Epilogue Part 2

When we arrive at my parent's house, I'm a little shocked that Leed opens the door.

"R's!" He grins opening his long arms and embracing us both. "What the hell have you guys been up to these last few months? Slackin'? No shows, no appearances, no calls to the fam..."

"We're working on a new project," Riley says casually.

I'm eager to direct. "No offense, but what are you doing here Lawson?"

He looks slightly uncomfortable. "We were...invited. It's kind of going to be a...weird night, I think."

Riley and I exchange a look. My parents often invite SCIC to gatherings, but family dinner night has always been family dinner night. Then again, I know Leed is like the frontman-son dad never had, so... whatever.

When we move to the living room, I see everyone I expect to see. My mom on the phone, looking slightly tense as she speaks calmly. I glance around, notice that my baby brother is absent, and suspect she's trying to track him down, force him by will or bribe to attend. He's twenty now, so easier said than done.

She sees me, comes to give me a brief hug while she says, "Lane, this is not a negotiation. You live under this roof. You live at the privilege of our family resources. You can do what we ask four nights out of the year. You are not working. No, I'm sorry, Lane, I do not accept that club promoter is a real job. Not for you, anyway. You didn't even do anything to "promote" the club. You and your friends simply showed up, and the club manager gave you free bottles for the table and tweeted that you are there. You can leave at any time; you don't even have a contract to appear there. No, you may not bring them. I know that, but bringing your drunken entourage is not the same as your sister inviting her boyfriend."

She looks me up and down, gives me a big smile, rolls her eyes at the phone, hugs Riley, and wanders away still talking to my brother.

Trace is standing with Leed, schooling Birch and Lyra about a series of old Skid Marcs pictures in his cool rockstar-dad way. Lyra is trying to edge away but Leed wraps an arm around her to keep her. From the trophy room, I can hear the sounds of the piano and I bet Lucy is in there. No telling where Alder is. Probably tucked in a nook reading a book. I wonder if Trace and Kat brought Willow or left her at home.

Beautiful, happy Kat is in conversation with my twin, but Kat seems to be doing most of the talking. Elegant Bridge has learned the art of appearing interested so well that even I can never tell if she's faking it.

I walk over to my ageless, pony-tailed big brother.

"Hey, Loser." I grin, framing an L on Street's forehead.

The four-year-old blonde girl in his arms giggles and pushes at my hand so she can plaster her own L onto her daddy's nose.

"Great example, Row," he says coolly to me, but then he smiles at his daughter.

"It's not nice to call someone a loser, with your words or hands. Girls with naughty fingers get them eaten," he tells her as he pretends to munch them in Cookie Monster fashion, and she squeals, wriggling to get down. He sets her on her feet and tells her, "Go find Pops and tell him Row and Riley are here."

She clings to his leg instead. She and Street live here with my parents, so I think it's more about the overwhelming houseful of guests than any reluctance that she might feel about seeking out "Pops." She loves my dad.

Riley leans down, offering her his arm. "Miss Aurora, will you allow me to escort you in your quest to find your grandfather?"

She giggles at him. She's big on Disney Princesses and Riley is good at playing the gallant prince. She puts her arm in his, but he brings his other arm beneath her bottom, pulling her up into his arms.

Street automatically reaches out to steady Riley, who rolls his eyes. Aurora doesn't weigh much. He wasn't in any danger of losing his balance, but Street is so protective of her.

As they wander off, I catch sight of my seventeen-year-old baby sister flouncing down the stairs with her asshole of a boyfriend. His fly is unzipped and her lipstick is a mess.

Despite their obvious and inappropriate romantic liaison minutes before dinner, they are already arguing. His face is a mask of disdain and he's hovering over her, spitting words at her, barreling down the stairs behind her as her shoulders raise in a defensive way that tells me she's obviously trying to escape his foul mood. She flings back a cool response, and he reaches out and grabs her arm, nearly causing her to stumble on the stairs.

"I am going to kick his ass," Street growls, but I grab his arm.

"Not in front of your daughter, you're not." I remind him. "Besides, it looks like a cooler and much scarier head than you will prevail over that shithead."

Devlin Cavendish is waiting at the bottom of the stairs with a smile that doesn't match the menace in his eyes.

"I'm surprised he's here, actually." Street says as they watch Dev lean in, speak calmly to Alley, whose lips I can read quite clearly as she tells him, "Fuck off Dev," and steps around him.

"Well, they are still married," I remind him, thinking of the number of family dinners Riley attended after he didn't want to be married to me anymore. Dev and Bridge are in the opposite boat, however. Bridge filed for divorce, but they will still be married for quite some time if Dev has anything to do with it. A contested divorce takes five years to acquire in England, and Dev is most definitely contesting.

"She must have let him come, though," I say to Street, glancing at my sister.

"They are good at civilities, aren't they? Despite the fact that he's stolen all her money."

"He didn't steal it," I defend him. "It was her choice not to have a prenup. It was her choice to entail her inheritance to his family estate."

"She was brainwashed," Street objects. "He and his aristocratic lawyer friends got in her head with their medieval notions about noble estates and legacies for the children she would have. And he can't even inherit his father's title, which is the most ironic part."

"Nope, but he did inherit the estate. And anyway, about two dozen American lawyers advised her against doing what she did. And dad. And mom. And you and Trace and Riley and everyone she knows. She did what she wanted to do, and she did it irrevocably. In fact, I think that's part of the reason that Dev won't grant her a divorce. He doesn't want her to lose her inheritance, and he can't give it back."

"Ironic that he has a castle and yet he's no prince," Street says sarcastically as we watch Alley's boyfriend Rafferty sneer at Dev. Dev pushes Raff into the dining room out of the line of everyone's sight. I have half a mind to step into the hall to peep at the scene, but before I can Raff blows out of the dining room in a huff, zipping his fly and yelling, "Fuck this bullshit, Als! I'm outta here!" He slams the door.

My sister yells, "Oh my god!" and tries to chase him down, after Street and I block her exit. Dev comes strolling from the dining room and adds to our blockade.

Alley's displeasure focuses on Dev. "What the fuck did you do, Dev!?!?"

