You idiot. Should have left it in the car.
His eyes locked on the group of women in the corner, but before he could find Jill, who was several inches shorter than the rest of them, his younger brother stepped in front of him, blocking his field of vision.
“Champagne?” Luc asked.
Vincent accepted the glass, mostly to get it out of his face, before frowning at the fussy flute. “Is there no red opened?”
Luc clinked his glass against Vin’s. “We’re celebrating, douche bag.”
Vin took a sip. It was actually pretty good. “What are we celebrating?”
There was the briefest of pauses before Luc responded, and Vin’s instincts went on high alert. Now both brothers were acting strangely.
Not good.
“That Jill’s home,” Luc said.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. His brother’s voice was too cheerful, even for Luc.
Testing his brother, he stepped to the side. Luc sidestepped with him, blocking Vin’s view of the women.
Bingo. Vincent took another casual sip of the champagne. “So, you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you and Anthony going to flip for it?”
“We already did flip for it,” Luc grumbled. “I won, and yet I notice Big Brother’s conveniently loitering with his hot wife by the front door.”
“Great,” Vin said, clamping his brother on the shoulder. “You can tell me later then. In the meantime, you cool if I go greet the guest of honor?”
“Vin.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, turning to find that Anthony had decided to join them, and both brothers were giving him a grim look. “Who died?”
Anth grabbed a handful of Vincent’s leather jacket before dragging him backward away from the kitchen.
Vin shrugged free and glared. “I swear to God, will you two clowns just—”
“Jill’s getting married.”
It was Luc that blurted it out, and Vincent very slowly turned to stare at his younger brother. Luc’s blue eyes gazed back at him, and there was no trace of his usual humor.
Vin slowly shifted his gaze to Anthony, whose look was equally somber. “I’m sorry, man.”
Vincent shook his head. “What do you mean she’s getting married? Who the fuck is she marrying?”
“That guy she was seeing in Florida.”
“What guy?!” Vincent was practically shouting now. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Jill couldn’t be getting fucking married. She’d have told him. She’d have…
“Well maybe if you’d made the time to talk to her, you might have known she was seeing someone,” Anthony snapped.
“Hell, maybe if you’d made the time to talk to her, she wouldn’t have been seeing anyone,” Luc muttered into his champagne flute.
Vin’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it’s supposed to mean, you dumb, cowardly—”
Anth cleared his throat before socking Vincent in the shoulder.
It was as much warning as Vin had before a small, warm body collided against his.
Jill.
He’d been picturing this moment in his head for weeks now, and the joy, he’d expected.
The pain… not so much.
Jill was getting married.
Her arms were around his neck, and he very slowly wrapped one arm around her back before letting his face find the crook of her neck.
He told himself it was just a natural position, but there was nothing natural about the way he wanted to linger. Or the way his lips accidentally brushed her neck, or the way he wanted to kiss her there. To…
Jill was getting married.
She pulled back slightly before putting her hands on either side of his face and giving his head a little shake. “Would you believe that I’ve missed your ugly face?”
Her smile was all warmth and friendliness and familiarity, and he resisted the urge to rub his chest, which physically ached.
Tell her you’ve missed her too. Tell her that you…
Vin thrust the now completely crumpled bag at her. “Here.”
She blinked in surprise, looking completely puzzled as she hooked a finger into the opening of the white bag.
He felt the curious gaze of his family as everyone gathered around, but he ignored them. Only Jill mattered, and…
Damn it, man, a doughnut?!
She had a hard time pulling the bag apart, probably because he’d smushed the contents to death, and it was just…
Good God, it was like he was a fucking Neanderthal.
He was about to rip the bag out of her hand and make some lame excuse about having to be somewhere… anywhere, when Jill’s startled blue eyes snapped up at his.
She looked stunned. And… happy?
Please let her be happy.
“How’d you know?” she asked, tilting her head.
He blinked. “What?”
“How’d you know that a maple bar was all I could think about when I was in Florida? Would you believe they can’t make a decent one?”
“No such thing as a decent maple bar,” he said gruffly. “They’re disgusting.”