Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4)

I’ve kept my hair short too because it’s more comfortable in the gear.

“You need a haircut,” Dante points out. “What the fuck, Lucas? Did you get fired?”

Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I smile. “I took a week off.”

“You?” He jabs a finger in the center of my chest. “You never take time off.”

I needed it.

I don’t want to get into the details of why I booked the time for myself, so I swing back to the reason he invited me here. “I’m starving. Marti will be happy to see us, so let’s go eat.”

He steps closer to me to block my path. I’ve got a couple of inches on him, but he’s built just as solid as I am. There’s no way in hell I can make it around him. I’m drained physically.

The bottle of whiskey I downed over the weekend didn’t help with that. The two-hour workout I forced myself into yesterday was the icing on the cake of bad decisions I’ve been making lately.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

I know that tone. Dante is a Calvetti through and through. We all look out for each other. If someone is struggling, a family member will pick up on it. It’s the story of my life.

I should be grateful that Dante is confronting me about this instead of my grandmother. Marti Calvetti has a soft spot for her grandkids. If one of us is in pain, she feels it in her bones.

I don’t want that today, so I widen my stance and take a breath. “Brooklyn got married two days ago.”

Dante’s blue eyes hone in on my face. “To who?”

“Dennis.”

Dante knows that fucked up story. I dated Brooklyn in high school, and we’ve been on and off since. A couple of months ago, I suggested a break. Brook used that time to fall in love with someone else. He just happens to be a guy I considered a friend at one point.

He tugs on the shoulder of the black sweater I’m wearing. “Tell me she didn’t invite you to the festivities.”

“Corinne texted me to tell me about it.”

Dante grimaces. ‘There’s a name I never need to hear again.”

Brooklyn’s cousin, Corrine, was Dante’s first girlfriend. That didn’t end well. She wore a T-shirt with Mrs. Calvetti stamped across it for her senior year picture. Dante told her it was a waste of money since she had zero chance of marrying him.

She pursued him for months until she landed a new guy and traded the Calvetti shirt for a wedding gown the day she married a congressman.

“So you’re torn up that Brooklyn got hitched?” he questions.

“I didn’t see it going this way.”

“You didn’t see what going this way?” he narrows his eyes. “Life?”

“I thought we’d end up together.” I sigh heavily. “I wanted us to make it work for the long haul.”

Shaking his head, he exhales. “Deep down you knew that was never going to happen.”

I shrug off his words. “I know that I didn’t expect her to turn around and marry another guy weeks after we broke up.”

He reaches up to pat my cheek. “If Brooklyn has decided to move on with Dennis, you need to accept it.”

Dropping my gaze to the sidewalk, I blurt out, “I tried to stop the wedding.”

His arms cross his chest. “Tell me you’re fucking joking right now.”

I glance at two women passing us. “I’m serious.”

“Goddammit,” he spits out. “You should have called me to talk you down. That was a bad move.”

Scrubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I let out a long exhale. “I barged into the wrong church. I got the address and time messed up in my drunken brain. I interrupted someone else’s wedding.”

“No shit?” A grin tugs at his mouth.

“No shit.” I hold back a smile. “I announced that she couldn’t marry the guy because I loved her. Every damn head in the place turned around. All eyes were on me.”

“This is fucking amazing.” He takes a step back. “What did the bride and groom do? Someone must have told you to go to hell.”

“Not exactly.”

He narrows his gaze. “What does that mean?”

“The bride left with me.”

He shoves a hand through his brown hair. “Wait. What? You didn’t say the bride left with you, did you?”

I glance behind him to catch sight of our grandmother standing outside her restaurant. Her hand is raised in the air in greeting. “She left with me, she took me home, got me into bed, and left a note.”

“This is fucking gold.” His gaze darts over his shoulder. “Marti spotted us. We’ll eat, but I want more details. This conversation isn’t over yet. I need to know who the hell this woman is and why she left a guy at the altar to run away with you.”

I need to know that too.