"Not a thing. We just had a little chat. I suggest you give young Rafferty some space to cool off, however. Because if you go after him, I'll be forced to send Cheddar and crew to look after you. I don't think they will engage as reasonably with Raff if they see him lay hands on you again."

"That's true, Als. They put an asshole that got out of hand with me in the hospital once. Smashed his cheek, he was a mess," I tell her, hoping she'll stay rather than risk Rafferty's gorgeous face being smashed in.

My sister cares a lot for looks. She is young and immature, not to mention tall, blonde, and beautiful. The most gorgeous and graceful del Marco. She's a model in fact, as is her douche-bag boyfriend. But she doesn't look so beautiful now as her face twists in rage at Dev.

"I despise you," she says. It hurts my heart to hear her say that. When she was a tween, she was Dev's special favorite in our family, and she treated him more like a brother than her own.

"I get that sentiment a lot from the women in your family," he says coolly as he pulls a flask from his pocket at offers it to her. "Have a drink, love. It numbs hatred."

"She's seventeen," Street protests, but Alley has already snatched the proffered flask and stomped away.

Dev looks at Street as if Street's observation doesn't compute. "She's too young to drink, you know?" Street expands.

"Americans," Dev chuckles.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Street continues.

Dev sobers and puts his hands in the pockets of his bespoke suit. He stares across the room at my twin, who gives him a cursory, expressionless glance and resumes her conversation with Kat. She turns slightly from our trio. Whether on purpose or unconsciously I'm not sure, but she's guarding herself against Dev, and I don't know why.

No one does. No one understands Bridget's change of heart. It's true that their life plans altered dramatically from what Bridge imagined their life would be like, but it's not a bad life, it's just different than what they planned. And Dev still loves her tremendously. She loves him, too. I know my twin well enough to know that her love doesn't just switch off like a light switch. She loves him, but she's in a world of hurt and so is he. Whatever happened must be really bad.

"It's family dinner night. And whatever contempt you may all feel in regard to me, you may also recall, this is the only family I have left." His composure never fails him, but there is deep sorrow draped all over him. His entire family was wiped out in a helicopter crash some years ago, all except his mother and father, who are both gone now.

"Dev, I'm glad you're here," I say. "Do you want me to try to talk to Bridge again?" Every time I try to ask her what's going on, she shuts me down. She will only say she's they are not the same people they were four years ago when they married, and there is no path back for them.

"No. You are her twin. Your loyalties must lie with her. I wouldn't have it any other way." He pulls a steak knife from his vest pocket. "Since Rafferty has left, I should return this to the dinner service. Excuse me."

With aristocratic dignity, he turns on his heel and goes to put back the steak knife he apparently threatened to stab Raff with.

No, not stab, I muse, Dev is good at reading people. He probably threatened to cut the vain little shithead's face, knowing that would unnerve him more.

Street stares after him. "He's a head-case. He really is." He turns his thoughts to Bridge, watching her carefully. "You don't think he... he treated her like that, do you? Threatened her, or even... hurt her? I mean, like, a drunken argument that went too far, or something?"

I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind. It would explain how everything went from fine—okay, a little stressed between them—to the Cold War.

Not to mention, there's no question that Dev is a man who is prone to lead with his basest, most aggressive instincts when provoked. But I asked my sister. She smiled at me bleakly and said, no, of course not. Dev has never or would never threaten or hurt her physically. There was something she was holding back, but she wasn't lying.

"No, he hasn't. I asked her point-blank if he'd abused her in any way. She said no. She was telling the truth."

"Wow, invoking the twindar for such a serious confrontation. Props, Sis. Brave."

"Necessary." I sigh. For the first time in our rather long conversation, I turn my attention to Street. He looks tired, and there's no light in his gray eyes like there use to be. I think he's probably been teetering on the edge of depression for a while. I reach out an arm to him.

"Hey. How are you?" I ask him.

He shrugs again. "Oh, you know. I'm a single dad on the backside of thirty-five who lives with his parents and has no job, no girlfriend—"

"You have a career. You're an artist—"

"Yeah, it's getting a lot harder to pretend that. I haven't completed a series since I got Rory. So how am I? You pretty much called it, Sis..."

He grimaces and puts the L back on his forehead.

I snatch his hand down. "You are not. I was fucking joking. You're a great person, a wonderful father, a talented artist and someone's out there for you, Street. It's a tough season of your life, but it will get better."

"Yeah, I know," he says, without any conviction at all.

"At least you're filthy rich." I remind him.

That gets me a grin. "Funny how what they say is so true."

"You mean about money not buying happiness?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know. But it can buy you a new Italian sports car," I suggest. "Those make you happy. For a little while."

He rallies and gives me a smile. "True. Let's go test drive a few while you're in town. You're the only person in this family with the balls to really wind it out on the track..."

"She can't," Riley says flatly, arriving with Pops, who now has Rory in his arms. I could, but it would probably be a trip I made over Riley's dead body. I'd have to run over him before he'd let me take to the track in a Ferrari, especially right now. Or probably, he'd protest even if I wasn't pregnant.

Not that I would fight him on it. I haven't been to the track with Street in years. It's the safest place to drive a sports car really fast, but accidents do sometimes happen, and I haven't really felt the need for speed since Riley cracked his back.

"You can't, huh?" My dad croaks in his raspy voice. "How come? Do you guys have a doctor's appointment, maybe? Or something else you want to share?" He blatantly looks at my middle then meets my eyes.

"Nope. I can't go to the track because we aren't staying. We have a jet back tonight. Show in a couple of days." It's a lie, but I can make a truth with one quick text to Leander. "Right, Ems?"

"Yep. What she says." He sounds casual but gives me a narrow squint for making him an accomplice to my lie. In truth, we'd planned to stay a few days, but I can already see that my dad is going to hound me incessantly about my "action plan" to have a baby.

When Riley and I started trying to have a baby right after our last tour finished, and I got pregnant and miscarried right away, my dad felt compelled to give advice.

