Twenty Candles

San Sequoia, Seaglass Haven estate

Seaglass Haven always looked its best in late afternoon — the sun low enough to turn the water molten gold, the famous red bridge in the background, the stone terrace warm underfoot, the air smelling faintly of salt and roses.

It should have felt comforting. It should have felt like home.

It was my twentieth birthday, well, it was the celebration of my birthday, which had been two days ago, either way — a day that was supposed to be soft, celebratory, maybe even a little magical.

Instead, my stomach was a fist.

The dining table behind us had been dressed up more elegantly than usual — a soft lavender runner (because apparently that was “my color now”), a few candles flickering hopefully, and a birthday cake sitting on the kitchen island with a tiny gold “20” perched on top like it was trying its best.

It all looked sweet. Thoughtful. Elegant. Mature. Was this me now? It felt right. But nothing like the girl I used to be just a year or two ago. This was the setting for an elegant, stylish young woman. Was that me now? Had to be.

It looked like… me.

And wildly out of place considering the emotional demolition derby about to roll up the driveway.

We were supposed to be here two days ago. Our birthday — Beau’s and mine — had already been prepped in San Sequoia the same way it had been for twenty years: big family dinner, stupid banner, everyone from Chestnut Ridge piling into trucks like a migrating herd, the Del Sol Valley crowd arriving late and complaining about traffic. The whole circus. And this year, it had been meant to be not only the birthday, but also the long‑overdue, much‑dreaded “meet Luc, meet the family” event — a two‑for‑one emotional catastrophe wrapped in celebration and good intentions.

They didn’t know I wasn’t going to make it until they were already halfway here. The weather between Bellacorde and the mainland had turned to hell — a wall of storms stretching across the ocean — and air traffic control grounded everything from Ondarion to the entire eastern coastline. No getting through it from any angle.

And suddenly Beau was blowing out candles without me for the first time in our lives. And I without him, halfway around the globe.

I wasn’t even that mad. Things weren’t great between us, and instead I got to celebrate with Luc’s family at the royal palace — and with Eloise and Philippe, which was genuinely nice. Royal decorum had been mostly paused, and it was the first birthday in years that didn’t feel like walking on eggshells. My family called and wished me a happy birthday from afar — and then Luc abducted me for an entire day just for us. The weather in Bellacorde was perfect, no hint of the storms raging far out at sea. He took me on a yacht, sightseeing, the whole fairy‑tale thing.

The next day was airspace cleanup chaos from all the cancellations, so we didn’t attempt the trip until the day after.

So tonight is the make‑up dinner. My unofficial birthday dinner. Smaller crowd as not everyone could make the trip twice in two days. Even better. This was one of those opposites to ‘the more the merrier’ scenarios for me.

The lavender runner, the candles, the cake with the tiny gold “20” — all for me. And somehow, that makes everything ten times more terrifying.

My family didn’t know why I suddenly wore so much lavender. They seemed to think it was a new favorite color, and in a way, it was. They didn’t know it was Luc’s family’s royal color. So, in a way, he was flattered too.

Luc stood beside me, hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed but unmistakably regal. He’d dressed down — dark jeans, a soft navy sweater, sleeves pushed up — but there was no hiding what he was. Not here. Not anywhere.

We’d actually arrived hours earlier, when the estate was still quiet — just the vampires at home. Chase and Hailey greeted us first, warm and unbothered in that eternally‑youthful, seen‑everything way of theirs. It was always strange introducing people to my grandparents when they looked barely thirty, but Luc didn’t even blink.

Even in my own head I called them Chase and Hailey — “Grandma” and “Grandpa” never quite fit people who looked younger than my parents and were on magazine covers half the time.

Hailey looked like she’d stepped out of a high‑end fashion editorial — sleek dress, perfect hair, that effortless, elegant‑but‑a‑little‑dangerous vibe she always had. And Maddie, when she drifted in from the guest house a few minutes later, was the same: polished, pretty, a little sexy in that “I know exactly who I am” way.

