LITMIR.BIZ

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patriarch, had summoned anyone with a drop of Wainwright blood to attend a family gathering. It was to stunned silence that Wyatt disclosed the circumstances surrounding his eldest grandson’s birth. It had been Diane Humphries-Andrews and not Christiane Johnston-Wainwright who was Jordan’s birth mother.

      Brandt sat next to his cousin, stretching out long legs and crossing them at the ankle, while staring at the tips of his shoes. “I know it’s not easy for you to talk about it, but how does it feel to have two mothers?”

      Jordan sandwiched his hands between his knees. “I really don’t give it much thought.” He gave Brandt a sidelong glance. “Ironically, I feel closer to my half sisters than I do to my biological mother. I don’t hold it against Diane that she gave me up at birth, because she had unwittingly been sleeping with a man who was engaged to another woman. What I’m still dealing with is my grandfather Wyatt’s and Diane’s fathers’ underhanded wheeling and dealing. When I discovered what they’d engineered, I couldn’t help but think about what would’ve happened if my father had ended his engagement to Christiane and married Diane.”

      Brandt managed a wry smile. “You’d still be a Wainwright. And what made the lie so easy to pull off is that you look like Wyatt—even down to the black hair.”

      Jordan smiled. “Maybe, as long as I don’t start acting like him.”

      “Are you that certain you’re not like him?”

      Jordan’s deep-set eyes stared at his cousin. Brandt Wainwright was the NFL’s golden boy. In the sports world he was known as “The Viking,” with his rakish good looks and long, blond hair. A hefty two hundred fifty-five pounds were evenly distributed over Brandt’s muscular six-foot-five frame. Although Jordan was just a few days older than Brandt, there were times when he’d felt a few years older. Jordan attributed the difference in maturity to the fact that Brandt had chosen to become a professional football player, while he had decided to become a lawyer.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jordan asked.

      Brandt smiled. “Don’t get your nose out of joint, cuz. After all, I don’t want you to get a headache—especially on your wedding night.”

      “When did you become a comedian?”

      The uncomfortable silence seemed to grow with each passing second. Rarely did the two cousins argue or disagree about anything. Jordan had been an only child for ten years before his brother Noah was born, so in the meantime Brandt had been Jordan’s unofficial brother.

      Brandt had lost count of the number of times he’d stayed over at Jordan’s family’s mansion across from Central Park. Back then, he’d been too young to understand why his aunt and uncle had slept in separate bedrooms before the birth of Noah Wainwright, who was ten years Jordan’s junior. But what no one had known at the time was that Christiane was not Jordan’s biological mother. And it had taken Edward Wainwright’s wife almost a decade to forgive her husband for his indiscretion.

      “Jordan, I’m not trying to be funny,” Brandt said. “I know it can’t be easy for you to see family members who were once at each others’ throats come here today. And I saw you go through hell when you had to decide whether to invite Diane and your half sisters to your wedding. All I can say is better you than me.” Jordan nodded.

      “I know you blame your grandfathers for being puppet masters who manipulated the lives of their children, but you have to put that behind you,” Brandt continued. “Especially today when you’re beginning a new life with the woman you love.”

      The room grew quiet again.

      “You asked me whether you should invite Diane Andrews to your wedding and I said yes,” Brandt continued. “Every family has its secrets and the Wainwrights and Humphrieses are no exception.”

      Jordan put his arm across Brandt’s shoulder. “You missed your calling, cuz. You should’ve become a lawyer rather than let a bunch of three-hundred-fifty-pound linemen beat the crap out of you every Sunday.”

      Brandt chuckled. “I may play football, but I do know how to read and write.”

      “What do you plan to do when you stop playing ball?” Jordan asked.

      Brandt shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”

      “Noah said there’s a position for you at Wainwright Developers whenever you’re ready to hang up your jersey.”

      “I’ll think about it.”

      Jordan patted his cousin’s back. “Don’t think too long, cuz.” He didn’t want to remind Brandt that there was always the possibility that his career could end with him being carried out on a stretcher.

      “I won’t,” Brandt said after a reflective pause. “I plan to play for another two years and then I’m out.” Aziza, Jordan’s soon-to-be wife, had renegotiated his contract for three years instead of five. He wanted to retire at thirty-five while he was still at the top of his game. He’d entrusted his legal affairs to Aziza Fleming after he’d asked his teammate Alex whether his sister would be willing to negotiate his contract extension. Aziza proved her worth when she’d stood firm on what she’d wanted for her client, and in the end he’d been rewarded by becoming the highest-paid quarterback in the league.

      Jordan exhaled audibly and stood up. “I guess I’d better finish getting dressed.”

      “Are you nervous?” he asked.

      “Is the Pope Catholic?” Jordan replied.

      “Damn,” Brandt drawled. “You’ve always been cool and calm, never let anyone see you sweat. What’s up with you?”

      A wry smile spread across Jordan’s face. “When I woke up this morning, I finally realized the enormity of what it means to become a married man. It’s no longer about what I want or need, but also what Zee wants and needs. We’ve talked about starting a family, and it scares the hell out of me when I try to imagine being a father. Will I be too hard on my kids, or too easy? And what if I have girls? Do I chase away every boy who looks sideways at them?”

      “You have a long time before you have to worry about your daughter going out with a boy,” Brandt said. Jordan nodded.

      “I don’t know about your father, but every time my dad saw me with a new date he’d say, ‘think of her as your sister.’ Do you how that can mess with your head? Once, I did go out with a girl who reminded me of my sister, and even though I’d wanted to sleep with her it never happened.”

      Jordan chuckled. “That’s what you get for dating blondes. They’re all going to remind you of your sister.”

      A sheepish expression spread across the quarterback’s face when he smiled. “Some really weren’t natural blondes.”

      “That’s why I prefer brunettes,” said Jordan. “I’ve never been surprised once we decide to take our relationship to the next level.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I get involved with a woman.” Brandt waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks for coming to check on me, but I think I’m good here. As soon as I’m dressed, I’ll come down to see you.”

      Jordan checked his watch. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

      Brandt nodded.

      Aziza Fleming had hired wedding planner Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn of Signature Bridals and Event Planners to plan the ceremony, which was being held in the Wainwright mansion, as well as the cocktail reception in the small ballroom and dinner and dancing in the larger ballroom. Although the well-known wedding planner was on maternity leave, she’d agreed to oversee Jordan and Aziza’s wedding since Jordan’s law partner had been her husband’s law school mentor.

      Brandt reached for the gold monogrammed cufflinks, a gift from Jordan to his groomsmen, and fastened them to the French cuffs of his shirt. Then he reached for his tuxedo jacket and

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