“Oh my God, you guys are such dorks,” Rebel groaned.
“Uh, Sixx, where did your man take off to?” Molly inquired.
“He’s right there,” Sixx said, tipping her head to the side, a smile on her face that shocked the shit out of Maddox because it was downright goofy in its happiness and Sixx was about as goofy as a switchblade.
Everyone looked back to the hall to see Stellan walking in carrying two bottles.
And Maddox might be solid middle-middleclass. But even he knew the labels of that brand of champagne.
Fucking hell.
“We have a wine cellar in the basement,” Sixx shared, pushing back from the table.
“Darling, if you’d get the glasses,” Stellan called to her.
“My pleasure,” Sixx replied, hustling on her high heels toward a killer, built-in wet bar that was in the family room area.
“Will you do the honors with this one?” Stellan asked, handing Diesel one of two bottles of Dom Perignon.
“Sure,” Diesel said casually, moving to Stellan and taking the bottle.
Sixx got the glasses.
D and Stellan popped the corks and poured.
Glasses were passed around.
Everyone standing resumed their seats.
But Stellan lifted his glass before anyone took a sip.
“To freedom,” he toasted.
They all hiked up their champagne, but he wasn’t finished.
“To love,” he continued.
Maddox probably wasn’t the only one about to open his mouth to lay a cheers on that.
But Stellan wasn’t done.
“And not least,” he raised his glass farther, “to family of the heart.”
Molly sniffed again.
“Hear, hear,” Rebel hooted.
Sixx kept smiling goofily at her man.
Maddox slid an arm around Molly’s shoulders, kissed the side of her head and looked to D.
Diesel was watching them.
He tipped his glass their way.
Mol and Mad tipped theirs toward their man.
And then they all drank.
The Three Kisses
Molly
MOLLY SLID FROM between her two sleeping men in the big bed.
“Baby?” Maddox mumbled in a rumble, making a drowsy grab at her that missed.
“Mol?” D murmured, his hold on her hip slipping even if he tried to catch on.
“Shh,” she shushed. “Gotta hit the loo,” she whispered.
They made sleepy noises and adjusted their bodies without her being there as she climbed over Diesel to get out of bed.
Then she stood at the side as D shifted Maddox so Mad’s back was to Diesel’s front. He curled into him, resting his nose in the back of Mad’s hair, his arm around him, cupping Mad’s junk like he would cup Molly’s breast in sleep.
Mad had an arm flung out.
The other hand he slid down Diesel’s forearm and curled it over D’s holding his package.
They stopped moving and started breathing steady.
Molly felt her lips tip up.
This happened now and had been happening for months.
She wasn’t always in the middle.
Sometimes she was tucked at a back (that was tucked at another back, or wrapped around a front).
Draped across a pair of bodies.
Full on top one but with her other pressed down their sides.
Whatever it was, it was always a tangle. It was always maximum contact. It was always like they wove themselves together to draw in as much of the beauty they shared as they could, even when unconscious, because it sustained them for whatever they’d face out there in the world that might not be so hot.
As it should be.
As she hoped it always would be.
Molly let herself take her boys in.
Then she hit the loo.
When she came out, she didn’t go back to bed.
She went to the wispy, short white nightie on the floor.
She picked it up, tugged it on, tiptoed across the room and rescued her phone from the mess of charge cords attached to her and her husbands’ phones.
She walked to the French doors and opened them, the breeze drifting in, blowing the delicate white curtain lazily back, the soft, steady, soothing crash of the waves hitting the beach beyond drifting into the room.
Molly had no idea how her men had scored such an awesome, swank, exclusive vacation property for their honeymoon.
And she didn’t ask.
It wasn’t important to her. She could have a honeymoon in a motel in the dusty middle of nowhere.
But it was important to them. They’d found a way to give it to her.
And since it was important to them, there they were.
Her feet felt the sandy grit that dusted the wooden deck boards as she walked to the wicker chair five feet away.
She sat her ass on the pad, lifting her feet up to rest the soles against the chair opposite where, not but a few hours ago, she’d been in the same position, except her feet were in Mady’s lap and he was giving her a foot massage while shooting the shit with Diesel.
She lifted her phone up to her face and had to blink a little when the light came on in the dark as she engaged it.
Molly went right to the photos.
There was a lot you could say about her sister, Holly. Some of it bad. Some of it good.
But her big sister had done her right on Molly’s wedding day.
That being, unbeknownst to Molly, Holly had confiscated her phone and took tons of pictures so Molly would have them on her honeymoon.
Since they’d arrived two days ago at that remote beach house that Diesel had found and Maddox had booked, she’d lost track of how many times she’d flipped through them.
It didn’t matter, that number would ever increase.
Like the times she was adding now.
She’d gotten her sunflowers and her arch and she’d gotten them in their backyard.
Diesel and Maddox had built it permanently over the pool, D planting wisteria around it so next spring it would be amazing.
But for their wedding, it had been laced with sunflowers and red roses and that’s where they’d been married.
Diesel had worn a smart, khaki colored suit, white shirt, no tie, red rose in his lapel.
Maddox had worn a sharp black suit, black shirt, and a red rose in his lapel.
Molly had worn white. A simple gown made of delicate lace with gathers of fine tulle holding the bodice up, coasting over her shoulders and down to a V at the small of her back, off which lace hung cut like fairy wings at the sides.
It was perfect.
She could tell when she walked out on the patio and then to them that her boys had felt the same.
But she didn’t have to try to recall.
Holly had taken a picture of them standing together under the arch the instant their eyes caught sight of her.
God, they were so handsome.
She looked at the picture, grinning to herself, then slid back one.
It was a photo from before she’d walked out. Diesel had his hands to Maddox’s rose, his head bent to it, and Molly knew he’d just said something smart because Maddox’s head was tipped back and he was laughing.
“God, I love my boys,” she whispered.
She scrolled through. Past the three of them standing together listening to the lady preacher, Molly between Maddox and Diesel. Mad and D putting the ring on Molly’s finger. Molly and Mad putting the ring on D’s finger. D and Molly putting the ring on Mad’s.
The three kisses.
Oh, those three kisses.
Molly traced a finger on her phone.
And there she was walking back into the house with a hand through each of their arms, her bouquet of sunflowers and red roses and green hypericum berries tucked in the crook of Mad’s elbow.