It’s my only saving grace.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you were going to get picked—well, that’s a lie, I knew you would get picked but I just thought you were missing out on an amazing opportunity if you didn’t fill out the application, and I know you don’t want me talking about it, but you even said yourself you wish you could have an actual wedding with a party because you worked so hard at finding love and the whole gay rights movement, you know, celebrating love that you weren’t really allowed to celebrate until the law was passed, but now that you can you can have a party to truly show off your beautiful relationship and you were settling, and I didn’t want you to settle so I filled out the application, submitted your pictures, and you two were obviously picked and it’s going to be great. I know it sounds scary right now, being on TV and all and you being shy and reserved, but I promise we will create a beautiful wedding that celebrates your relationship, and then you’ll win and move to Manhattan, which will make everyone’s commute that much easier, and oh my God, you can show off your carpentry skills and maybe get hired by someone who sees you, or maybe Playgirl sees you and thinks, ‘Wow, we would like him to be a centerfold because look at that beefcake, but the shoot would be modest, no penis shots, maybe a side butt, or even butt crack, but we would make sure we show off your physique, not the goods, keep it tasteful,’ and trust me, when the invitations for gay porn start rolling in, that’s where we put our foot down, because my brother will not be subjected to all the freaky crap that’s out there, not when he has a sweet Declan at home, though I’m sure they’ll want him involved because just look at him, what a Greek god, I can see why you fell for him in the first place, real hubba-hubba kinda guy—”

“Luna.”

I stick my finger in the air. “To close this out, I’m sorry. Your wedding will be spectacular. Tasteful nude shoot. No porn.” I smile, or at least attempt a smile.

I stare at my brother, and I just know he’s about to unleash a verbal barrage that will put me very firmly in my place.

“I think it’s a great opportunity,” Declan says, breaking the most epic of staredowns ever to happen on this side of the Mississippi. I knew I loved Declan, that somewhere, deep inside, we’ve always been soul mates.

“What?” Cohen asks.

After setting the bagels on the counter, Declan places his hand on Cohen’s chest and speaks softly, calming the plaid-wearing beast in front of me. “It could be a wonderful opportunity, not just to show off your carpentry skills, like Luna said, but to show off her skills as well—”

“No, that’s not why—”

Declan holds his hand up, and I quickly snap my mouth closed.

“There are a lot of positives here. A wedding that you apparently want, one that I kind of want too. And even better, a free wedding, a chance at a penthouse, an opportunity to grow closer as a couple as we work to create a wedding on a budget, not to mention the exposure for your sister and her many talents. The kind of exposure that could help her get to Mary DIY’s level.”

“This has nothing to do with me,” I interject, and I truly mean it. “I don’t have to be a part of it. I’m sure we can find another family member to help out. I want this for you guys.”

“Of course we’d use you,” Cohen says with an irritated sigh as he pinches his brow. “We’d be stupid not to.”

“Wait.” Hope blooms inside of me. “Does that mean you want to do it? You want to be on the show?”

“I don’t want to be on the show,” he says, looking at me again, though this time the menacing, throbbing vein has subsided, leaving just a clenched, exasperated jaw behind.

“But . . . ,” I add for him.

Cohen’s gaze bounces between Declan and me. “You really want to do this?”

Declan shrugs. “You didn’t seem too thrilled about the courthouse wedding.” He takes Cohen’s hand. “Did you really dream of a bigger wedding?”

“Don’t lie to him,” I whisper, and Cohen shoots me a death glare. I hold up my hands and try to become one with the kitchen cabinets.

Focusing on Declan, Cohen scratches the back of his neck. “Well, you know that coming out wasn’t easy for me, especially since I don’t fit the stereotypical gay-man type. I’m not this flamboyant, fun, Will & Grace character. I’m just a regular guy who never really felt like he fit anywhere. But now that I finally feel comfortable in my own skin—thanks to you—I want to celebrate our journey with our closest friends and family.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“He doesn’t like confrontation,” I say, leaning forward.

“Luna,” Cohen snaps, and once again, I melt into the background. “I wanted to make you happy, and because it was the first thing you suggested, I thought that’s what you really wanted.”

Declan shakes his head. “I only said ‘courthouse’ because we’re trying to save up to move. I want what you want, Cohen.” With a finger, Declan tips up Cohen’s chin. “Let’s do the show.”

I hold my breath, awaiting Cohen’s response, and I swear he takes extra long, just to make me pass out. Finally, he says, “Okay.”

I spring forward excitedly and wrap my arms around both of them. “Group hug.”

Cohen peels my arm away and bends down so we’re eye to eye. “Are you listening to me, Luna? As Declan would say to his students, ‘Do you have your listening ears on?’”

I give him a crazed smile and nod. “Listening.”

“Good, because I’m only going to say this once. Never go behind my back again. The only reason I’m not revoking your sister privileges is because Declan is okay with this, but it’s going to take me a while to forgive you. What you did was out of line, deceitful, and out of character. We don’t hide shit from each other, and we don’t go behind each other’s backs. Don’t. Do. It. Again. Got it?”

Yeesh.

“Got it,” I whisper, the guilt now consuming me. Cohen’s right: we don’t go behind each other’s backs. We’ve always been honest about everything. I may have had good intentions, but Cohen has every right to be angry. “I’m sorry I tampered with your trust. It won’t happen again.”

“Better not.” He straightens up and sighs. With a roll of his eyes, he pulls me into a hug, and I revel in the feel of his protective arms around me. “The only other reason I’m doing this is because I truly want to see you shine. You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are—it’s about time you get a little acclaim.”

“That’s not why—”

“I know.” He kisses the top of my head. “I know, Luna. It’s just an added bonus.”

After a few more seconds of hugging, Declan says, “So, are we doing this?”

We both turn to Cohen. Despite his scowl, I think I can detect a shimmer of excitement in his eyes. “We’re doing this.”

I pump my fist in the air. “Those other couples can eat my glitter dust!”

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEC

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Three seconds after walking on set, I immediately realized I’d made a colossal mistake.

Centered in the large space are three workstations, decked out in crafting supplies, all organized and displayed like a kitschy version of the most elaborate workbench ever created. Each station contains two industrial-size packing tables with smooth wooden surfaces, three stools, what I can only assume is a vision board—kill me now—and multiple crates, stashing away God knows what.

Along the outer edge of the three-walled set are designated sections for what seem like the important aspects of a wedding: invitations, venues, and centerpieces. Every section contains a variety of tools, supplies, and products. My stomach drops, and I get the feeling that this is going to be more cutthroat than I imagined.

And of course, the colors are kick-you-in-the-dick bright, with white tables, parquet floors in teal, pink, and purple, and aqua walls. Who let a teenager design this set?

Easy to say that this is not my scene. Nothing about it screams I belong here, and definitely not in my dark-wash jeans and black T-shirt. Thad, on the other hand, is wearing a goddamn linen shirt because in his words, he won’t “sweat as much with a breezy fabric.”

He looks like a jackass.

In a matter of seconds, I’ve come up with at least five excuses that could get me out of this, all very viable.

Client just called, arbitration has been moved to a Saturday. Got to go.

Forgot to pay my taxi driver, and the meter’s still running.

Ate some funky shrimp last night, need a bathroom, stat.

Cough Cough Picked up malaria at the bar last night, don’t think I’ll make it.

Made a mistake, really don’t want to be here, peace.