My siblings, though? They’ve thrown caution to the love-filled wind. That’s right, all three of my brothers and my baby sister are officially off the market.
First Winnie, second Jude, then Flynn, and now, Ty is the last bastard to bite the dust. I know this because I have a diamond ring in my backpack to prove it—the engagement ring he begged me to pick up while I was in LA meeting with a few clients.
C: PS: You’re my favorite Winslow brother.
Me: That’s not a hard thing to achieve with brothers like mine.
Being the oldest of three boys and one girl, I’ve grown accustomed to being the most responsible out of our wild brood. Plus, all my brothers are assholes.
Well, besides Flynn.
But Jude and Ty? Definitely assholes. Lovable assholes, but assholes all the same.
C: One day, I’d like to see you all together again. It would make my day.
Me: Pretty sure you just saw Ty not that long ago. And Jude, too.
Those idiots ended up seeking out the mysterious Miss Cleo when they realized they’d fallen on their fucking asses in love, just like she predicted on the night of my bachelor party nearly a decade and a half ago.
Of course, they didn’t tell me shit about it. Even after all these years, they still tiptoe around the subject that is the Remy and Charlotte wedding-that-never-happened like it’s cracked glass.
In their minds, it’s the period of time that is never to be talked about.
Sure, for the first couple years after Charlotte left me high and dry, I wanted it that way.
But now? It’s become a secret, amusing pastime of mine to watch them skirt around their words whenever topics like love and marriage are brought up when I’m around.
If only they knew the truth—that I’ve been in contact with the infamous Miss Cleo for that same decade and a half. Shit, they’d lose their minds if they found out I’ve been handling her investments ever since I sought her out, one year after my failed wedding.
My phone pings with a new text, and while my cabbie runs a red light, I look down at the screen.
C: Be sure to give Ty my congratulations.
Hence her initial but cryptic love-is-in-the-air text. I guess she was following the rules after all.
And I can’t not laugh at the idea of me following through with her insane request. Ty might be a fit, forty-year-old man, but if I even mentioned the name Miss Cleo to him, he’d be at risk for a damn stroke.
Me: Since I’d much rather attend my brother’s wedding than his funeral, I’ll keep that information to myself. And…can’t you send it to him telepathically or some shit? I mean, you ARE the psychic.
C: Oh, Remington, you always do amuse me.
Once I’m about ten minutes away from Ty’s building, I switch out of my text convo with Cleo and pull up the one with my anxious-as-hell brother.
At least twenty texts sit unanswered from him. All of them variations of “Where the fuck are you?”
Me: I’m on my way.
His response back is instant, like he’s just sitting there with his phone in his hands.
Ty: You got the goods?
Me: No, Ty. I’m just coming over to have afternoon tea.
Ty: At least tell me this, you bastard, are said goods being carefully handled and protected during transport?
Me: Yes.
Ty: By yes, do you mean that you are guaranteeing that you are not going to lose, drop, or ruin the very expensive goods on your way here?
Me: For fuck’s sake, Ty. Relax. I’ll be there soon.
It’s safe to say, I’ll be glad when this engagement ring is out of my possession and the last Winslow brother who wants to get married says “I do.”
Then I can finally put all this love shit in the rearview mirror.
Maria
I swallow thickly against a wave of nausea brought on by the combination of ninety-degree heat, six-inch heels, and a pregnant stomach the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, and finish typing out a text message to my assistant as I walk inside the building of my next showing.
Me: I need you to contact the mortgage broker for Mrs. Clemmons and see where they’re at with the financing for the Greenwich Village property. I’m at the property now, and if the inside is just as good as the outside of the building, they’re going to have to make an offer today if they really want it.
I assess my surroundings with scrutinizing eyes and, still, only see good things.
Doorman? Check.
Marble floors and modern updates in the spacious lobby? Check.
Yep. They’ll definitely need to put in an offer if they want a chance. The New York real estate market is booming, and the buyers currently outnumber the sellers by a landslide.