The men… were the men. Chase and Colton looked like they’d just rolled off a tour bus in 1998 — grungy, shaggy, black tees, jewelry, the whole immortal‑rock‑legend aesthetic they’d never grown out of. Or maybe never wanted to.

Luc handled all of them with the same quiet composure he used with heads of state. No stiff royal formality, no awkwardness about the whole “my grandparents look younger than my parents” situation, and definitely no starstruck energy. But no arrogance either. Just a subtle, mutual recognition — people who lived in rare air, who were used to others tripping over themselves around them, and who appreciated not having to deal with that for once.

Chase liked him immediately. I could tell by the way he didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t amused.

Brad and Mom came in not long after, and Luc already knew them well enough that no introductions were needed.

Then he’d turned to me, eyes warm. “Would you show me around?”

So I did.

I showed him the poolhouse — “This is where I grew up after the divorce” — and the little restaurant over the back fence that we used to walk to as kids. I pointed down the path to the lookout point and mumbled, “Down there is where my dad proposed to my mom the first time… he was still healing from being mauled by a cougar. A real cougar. Not the other kind.” Luc had laughed, startled and delighted, and I’d felt something in my chest unclench.

Inside, I walked him through the hallways lined with music paraphernalia, awards, photos with celebrities, and then he stopped in the living room in front of the big family portrait — the old one, the one everyone pretends isn’t still hanging there.

He’d pointed at the toddler on my mom’s lap. “Is this you?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. That’s me in Mom’s lap. And Beau. And—” I danced around the rest, pointing out everyone else first. I kept going, because stopping meant acknowledging the one person I wasn’t ready to talk about.

“You met them — my grandparents. They still look the same for… obvious reasons.” I gestured vaguely at the portrait. “And that’s Colton and Maddie — you just met them too. This is Uncle Connor, Mom’s older brother, the doctor — he runs the local medical center, which is one of the chain Brad owns. He’s married to Keira, and this is Chris, their son. Obviously grown now and married to Cadence. Both also doctors and work with Connor.”

I shifted slightly, tracing the next faces. “This guy may look familiar — Jasper Hargrave — you’ve probably heard of him. Famous actor. Married to my mom’s twin, Aunt Iris. Both of them are my cousin Anastasia’s parents. You met her. There’s a son too, Tate, but he’s in Sulani with friends, and Ana was dropped off at college and, per Aunt Iris, ‘dead if she sees her anywhere else,’ so she won’t be here.”

I took a breath. “Oh — and Keira and Jasper are Colton and Maddie’s kids. Colton, Chase, Hailey, and Maddie were never not together. For a while Colton and Maddie lived in Del Sol Valley, but they still constantly saw each other, and it surprised literally nobody when they moved in here after Mom and I moved out.”

I was rambling. I knew I was rambling. Listing everyone except the one person Luc was obviously going to ask about.

I pointed to two people standing off to the side in a very suggestive embrace. “Umm, these two are… oh boy.” Yeah, well — those two were also vampires, and Chase’s parents, who looked about the same age. Yikes.

Luc spared me. “I know who they are, Blaine and Scarlett Cameron,” he said softly, with that warm, knowing half‑smile that always felt like a hand at the small of my back. It took a mountain range off my chest.

I didn’t mention my father.

Luc pointed anyway, gentle but direct. “Et… this would be him? Your father? Jac‑sôn Kèr‑shaw?”

The way he said my father’s name — soft French consonants, elegant vowels — made Jackson sound far nicer than he actually was. Almost dignified. Almost gentle. It was unfair, honestly.

My throat tightened. I nodded, awkward. “Yeah. That’s him. And the reason Brad’s not in this photo. He should be. There are other photos, more recent, with him — come, I’ll show you. One has my step‑siblings by Brad in it. Hard to get them all together. Graham, the oldest, is doing a residency at Brad’s San Myshuno facility now — he’ll eventually lead it — and Lauren is in med school and… well, you met the other three several times, my two half and the other step.”

