A Witch Central Wedding

A Witch Central Wedding By Debora Geary


Devin Sullivan was spontaneous, fearless, and more than a little reckless.

And stupid polka dots had him shaking in his boots.

Or shaking in his naked, sandy feet, in this case. He’d hoped that getting married on a beach would ease the dress requirements. The women and pint-sized drill sergeants in his family had vetoed that idea in about ten seconds. He had to wear Grandpa Samuel’s lucky wedding suspenders just like every other schmuck in the family who had ever gotten married.

Devin looked down at the blue polka dots in disgust. Grandpa Samuel had clearly had a warped sense of humor. And judging from the fit of the suspenders, he’d been about four-and-a-half-feet tall. They were giving him the kind of wedgie that usually meant the beginning of a brotherly backyard brawl.

“You might want to loosen those some,” said a very amused voice over his shoulder.

Devin scowled at his brother Jamie, the most recent guy to wear the suspenders. “If they fit you, they should fit me.” Kind of how the triplet thing worked.

Jamie grinned and plunked down in a chair, looking way too comfortable in his jeans and faded tee. “I’m pretty sure Aervyn took a test drive in them last week when the girls were holding their wedding rehearsal marathon.”

An event Devin had diligently managed to avoid. Getting married once was bad enough—he didn’t need to practice eleventy-hundred times. His triplet nieces had been a wedding hazard for weeks now.

However, five-year-old Aervyn in the suspenders explained a lot of things about his current state of discomfort. Devin wiggled loose of the polka dots. “Speaking of, where is our nephew?”

“Practicing for his big surprise.”

The one his wife-to-be had done an excellent job of pretending she knew nothing about. Just one of the many reasons he loved her.

“Getting sappy?”

Devin pitched the suspenders at his brother’s head, not at all shocked when they bounced off an invisible shield. “I think our nieces have the sappy part of today covered.” He was mightily glad he couldn’t mindread—enduring the teary eyes and soft, fluttery smiles of the past week had been more than enough.

And he was darned sure his brothers were standing guard, on orders from the nine-year-old czarinas. Either Jamie or Matt had been prowling around all morning. “You trying to keep the girls out, or me in?”

“Neither.” Jamie raided the snack tray in the corner. “You have the best food.” He waved a scone in the direction of the door. “And if I go out there, Mia will try to put me in charge of the glitter again.”

Devin was pretty sure his nieces were Nell’s long-plotted revenge for being forced to grow up with six brothers. Witch Central had never been quite so… girly.

Jamie just snickered. “Word of pre-marriage advice? You’re about to marry a girl. Glitter isn’t the battle you want to fight.”

He was about to get married. The words snuck under Devin’s ribs and stole his breath. Holy hell. He was about to get married.

“About time.” His brother leaned against a wall, eyes full of humor—and something else. Empathy. “I was a wreck for hours before my wedding. Good to see you’re not really Man of Steel.”

He wasn’t a wreck. Devin reached out for a water bottle, suddenly fiercely thirsty—and realized his hands were trembling. The flippant courage that usually ran in his veins was gone, headed out for parts unknown.

He was getting married.

To an amazing, sexy woman who stole the breath from his ribs on a regular basis.

He reached down and picked up the suspenders off the floor. Grandpa Samuel had survived. So would he.