staying with her mom,” Luc said.

“Who. Who’d she meet?”

“Don’t know yet. Haven’t really had a chance to ask anything rational over the conversations about the pros and cons of Tiffany blue as an accent color,” Anth said.

“How do you feel about this?”

It took Vin several seconds to realize that his father was talking to him. And from the steady looks of his brothers, they seconded their dad’s question.

“Why you asking me?” he grumbled.

“Why the hell you think?” Tony shot back. “Maybe because we’ve been waiting patiently for you to get your head out of your ass about that girl—”

“Patiently? Really?” Luc cut in. “I wouldn’t say we’ve been patient so much as—”

“Pushy, interfering, and completely off base,” Vincent said, pushing away from the wall and moving to the table to grab one of the marinated vegetables from his mother’s antipasto plate.

He met his father’s angry gaze as he chewed, and it was one of those stupid but necessary staring contests.

Vincent wasn’t an idiot. He knew his family had long been of the mind-set that he and Jill were just biding their time until their work partnership became a romantic one.

Vin had never paid this any mind.

Neither had Jill. Obviously.

“Honey, did you hear the good news?” This from Vin’s mother, who came scurrying over to her husband. “Our Jill’s getting married.”

Our Jill.

She wasn’t going to be the Morettis’ Jill much longer. She was going to be some other guy’s Jill. She’d never again be…

His gut clenched, and Vincent ran a hand down his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

Despite the fact that Jill got under his skin—regularly, and with glee—he cared about her. Cared about her happiness. And she was happy. Any fool could see that.

So why couldn’t he get happy?

Vincent stepped back again as the men and women melded into one big group. The topic stayed trained on Jill’s upcoming nuptials.

No, they hadn’t set a date.

Yes, she was excited.

No, she didn’t know where the wedding would be.

Yes, she couldn’t wait for them to meet Tom when he came out to see her next weekend.

Tom. She was marrying a guy named Tom.

From here on out it would be Tom and Jill. Jill and Tom.

Never again would it be Jill and Vincent.

Vincent went to grab another beer from the fridge. He couldn’t do another glass of the celebratory champagne—not knowing what it represented. What they were “celebrating.” When he turned around, he almost walked straight into his sister, whose laser-blue eyes were boring into him.

Luc and Elena were the only Moretti offspring to get the dark hair and blue eyes. The rest, Vincent included, had dark hair and dark eyes.

And right now, Elena’s blue eyes were seeing way too much.

“How we doing?” she asked.

“We are doing just fine.”

He started to move past, and she touched his arm. “Vin.”

He shook her off. “Don’t, El.”

Her eyes shifted from wary to hurt. And not hurt for herself. Hurt for him, if he was reading it correctly.

Which was stupid. He was fine.

“Okay,” she said quietly, giving him a small smile before walking away.

He stared after her in surprise. The fact his stubborn, nosy sister had let it drop was alarming. And not at all a good sign.

Thirty minutes later, food was being put out on the enormous dining table—one of Maggie’s new additions to the house—and everyone found their seat.

Vin sat down at the chair within closest reach, and Jill plopped into the seat next to him.