“Oh, there we go — this one’s newer. I think it was Beau’s and my eighteenth birthday. I’m right there, hiding behind Brad, because we had to retake it like a million times. Nobody could make a normal face, and I was completely over it. But of course they have to display this.”

I moved quickly, like momentum alone could keep the conversation from getting too close to the bone.

We passed a console table in the hallway and I caught a flash of pink and balloons out of the corner of my eye.

“Oh God. That one’s even worse,” I muttered.

Luc slowed, turning toward the framed photo. It was the pool party from our sixteenth — the pool in the back, the waterfall, the stupidly perfect sky. Beau and I were front and center, me holding a cake box looking like a cake model reject, Beau half‑smirking, half‑annoyed, screwing with whomever took this photo after being told to ‘hug your sister real tight’, so instead his arm just hovers above me. Behind us, people were everywhere — doing random shit, instead of posed, talking, laughing, mid‑gesture, like someone had tried to photograph Cameron Chaos and succeeded.

“That was our sixteenth birthday,” I said, cringing. “Beau and me. I hate this picture. I look like I’m auditioning for a cheap infomercial about cakes, Beau looks like he forget to bring his brain, and everyone else is just… chaos. Mom loves it. Obviously.”

Luc didn’t answer right away. He studied it, eyes moving over every little cluster of people.

“I see a lot of people who love you,” he said softly. “Including your brother.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “Well, if he ever did, he’s changed his mind now, I’d argue.”

Luc shook his head, still looking at the photo. “Non. He is right beside you. He chose that place. People tell the truth with where they stand. He’s leaning into you.”

I stared at how observant Luc was. I hadn’t even noticed that part. Just my brother’s usual annoying antics.

“Come on,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice as I moved on. “I’m sure there’s more family embarrassment ahead. Grandma was on a mission to find and frame the most humiliating moments of my life. If we keep going, I’m positive there’s one of me in a full diaper or something.”

I kept walking, waving a hand like I could shoo away the mortification.

But Luc didn’t follow.

He’d stopped at a smaller framed photo on a credenza — one I hadn’t even noticed was out.

I sighed. “I don’t know why that’s here. That’s obviously him again — Jackson Kershaw — with the current Mrs. Kershaw, Amy. She’s surprisingly nice, and still hasn’t left him, I have no explanation,” I pointed, feeling that familiar twist in my stomach. “That’s my other grandpa, Jack, and his wife Izzy — my dad’s stepmom, and Cody’s mom. I think she’s like ten or fifteen years younger than him. A lot closer to my dad’s age then grandpa’s.”

Luc leaned in a little.

“And that,” I continued, tapping the frame lightly, “is Savannah — my father’s kid with the wife he had between Mom and Amy. She’s dead. The ex‑wife, not Savannah. Long story.”

I exhaled through my nose, bracing myself. “And… well, that’s Beau and me, and that’s Cody. You can’t see it but Amy’s pregnant there — with Laney, who’s since been born and is walking now. And Amy wants more kids, and the way she has him wrapped, it’ll probably happen. Yay.”

Luc studied the picture, then glanced at me with that maddeningly calm, sovereign‑prince logic of his — the kind that made everything sound like a gentle correction rather than a judgment.

“It is here because they are family, ma chérie,” he said quietly, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

I let out a humorless breath. “Well, not really?”

He turned fully toward me, brow lifting just slightly — not scolding, just… precise. “This is your grandparents’ home. You are your grandparents’ family. Beau is your twin, but not your family? Your father is not your family? Your other grandpa isn’t family? This little girl and the one your stepmom is carrying are not your sisters? And Cody is not your uncle?”

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Soft in that way that made it impossible to hide behind excuses.

“Umm, well, yeah, but… it’s complicated.”

It was the only answer I had. The only one I ever had.

A lot in my life was complicated.

And another complication was now heading toward us, in the form of a truck pulling up the long gravel drive.

I heard them before I saw them — the crunch of tires, the low rumble of my father’s engine, the unmistakable cowboy cadence of men yelling something unintelligible at each other, doors slamming too hard.

Luc glanced at me, voice low. “Mon cœur… breathe.”