"I know you're sad, and Riley will probably say I'm being insensitive to your grief and tell me to mind my own business, but your mom and I have been through this. Creating new joy will help you heal this grief. I know what I'm talking about, Doodle. If it's a baby you want, don't give up because you're afraid. Get off the couch, pick a doctor, tell Riley to find his balls and warm up his playing hand, and go make a baby the modern way! It's what we did to make both Lane and Alley."

Yeah, that's another reason we have to get the hell out here without spilling the beans. Nobody wants to hear my dad reminiscing about that, or experience him trying to swap stories with Riley about the experience of providing samples at the fertility clinic.

"Dinner," my mother calls.

Everyone moves into the massive indoor dining room because it's a little too warm outside to eat comfortably in the outdoor dining area.

To my shock, Trace's other parents come strolling in from the kitchen with Alder and Willow.

What.The.Fuck.

I bristle at my dad, for bringing his other woman home to dinner. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"You mean my mother?" Trace snarks as he comes up behind us, hand on nine-year-old Birch's shoulder. "This guy's grandmother?"

He's reminding me to watch what I say in front of the kid. "Birch, I feel like a ginger ale with dinner, will you roll out to the kitchen to get me one?"

"Can I have one too?"

"Yes," I say at the same time Trace says "No."

Birch, anticipating that exact reaction, hadn't waited for either of our answers. I'm sure he'll have guzzled half of his before arriving at the dinner table. At the same time, Street anticipates a healthy dose of adult-like words and emotions are likely to erupt from me and he grabs his daughter from our dad's arms.

"Come on, Rory, let's get a good seat."

I round on my dad as soon as he's out of earshot. "Was this your idea?" I gesture, jerking my head to the Gallants.

"Well, yes," he says guardedly.

"Why?"

"We'll get to it."

"That's bullshit, dad. I can't believe you expect Mom to go along with this."

"Hey," Trace says. "That's my mother. Stop acting like she was your dad's sidepiece or something. She and your mom had no overlap."

"That's not the point Trace. It's about respect. I'm sure she's a lovely person—him too—" I sling a hand at Ross, "but if Riley had knocked up some other woman while we were separated, you would not see him inviting her to family dinner night."

Riley made a noise of consideration, "Well if we had a child together, I suppose..."

I hold up a hand to him, shutting him up. "Believe me, buddy, you would not. Neutral territory would be good enough for whatever kinds of interactions we needed to have. But you would not entertain her in our home. Think about how you would feel in the reverse circumstances."

He raised his eyebrows. "Fair point well made."

I catch my mother's attention, trying to convey both my irritation and solidarity. She just smiles serenely at me and ushers my dad's Babymama to her seat like she's an honored guest.

"What the hell is going on?" I hiss to my dad.

"Damn, I already said we'll get to it. Let's eat first. I'm starving. Are you hungry? You look really thin, Row. Have you been eating enough? Has something stolen your appetite?"

"Get away from me," I tell my father. "Go sit by your babymama."

He chuckles and strolls off. Trace steps around me, blocking my path. His face is calm but there is an edge to his voice when he says, "You're pissing me off, Row. Big time. And we haven't rumbled in years, but we are about to."

"No, you're not, I assure you," Riley says with a near-identical edge.

Trace blinks, looking between us. "Oh. Because you are pregnant?" He reaches toward me to depress my dress.

I slap his hand away. "Touch me, and I will fucking stab you with my stiletto, Gallant." I turn to Riley. "Why do people think even the false declaration that someone is pregnant gives them a right to reach out and get personal?" I round on Trace. " That's so douchey and disrespectful, Trace, and you don't even realize it."

"What is with you tonight? Jesus Christ, Riley, how do you live with her? She goes from zero-to-bitchy in 2.5 seconds," Trace says to my husband.

I open my mouth to cuss Trace out but Riley interjects. "Shut it, you lot. It's rude to make the table wait while you two behave like jackals. Row, your mom looks perfectly fine with having Trace's mother here. Perhaps you should take your social cue from her. Trace, the juvenile things you snarl about your sister don't translate well to me— as the man that loves her. Don't say that kind shyte about her to me. Ever. Come along, darling," he jerks me rather roughly across the foyer, toward the dining room.

We put our heads together as I shuffle along on my heels. "Stop dropping clues. You're terrible at hiding this," I hiss at him.

"I'm terrible at this? You're terrible at this! Making dates to the track with Street? Overreacting like a hormonal pregnant woman? There's only so much damage control I can do—"

"Just shut-up and be with me in this."

"Fine."

My mother calls from the head of the table. "Lane is on his way, but we'll start with the oysters..."

"Oh god," Riley and I mutter as one. Not only can't I have oysters, but I also can't abide the smell of seafood.

"Alright, here's what you do. When the oysters come, nibble on bread. Keep it between you and the oysters. If the smell starts to bother you, either...I don't know...put the bread close to your nose and breath in its scent. Or maybe pretend to choke on it and leave the table..."

"Okay. Okay. Got it. I can do this."

"Or we could just tell them," he drawls.

"No!" I point a finger under his nose. "Especially not now. Right now I want to know why the hell the Gallants and the Lawsons are here. Something is up."

"I agree. Something is up."

My mother has really gone all out for this dinner. It's a little more formal than usual. It's always catered but tonight she has staff. I see suited waiters waiting with wine to serve us when we sit.

Riley pulls out my chair for me, and I loop arms with my twin as I slide into the seat beside her. Dev has taken a seat down by Leed. "You'll feel right at home tonight," I tease her, gesturing to the very formal table as she sits beside me.

"We only have a formal meal like that when we have guests," she whispers.

"You always have them when I'm there," I note.

"Because Mrs. Lewis considers you a guest, and it's easier to follow Mrs. Lewis' ideas regarding guests rather than argue with my housekeeper," she hisses as if that were obvious. I never knew that was the protocol, and I'm a little affronted because I'm her twin, not a guest, but I've long suspected that despite the fact that my sister is  the mistress of the castle, a lot of what happens at Mallerton isn't only up to Bridge, as she just confirmed.

"So what do you do when we aren't there?" I ask, curious.

"Most of the week, we eat in the kitchen."

"You and Dev?" I ask. That's a good sign if she and Dev are sharing meals.

"Dev is hardly there. He's mostly in London. I meant Lily, her parents, and me."

