Uncle C: Who’s walking you down the aisle?
Not you.My thumb hovers over the send button, then quickly hits backspace until the letters disappear. I resist further temptation to respond by setting my phone on the counter facedown.
Ugh, I don’t need this today. I only want to celebrate good things for our family, not dwell on the bad.
I scowl at Marcel. “My uncle seems to think he has an invitation to our wedding.”
Guilt darkens his features for a second.
“You didn’t.” I rest my hands on my hips.
“He—”
“Don’t you dare say ‘he’s family’ or ‘it’s business.’ Neither excuse is acceptable.”
“Charlotte,” he pleads.
“Don’t even try to use that ‘please be reasonable’ tone with me.”
“Charlotte,” he tries again, sterner this time.
“Fine, but he’s absolutely not walking me down the aisle.”
“Good.” He holds up his hands. “That’s all you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing the job myself.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Actually.” I bite my lip, not sure how he’ll feel about this. “I wanted to ask Rock if he’d consider walking me down the aisle.”
He steps closer, resting his hands at my waist. I lean into him. “Do you think that’d be okay?”
“I think it would be perfect.”
Carter taps on the kitchen door. I reach over to unlock it and let him in.
“Are we going up to the clubhouse?” he asks as he walks in.
“In a bit,” Marcel answers. “I’m making something for your sister. You hungry?”
Carter shrugs. “I could eat.”
I chuckle. Carter can always eat. I return to the table, taking a long sip of water.
Carter’s gaze narrows on me. “You seem off. Did everything go all right in court?”
My little brother is almost too perceptive sometimes. “Flawless.” I tap my phone. “I’m annoyed that Chuck asked who’s walking me down the aisle.”
“Definitely don’t let Chuck do it,” Carter says, limping toward the table.
I bite back the cry bubbling in my throat. He’s still limping and in pain, even if he won’t admit to the pain part.
“I’m fine. Stop looking at me like my goldfish died,” Carter grumbles.
“We’re moving the wedding date up,” Marcel says to smooth over the moment. “You’re still my number two, right?”
“You sure you want me up there, Teller?” Carter asks. “Won’t it look weird that I’m the only one not wearing one of your bad boy vests?”