Mitch laughed, and she patted his cheek and walked away.

When he looked at Sissy, she was glaring at him like he’d betrayed her somehow. “What?”

How did she do that? Sissy was thirty-one, and her momma still had a way of making her feel like a twelve-year-old. All the wedding planning had been kind of fun until her mother had practically moved to New York for the final preparations. For a month, she’d had to tolerate that woman on a daily basis. And every day, Bobby Ray had to talk her out of taking the first plane to Japan or Australia or anywhere her momma wasn’t—and that they legally allowed Sissy to enter.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her momma. She did. But did she have to make Sissy look and feel so small? And did she have to do it in front of Mitch? True, doing it in front of any man was mean, but in front of Mitch, it was particularly bitchy as far as Sissy was concerned.

“All right, Shaw.” Trying to get her mind off Mitch, Sissy motioned to the three-hundred-plus crowd at her brother’s wedding. “I’m on the hunt for my next conquest. See anyone with potential?”

“Sure.” Mitch glanced around and pointed at a cheetah across the room. A female. “What about her?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t give me that tone. Have you even tried it?”

“Mitchell—”

“How do you know if you’ll like it or not if you haven’t tried it…with me watching…and filming?”

“Forget I asked.”

Sissy ran her finger over his tattoo. A four-inch green shamrock. “Could you be more Irish?” she laughed.

“Not really.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’re dancing.”

“To the Go-go’s?” Sissy had successfully managed only two dances, and both had been to slow songs. It wasn’t that she couldn’t dance but come on! The Go-go’s? Did these wild dogs not have any music from the twenty-first century? Or even the nineties?

“We’re gonna rock out.” He dragged her toward the dance floor, stopping briefly so she could knock back the shot of tequila the waiter brought.

Once on the dance floor, she watched in horror as Mitch did something some people—no one she knew, of course—would call dancing.

“Mitchell,” she whined, “this is just embarrassing.”

Mitch stopped, looking around at all the wild dogs dancing. Even the bride was doing the pogo like she was at a 1985 prom.

“As compared to what?”

He tragically had a point.

Mitch walked up behind his brother and slapped him on the back. The thing about Brendon was that Mitch didn’t have to hold back. His brother didn’t go flying across a room or snap like a twig from one little hit. Instead, Brendidn’t move a step, glancing at Mitch over his shoulder and asking, “What?”

“Are we having a good time?”

From the balcony overlooking the dance floor, Bren gazed down with that intense stare of his. He always looked like he was sorting out the world’s problems. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I am.” Twenty minutes to answer a simple question…

Mitch leaned back against the railing. “You and Gwen getting along?” he asked.

“Of course. You know I love Gwenie.”

“And Marissa—”

“Takes a little longer to warm up to people,” Brendon explained about his twin.

“Gwen’s thinking about coming out here to visit in a couple of months. Maybe she could—”

“She’ll stay at the hotel.”

Mitch opened his mouth to say something, and Bren cut in, practically snarling, “And if you mention paying for that room, I will toss your ass off the balcony.”

Mitch looked over the rail and gauged the distance. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt, so best not to push it.

“I just don’t want some people—I won’t mention any names—but some people who look like you, share similar DNA, and came out of the same womb ten minutes before you did accusing me of taking advantage.”

Now Bren laughed. “I wish you’d stop taking what some people say to you at face value. Besides, the hotels are as much yours as ours, and if you want to put up guests in one of the top floor suites that go for ten grand a night, that’s up to you.” Bren sipped his beer. Unlike Mitch, he went for one of those obscure label beers. “Besides, Mitch, Gwen is family.”

“You’re not related.”

“Your sister is my sister, shithead. If she ever needs anything, all she has to do is ask.”

Mitch nodded and felt relief wash through him. He’d been worrying about who would watch out for Gwen if—when—anything happened to him. Knowing Brendon would do it for him made Mitch feel more relieved than he could say.

“Thanks, bruh.”

“Shut up, Mitch,” Brendon growled.

And Mitch smiled.

Sissy held up her shot glass of tequila, and Ronnie did the same. “To good friends, good times, and the hope that we never have to do this again.”

Ronnie laughed as they touched glasses, then they took their shots in one gulp. Sissy kind of shuddered. Damn, that was good tequila. But no more. Not tonight. As much as she might want to get loaded so she could drown out the neverending criticism coming from her momma, Sissy had promised herself—

“Why do you drink that?” her momma snapped from behind her. “You know you can’t handle it.”