Lily is the daughter of the butler and head housekeeper and at Mallerton Castle. Like her parents, she's an employee of the estate. Lily is in charge of the tours and events that take place several times a week in the public part of the castle. She and Bridge work together because Bridge manages some of the hospitality programs now.

Lily is basically Bridge's best friend now. Her live-in companion, so to speak. I'm sure it gets lonely in a place that big.

"Mrs. Randall allows you to eat in her kitchen but not your family when we come to visit? I don't get it. Why should she insist on respecting us but not you?"

Bridge gives me a sharp look. "It's not about Dev. Or me. When there is a party of guests, it's about displaying the dignity of the estate. Mallerton Castle was the seat of the House of Bluemond, there's history and pride attached to that. But Dev and I don't really matter. We are merely caretakers of the estate ourselves. Not that much different than Mr.and Mrs. Lewis."

"But you own it. Dev inherited the estate. And he put all his money and all your money into it. So I'd say that pretty much makes you the Lord and Lady of the place."

"Titles don't matter anymore. And it's not like the aristocracy embraces us anyway," She waves a hand and takes an unhappy swallow of wine.

"I think you just let them treat you like shit. If sinking Dev's fortune and then yours into the place didn't buy you some cred with those stuffy blue-bloods—"

"Entailing our fortunes to ensure the survival of a part of British history earned us the respect of a number of people who used to look down on us, but... it doesn't matter. I don't care about that. That's not why I entailed my money to Mallerton. I don't even know why we are talking about this. Soon, I'll be home and that part of my life will be over."

"You could come home now," I tell her.

"I'm working on it. I have a great many responsibilities of which to divest myself." She casts a meditative glance at her husband, and then she looks down at her lap.

"If you weren't so very miserable, I'd make fun of the way you talk now. I have a great many responsibilities of which to divest myself." I mimic her vocabulary that has shifted slightly east of the Atlantic, playing up an accent much more lofty than hers.

From my left, Riley interjects, "We've been together for nearly fifteen years, and you still feign the worst British accent I've ever heard. It's like a Klingon who grew up in South Africa trying to speak the Queen's English. I don't understand it. How can your ear be that bad for an accent you hear every day?"

"Shut up," I tell him. "Oh wait, how do you say it to Dev? Belt-up, you tosser," I amend hamming up the accent.

"I wish you'd belt up if you're going to keep on with that accent," he grins at me, swallowing his wine.

This reminds me, that I have nothing to drink except wine. Damn. That little stinker drank his ginger ale and mine. "Can I get some water?" I ask the waiter.

"Why aren't you drinking your wine? Are you pregnant?" Bridge asks immediately.

"No," I say dismissively, giving her my best direct look. I was an actress for Chrissakes. "No," I say, a little more sadly.

She stares at me. "Liar.".

"Oh my god, Bridge. Your twindar is so far off. But thanks for bringing it up and ruining my night—"

"Liar!" she says a little more loudly.

I whack her hard under the table. "Okay, okay. I may be..." I say through gritted teeth. "Be cool, dammit."

Despite the fact that I just tried to paralyze her with the karate chop I delivered to her thigh, she grabs my hand under the table and squeezes. "What does may be mean?"

Riley leans behind me, and Bridge meets him back there. "It means she's four and half months pregnant. With twins."

"Oh my god!" Bridge shrieks, standing up, staring down at me. It's not really a happy shriek but a shrill one. Seeing the shock settle into confusion in her eyes, I realize she's... hurt. She's upset that I kept it from her this long.

"Bridge..." I'm giving her pleading eyes not to out me. We both know there's something she isn't telling me, too. I love her very much, but the distance between us has spiraled both ways in the last year.

Dev rises at his end of the table. He looks distressed, but he always looked distressed in her presence now. "What is it?"

She looks around the table, startled to see everyone staring at her. "Nothing... I..." she holds up her and I'm surprised to see a trickle of blood there. "Splinter," she says, with relief, flashing the visible chunk of rough wood in her hand. "So stupid, I forgot this was the chair that Lane cracked, I was running my hand around the seat. I... excuse me..."

She grabs her napkin and pinches her finger in it, walking toward the exit. Dev moves to follow her, but she murmurs. "It's just a splinter, Dev. I don't need you," she says with a weariness that makes it plain she does not want him. He sits back down as she leaves the room.

Everyone's attention has focused on him now. A kind of quiet pity settles over the table.

Dev gives everyone a defiant glare then raises his own glass. "Here's to contested divorce! It's a good thing we have a lot of distance between my bedchamber and hers for the moment. No matter, I'm sure it will all come right. In a year or four.Cheers!"

No one laughs. "Dev, why are you doing this to her?" my mom says quietly.

He continues to drink his wine. "Respectfully, there are things that go on in a marriage that are not open for public discussion."

"Here, here," Riley says. "I'll drink to that, Mate."

"You don't have a marriage," Matt tells him. "You're holding my daughter hostage."

"We've had a rough start. She's terribly homesick. She misses LA. She is...not in a good place right now. That is all."

"That's bullshit. You had a rough start, granted, but that was some years ago. Everything was fine, now it's not fine," My dad's voice gets even more hoarse when he's emotional. "What did you do, Dev?"

A flash of something awful passes over Dev's expression, but he sets his jaw and repeats, "She is not in a good place. She thinks she can... escape our problems, but it won't work. She loves me," he says. "And I love her. And we will work this out."

"I don't think so, Dev," my mother says. "She married you with the expectation of a life you now won't give her."

"It's not a matter of want," he says sharply. "I may not hold his title, but I have an obligation to honor my father's lifework. He always envisioned Mallerton would be restored, not to splendor, but to some practical means of helping the County Seat that sustained it for a six hundred years. What does anything mean, if we don't honor family, traditional community? That is my life's work now. To make Mallerton serve its community. DevBlu was a childish persona. His life doesn't exist anymore. But Bridge didn't marry him. She married me. She loves me. She entailed her inheritance to Mallerton because she believes in the same things I believe in. No, Marianne, that is not the trouble between us, and if Bridge has led you to believe that? Then you must respect that she doesn't want to share her true feelings or our real struggles with you. But I know well what the problems are, and I am telling you all, I will not give up on this marriage. Why should we be any different than Row and Riley? Or you and Matt? Or Trace and Kat? Or his parents?"

He turns to look at Ross and Gina.

Gina looks embarrassed. Ross sips his water and leans over to Trace. "Is it always like this?"

"No, usually Dev is a lot funnier, and Matt is a lot cockier, and someone has usually gotten thrown in the pool by now," Trace mutters, then clears his throat and raises his own glass. "Dev, I'm with ya, brother. Marriage is a fluked- up institution a full third of the time. Hang in there."

Kat murmurs to Alder, "Don't worry baby, Mommy and Daddy already had our fluked-up times before you guys were born. No more fluking in our family."

"No more fluking? Really? Daaaang," Leed feigns horror.

Everyone laughs, breaking the tension. Dev sighs and asks the waiter for a gin, but otherwise, he is off the hook.

The door slams and Lane swaggers in, grabbing a wine bottle from one of the waiters on the way to claiming Bridge's seat.

Lane makes no apology for his lateness, but he drops down beside me, and slurps up one of Bridge's oysters, turning to me and showing me his mouthful of food before drinking from the wine bottle. I gag and turn my head toward Riley. He quickly stuffs a piece of bread in my hand. As I take a bite and try not to vomit, Lane says, "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing much—" Riley begins

"Of course, because there is no point to these dinners—"

"But you are right on time for someone to explain what the Gallants and the Lawsons are doing at family dinner," Riley talks right over Lane's rudeness as I tear another huge bite of the bread and focus on its sweet scent, backing away from my own plate of oysters.

"Not yet. After we eat. However..." My dad clears his throat, but then loses whatever he was going to say as he stares at Riley.

Riley has slurped back all four of his oysters and is frantically eating mine now, trying to remove them from my presence, as he picks up our shell-filled plates and gestures them at the waiter in order to remove the fishy stench from me.

"Damn Rye," Lane laughs, "Row, you better take some Ibuprofen before the bangathon in your bedroom tonight. You aren't gonna be able to walk tomorrow."

"Lane del Marco, time and place, young man!" I yell and throw my wine right in his face. I figure it was a good way to get rid of it.

"Oh my god!" he bellows and leaps up just like Bridge had ten minutes ago, but unlike Bridge he staggers backward. He's drunk. Very drunk and pretty good at hiding it. That explains things. My dad is kind of a belligerent drunk. Looks like Lane is shaping up to be the same way.

"Bitch! Are you crazy?" Lane is still yelling at me, flapping his shirt. "This is a Brioni!"

"It's just white wine, bitch," I say, dragging him back down into his seat and patting him off with my napkin. And Riley's. "You deserved it," I growl at him.

Lane and I have always been as close as our age difference allowed, so I know he's not really angry. Not at me, at least. He's so drunk he has lost control of his rock star face, and he's smothering a grin at me. He knows damn well he deserved the wine shower. And he's not done making a nuisance of himself, since Mom has forced him to come to a family dinner he has no desire to attend. He takes off his shirt, tosses it to a waiter, and proceeds to calmly eat Bridge's oysters.

"Did you drive home?" My dad asks.

Lane ignores him.

"Lane!"

"Chill," he gives our dad a scornful laugh. "Limo."

Leed is watching Lane with something between amusement and disapproval. Amusement, I think for the tremendous amount of ink that Lane has acquired in the last year. Disapproval of course, because what's not to disapprove of in Lane's behavior right now. "Well, at least he has a sense of self-preservation." He notes to the table at large.

That's Lawson. Always landing on the bright side.

"Nobody asked for your opinion, dude." Lane doesn't even look up at Leed. Lane thinks he's so cool that all of the rest of us hardly deserve his attention. The waiter, however, gets his abuse. Lane gestures at him. "Don't lose that shirt," he peers at the cater waiter's name tag, "David. It's worth more money than you will make all weekend. See if you can find the laundry and put it there for the maid. And can you round up a bottle of tequila from the bar downstairs and bring it to the table?"

"He will not, and you will apologize to David and Leed and your sister for your rudeness, and you will put on a shirt," my mother says calmly.

"Look, I didn't even want to be here, but you wouldn't stop calling and calling and bitching at me, and Row's the one that threw wine all over me so why don't you bitch at her instead—"

"Lane," my dad warns.

"I'm serious. I don't even know why I have to be here. It's always a boring hassle. You summoning us like the King of the Goddamn Universe. Mom trying to control everybody once we're here—put on a shirt, apologize..." he mimics her. "Nobody fucking cares who does what, because nobody wants to be here."

"Goddammit Lane, you heard your mother! Go put on a fucking shirt and be back at this table in sixty seconds with apologies or I swear to fuck I'm gonna put a shirt on you and make you apologize after I kick your ass!" my dad roars.

Even I jumped at my dad's outburst, but Lane just keeps eating his oysters. "You think you could, old man?" he says. Again, not even looking at my dad.

My dad leaps rigid from his seat. Rory whimpers in her seat and Street stands up too, but he's got one hand on Rory's head and one hand reached out to our dad. "Dad. The kids think you mean what you say," he says calmly.

Street is right. Alder is looking straight down at his lap. Birch's eyes are wide as saucers, but he's watching the proceedings like a tennis match. Willow is sitting in Gina's lap and she has hidden her face while Gina speaks to her quietly. Lucy and Lyra, somewhat older, just look mildly uncomfortable.

My dad has gone completely hoarse after his outburst. "Oh, I fucking mean it, Street. I've had enough of his bullshit." Matt points a finger at Lane. "You have the potential to be an amazing person, Lane—with talents and intelligence to use any way you want, but all you seem to want to do with your life is piss everyone off at all times. You are twenty years old. This is the kind of shit Street outgrew at twelve."

"Well, I'm not Street. Obviously."

"You got that right." To my surprise that's Trace. He strides around the table and jerks Lane's chair out. "You're a lot more like me—pissed off at the world. But the difference between me and you? I had a good reason to be, and my toughness isn't an act. I try not to overreact these days, but I do know how to throw a punch, when necessary. And it seems pretty close to necessary at the moment. So unless you want this family to watch me teach you how to take a punch, you should go put on a shirt and come back with some goddamn respect to show your mother and your sister, and to the world at large."

"Sit your old ass down, man," Lane sneers. "You ain't gonna hit nobody. Everybody knows you're fucking traumatized and pussy-whipped—"

Trace grabs Lane by his blonde hair, and my baby brother howls as he's hauled through the dining room.

Everyone's chairs push back, except for Ross and Gina who look fairly upset.

"Oh, sorry no one explained," Riley leans across the table. "This is the part where someone gets thrown in the pool. Tonight it will obviously be Trace tossing Lane in. We typically walk out to watch. Then we'll move on to the salad course, I suppose."

Kat has Birch by the arm, keeping him from running out ahead and getting caught in the tussle. Alder doesn't not like conflict at all, he's hanging by Ross, who looks grim, maybe too grim to ease Alder's worries. Riley takes Alder by the shoulders and in between us as we stroll to the pool leisurely, delaying in case Lane resists and an actual tussle ensues.

"You know your dad would never hurt Lane, right? He's just going to give him the kind of time-out a twenty-year-old punk has to have to reflect on his bad behavior."

"I'll never be like that," Alder whispers.

"Oh, never say never," I tell Alder. "I was very much the girl version of that. But at sixteen. By twenty I had mostly grown out of it."

"You were never like that. You had a strong personality, but you also had a work ethic and a dream. He has no direction whatsoever. I should have buckled down on him years ago. Made him work hard at...something. I thought he'd find his own creative path, like the rest of you...." My dad is upset, wracked with guilt about Lane, but it comes out as anger.

Alder was listening and somehow senses my dad's feelings even if he didn't fully understand everything my dad said. He reaches for my dad's hand. "It's not your fault. I think you're good. You're good with us. Lane's just...bad."

Matt sighs. "He's not bad, he's just angry, and I don't know why. But you know who's awesome? Your dad is so cool. He's the Iceman, and he's just gonna help Uncle Lane find his chill right now. You got swim stuff here, right? I'll throw you in the pool afterward if you want. Or you can try to throw me in."

"Okay, I'll push you in," Alder says, his little heart lightened. He skips ahead, and my dad speed through the trophy hall to keep pace.

Alley is complaining to Mom. "I don't know why you give me such a hard time about Raff when Lane is ten times the asshole that Raff is. I mean, you raised Lane, so how you think you have any right to judge Raff is beyond me."

"If Lane behaved toward a girl the way he's behaving right now, I would tell her the same thing I tell you—he's not mature enough to date anyone. Drop him."

I can tell from the strain in my mom's voice that she's as pissed off as my dad, but she's keeping it together. She has the patience of a saint.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" I whisper. "What if Kenny and Dolly aren't like us? What if they are like Lane and Alley?"

Riley grins at me. "We can always stop at two. The problem here is your parents have been overrun."

"Mmmm. I may have to think about that," I say.

By the time we reach the pool deck, it's all over but the shoutin'. Lane is waist-deep, yelling at Trace to come get some. Trace is still lecturing, telling Lane what an idiot he is when he's drunk, and how ashamed he's going to be when he sobers up tomorrow.

Leed is laughing his ass off at Lane because a good portion of his new ink is not tattooed at all but temporary.

Then Lane tries to jump out of the pool and lunge for Trace's feet, but he falls back in, busting his face up.

That's when his emotions change. The blood upsets him. I don't think any of us really realized how drunk he was until he starts to cry while staggering all over the pool. He says we all hate him. We don't know what it's like to feel the pressure to measure up to the rest of us. Some of the same angst I think Street used to have.

Street takes pity on him. He hands Rory off to Bridge and jumps into the pool.

"Trace, help me out, man," he calls. Trace sighs heavily, stops lecturing, and starts helping. They converge on Lane and manage to get his drunk, sodden ass out. They drag him into the house, and I hear Trace saying, "Lane, man. What are you so pissed off about? You gotta ask yourself that."

It's some time before Trace, Street, and Lane return. Lane does have on a shirt and he does apologize—not well, but I think he is more embarrassed than insincere. We settle back down to dinner. Bridge is forced to take the seat by Dev, and though he speaks to her quietly, and she replies, I notice that he touches her shoulder once and her head twerks as if she's wanting to pull away but refusing to let herself in front of us.

But she said no, he hadn't hurt her, and I believed her. And our twindar is never wrong.

Lane says nothing the rest of the meal and eats nothing, just pushes food around. We let the kids eat quickly and send them all off to watch a movie, all except Willow who is asleep in Ross's lap at the table, and Rory, who trots back and forth to tell Street what is happening in the movie.

It's so sweet the way he listens to her. It breaks my heart because I know why he makes the extra effort to focus on her ramblings which are mostly incoherent to the rest of us. Because our mom was always the best listener, and Rory doesn't have a mom.

Eventually, the dinner is done and my dad has run out of excuses to delay explaining why he asked Ross and Gina and Leed and Ashlynn here tonight.

"Spill it, Daddy," I demand.

"Okay. It's like this. Your mom and I aren't getting any younger—"

Everyone's heads snap up.

"Don't look at me like that," he says. "I'm not sick. But time is definitely a commodity that your mom and I have a lot less of than we used to."

He's not wrong. They look about fifty-five, but they are both pushing seventy.

"And it's occurred to both of us, that we aren't doing some of our kids any favors, in the status quo." His eyes shift to Lane, then back to Marianne.

"And on top of that, your mom and I recently came to the realization that we might have an opportunity to right a wrong. Something that went way wrong a while back. Something we'd really like to manifest before too much more time passes. So...we're gonna split town for a while and go chase down that opportunity."

Everybody sort of sighs in relief, me especially. "So what, like you're going to build houses in South America for two weeks?" I say, licking chocolate mousse from my spoon.

"Not exactly," my mom says. "We're headed to Asia first, but not sure where we might go from there. And we're not sure when we'll be back. That's why we've talked things over with Ross and Gina and...they've agreed to housesit for us. Be available to you, Alley, if you need any help. And to help you a little Street—with Rory if you need a helping hand."

"Wait...what?" Alley says. "God, mom. I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen soon. I don't need a babysitter. Street and I can manage fine for a couple of weeks."

"She's right. I'll look out for her," Street says, his brows creased in concern. "Or is it more that you think I can't take care of my own daughter? I've had her since she was eighteen months old. I haven't broken her yet," he jokes.

"You're a wonderful father, Street," Marianne smiles. "But you don't have any other help, and Alley is very busy with school and her modeling opportunities, and this is a very large household to run. We just want you both to have some backup. Because we are probably going to be gone longer than a couple of weeks. In fact, we're not coming back until we find what we're looking for."

"And what exactly is that?" Street asks.

"Something that I hope will make our family... the way it should be," Marianne says.

"Is this like...a spiritual quest or something?" Trace asks. "Is that why Leed and Ashlynn are here?"

"Well, it's a quest, I guess you could say. But Leed and Ash are here because...they've agreed to help with the other part of this." my dad sighs. "Lane."

My brother doesn't look up.

"Lane," my dad growls again.

Lain gives him a disinterested look of contempt. "You see Lane, Street can take care of himself and Rory, and we've got Alley covered, but I wouldn't subject your drama to Ross and Gina for all the money in the world. That's why, we're kicking you out, cutting you off."

"Yeah, right," Lane shakes his head.

"It's true," my dad says. "Your mom wasn't one hundred percent on board with that part of the plan, but you put the nails in your own coffin tonight. It's time you grew up a little, learned how the other half live." Matt pulls his wallet, tosses a wad of cash at the base of Lane's dessert dish. "That's five thousand dollars. That should help with first and last month's rent, security deposits, some groceries. After that, you're on your own. You want back in this house, you have to have to hold down a job while we're gone. Leed has offered to check in on you, make sure you've got your bases covered. He's not gonna give you any money, he's not gonna let you stay at his place, he might not even bail you out of jail, but you can go to him for practical advice."

Leed grins at Lane. "First things first. Fake tats? Just say no, Lane."

Lane gives him a contemptuous glare. Then he turns to our mom. "This is a joke, right?"

"No, Sweetheart, we are very serious. This is for your own good."

"This is bullshit." Lane looks more worried than angry.

"This is happening," my dad says firmly.

"You can't force me out of my own home."

"My home. And I really can."

Lane stares at my dad for a long minute. Then he pushes back from the table throwing his chair across the room.

"Fuck you!" He yells at my dad. "This is all some scared-straight bullshit. I'd like to see you actually throw me out of the house."

"Not me, Son," Matt says quietly.

Lane storms from the dining room, but he is barred from heading up the stairs to his room by a security guard, who has a suitcase of his things.

"Give him your car keys, and take your stuff, and go. Get yourself together, and we'll talk when your mom and I get back."

Lane looks between the security guard and my mom. "Mom, where am I supposed to go? Five thousand dollars won't last two days in LA."

"Not the way you live, no." She doesn't look at him. "You should probably ask Leed to help you find an apartment. When he was your age, he didn't have a lot of money. He was very resourceful at stretching his funds."

As if on cue, Leed rises, reaches across the table for the five grand Lane had left, on the table, kisses Ashlynn on the temple, and says, "Come on, man. I know a couple roadies that will rent you a couch real cheap for a couple of days. Might even let you move in if you don't act like an asshole."

Lane laughs in disbelief. He walks back into the dining room, bypassing Leed. "Row, since Mom and Dad have clearly lost their minds, can I come stay with you? East Coast might be a better deal anyway. I need to get out of this town."

I close my eyes. I can't believe my parents are doing this. I was a spoiled brat and a hellion to boot when I was a teenager, and they never once threatened this. Street was stoned for the last two years of high school, but he made perfect, effortless grades and never got in any trouble. They treated him like he was a perfect son. Bridge was a perfect daughter, so no trouble there. Lane has been a handful but kicking him out seems extreme.

Then again, I was married and making millions in income when I was Lane's age. Street went to Berkeley; Bridge to Juliard. And Lane is doing nothing with his life. Since he graduated high school he has done nothing but party.

Riley takes my hand. "No, Lane. You can't live with us. That would short circuit the very things your parents are trying to teach you—self-reliance and humility," Riley says. I know he's right, but maybe if Lane had a change of scenery, maybe if we helped him get a job in Asheville—

"I didn't ask you, Riley. I asked my sister." Lane's tone is pure venom. Complete disdain for the man whose roof he's asking to stay under.

"Oh, Lane," I sigh. "If I had any doubt, you just decided it for me. You can't live with us. You can't treat anybody with respect. We can't have that kind of strife in our house right now."

Riley gives my hand a squeeze.

"Lane, come on, man." Leed inclines his head. "This is done."

With a final shake of his head, Lane says, "Fuck you. All of you." And he walks out.

Leed grins at us. "My karma is gonna be off the charts for this. Y'all know that, right?" And he throws deuces and follows Lane out the door.

My mom covers her face with her hands. My dad goes to her, pick her up from her chair and replaces himself beneath her, cuddling her in his lap. "You did good, baby. He needs this. You know he needs this."

My mom takes a deep breath and nods, but she doesn't trust her words right now. My dad wraps her up tight, and she blinks back tears, putting her gaze on the ceiling.

"Why Leed?" Trace asks. "Why not one of us?" He gestures at him or Street.

When Matt doesn't answer, Ross says, "He's Goldilocks, and you guys are the three bears."

Matt laughs a little. "Perceptive. Very perceptive. I knew there was a reason I trust you to hold down the fort."

"Goldilocks," Street repeats.

"Trace's love is too tough. Yours too soft. Leed's is just right, for him," Matt explains.

"Okay, but now that the asshole is gone, you guys aren't really leaving, right?" Alley says. "I mean, take a vacation sure, but you'll be back soon, right?"

I'm right there with Alley. They can't just...jet off for parts unknown, no itinerary, no plan to return.

"There's something we have to do," Matt said. "If we can."

"Well, how long do you think this quest of yours is going to take?" Street asks.

Marianne lifts her shoulders. "We have no idea."

"Estimate," I say with a growl in my voice.

Everyone looks at me. I must have sounded more growly than I realized.

"As long as it takes," Matt said. "It's very important, and we have no idea how long it will take to be successful."

"What does that even mean? Are you like expecting some kind of spiritual enlightenment or something."

"Or something," Matt says.

"Oh my god. Do you have another kid out there, that you're going to look for?" I hiss.

Matt blinks. "No. I mean," he scratches his jaw. "No, that's not what we're doing."

"Wait, does that mean you do have another kid we don't know about?" Bridge asks.

"I don't think so, Poodle. I can't swear it to, okay? The late eighties/early nineties is kind of a blur."

My mom and I roll our eyes at the same time and make identical sounds of disgust. Gina makes an uncomfortable rustling sound in her chair.

"Okay, but you guys can't seriously expect us to be cool with you two taking off, and us not having any clue where you are, when you're coming home," Trace says. "I mean, you said yourselves, you're not spring chickens anymore. What if something happens to you. What if you...get lost out there and we don't know where to look for you?"

Ross laughs. "Get lost? Jesus, Trace, they aren't puppies. They're two highly capable adults. With tremendous resources."

"Yeah, but you're too..." Street's thought fades away. He tucks his lips and looks across the table at me.

"If the word old had come out of your mouth, you could have followed Lane right out the door," Matt tells him.

Street gives our dad an indulgent smile. "Okay. You're right. We're acting like you two are doddering and decrepit."

"That's not how I'm acting at all!" I interject. "I need to know when you are planning to come back."

"We don't know, Row. We're committed to...finding what we're looking for, out there."

"Enough vague bullshit. What are you looking for?" I press.

"It's private. We aren't going to discuss that part. You just have to trust us."

"How am I supposed to trust you when you acting so shady!?!?" I yell. "No, I'm sorry this is bullshit!"

"Rowan—"

"No, Riley, this is bullshit! They can't go! Not unless they promise they are coming back. In a timely manner."

I turn to my mom. "You can't just run off. Important things happen and you're needed. And what are we supposed to do if big important things happen while you're gone?"

My mom puts her hand to her chest. "What important things might happen, honey?"

"Row, you live on the other side of the country. You never see them. Why are you freaking out?" Alley says.

"Because I need them to be right where I need them to be in case I need them! In October!" I hiss at her. "You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I think they understand," Riley says mildly. I look around the table. Bridge is smiling, and she gives Dev a tender look which he returns. Street has his eyebrows raised over a grin. Trace looks smug and says, "I knew it," to Kat.

My mom crawls off my dad's lap and comes to me, taking me by the shoulders. "October? You're having a baby in October?"

"Maybe," I say, and a sob escapes. "Maybe."

My mom tears up. "Row, that means you're well into your second trimester."

"Eighteen weeks," I say.

"Oh, honey that's wonderful. Eighteen weeks is really really far along. Everything is going to be fine this time." She hugs me so tight. "A baby!"

"Two, actually," I say and my mom gasps and rips from me, so she can see my face.

"Twins?"

I nod. She screams and hugs me harder. "Another set of twins! Can you believe it? Bridge, Kat, can you believe it?" Then she rips away from our hug again. "Fraternal or identical?"

"Fraternal. A boy and a girl," I whisper.

Now everyone raises a ruckus because that's totally new. We've had girl twins and boy twins, and now one of each.

My dad is pulling my mom away from me and opening his arms wide. "Congratulations, Doodle!" He gestures to Bridge. "Poodle, get in here! Double twin hug!"

Bridge comes around the table and tucks beneath my dad's arm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," I whisper. "I'm so scared, is all."

"I know," she says. "I understand scared. It's okay. I love you. I love my niece and nephew, too."

My dad makes a big bear hug sound and squeezes us harder.

Then he gives me a squinty eye. "You're too skinny."

"She's working very hard to put on weight. She's had hyperemesis gravidarum, but she's much better now," Riley says.

"Rowan," my mother exclaims. "You should have said! I would have come!"

"It was okay. I had Riley," I smile and squeeze his hand. He pulls me away from my father and into his arms.

"You always will," he tells me.

My dad groans. "Jesus, that's true. We're never getting rid of you, now."

"Matt," my mom swats at him.

Matt gives Riley a shit-eating grin, but puts his hand out. "Congratulations, Son."

I blink. That is not his way, with Riley. Never has been. Riley just smiles and shakes my dad's hand.

Then my dad's hand hovers over my dress. "Eighteen weeks with twins. You have to have a baby bump under there..."

I flatten my dress at the top and bottom so he can see. He laughs. My mom gasps. "Oh my God, you're so pregnant. How did I not see that?"

My dad puts a hand on his grandchildren. "So what are we calling these guys?"

"Peaches and Herb," Riley quips.

"Uh...really?" Trace says.

"You have no room to talk, Mate. Your children are named after trees," Dev retorts.

"Or sometimes we call them Donny and Marie," I explain.

"Ah, it get it," Street laughs. "How about The Captain and Tenille?"

"Good one." I agree.

Matt shakes his head and crosses his arms. "Ozzie and Lita."

Riley makes a sound of surprise. "I quite like that. Ozzie and Lita."

I bite my lip. "I kind of like that, too. Ozzie and Lita it is! I mean, at least until..." I fade away.

Riley tugs at my chin, making me look at him. "Until they are born in October, and we give them real names."

"Right," I say. "Until they are born. In October." I press down my belly again. "Here that Ozzie and Lita? Everybody knows about you know. You're real. You're real scary, but you're real."

"Oh, Row." My mother hugs me again.

"Don't go," I ask her.

"We have to. It's important. I can't tell you why, but we have to go soon or maybe we'll never find what we are looking for. But the world is a small place with our resources. I'll call you all the time. If you need me, I'll come. When it's time, we'll come home, even if we have to call a halt to our quest."

"Mom, what the hell?" I whisper.

"You just have to trust me," she tells me. "It's something we need to do very badly."

"Okay, whatever. Go do your weird thing. Just come back before Ozzie and Lita are anywhere close to being born."

"We will. I promise."