I tried.

It didn’t help.

The Camerons and Hargraves were already scattered across the home — Grandpa Chase and Grandma Hailey curled together on the loveseat like the eternally young vampires they were, Colton and Maddie perched on the armrests with drinks, Uncle Connor and Aunt Keira chatting quietly near the stairs. All of them had arrived, in installments, while I was giving Luc the tour, brief introductions were made then everyone moved on. My request to not crowd the prince to make this less awkward. Tall order.

It should’ve felt like the perfect backdrop for a twentieth‑birthday dinner — loud, chaotic, familiar.

Instead, it felt like the pre‑show to a demolition derby. Or my final dinner before the guillotines.

My cousins and younger siblings weren’t present — wisely — but not really because of the white lies I told Luc, mostly because everyone knew this had the potential to turn into an MMA match. Ana was back at college, that part was true. Last I heard, she still hadn’t told her parents a word about her new crush. And I was glad. If that had panned out the way her screechy swooning (P.S. was I like that about Luc too? Please tell me I was never THAT obsessed!) would have sounded too serious, all my aunt and uncle would have clocked would be that it was all because of me. Aunt Iris would skin me, probably comically narrated by Uncle Jas. No thanks, pass.

Speaking of, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Iris had arrived ten minutes earlier, late as usual, and Iris had already whispered, “I LOVE LOVE LOVE his accent, and God, he is much cuter than I thought, nice catch, Briony,” earning a scandalized elbow from Jasper.

“Seriously, woman?! Redirect all drooling on this fine piece of man‑meat you’re lucky enough to be married to, will ya? I am the king of DSV, remember that.”

“So what? It doesn’t matter where I get my appetite, as long as I eat at home!”

Brad and Mom stood near the counter — Brad steady as a mountain, Mom wringing her hands.

And then the cowboys appeared.

My father, Jackson Kershaw, first. My twin brother Beau right behind him. Cody, my father’s twenty‑two‑years‑younger half‑brother, trailing like the designated adult.

They looked… wrong here. Too big. Too tense. Too rugged.

My father’s jaw was set so tight I could see the muscle ticking from twenty feet away. Beau’s eyes were already narrowed, scanning the room like he expected someone to jump him. Cody gave me a small, apologetic nod.

Luc stepped forward before I could stop him. I swear everyone gasped.

“Monsieur Kershaw,” he said warmly, extending a hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Jackson stared at the hand like it was a rattlesnake.

Then — slowly — he shook it. “Yeah. Pleasure… Prince.”

“Luc is fine,” he said gently.

Beau didn’t offer his hand. He just looked Luc up and down, unimpressed, then muttered, “Huh. Thought you’d be bigger.” Which made no sense, Luc was tall and while he didn’t look like a bodybuilder, he wasn’t exactly scrawny either. Not the way he could wield those heavy sword things.

Uncle Jasper exclaimed “That’s what she said!” then snorted into his drink. “And here we go… ding, ding, ding. Took all but two seconds.”

Aunt Iris elbowed him. “Shut up!”

Uncle Connor shot Jasper a warning glance. “Jas, we had that talk …”

Luc didn’t flinch. “Interesting statement,” he said mildly. “One made usually right before someone realizes size is not the only measure of capability or strength.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed further. Jackson’s shoulders stiffened. Cody muttered, “Aw hell. So that’s what ya look like, huh?”

“Yes. This is what I look like,” Luc confirmed.

Brad — ever the courteous host, even in homes that weren’t his — stepped in. “Umm, why don’t we all sit at the table? There are refreshments, coffee… and, uh… cake.”

His eyes flicked toward the lavender‑dressed table and the untouched birthday cake on the island, as if silently begging the universe to let this be a normal family dinner.

My father shot him a glare sharp enough to skin a deer.

Luc’s hand brushed the small of my back — grounding, steady — and we moved toward the seating. The cowboys followed, stiff as fence posts.

Introductions had gone … surprisingly well. So far, nobody was bleeding or unconscious. A miracle, considering it was my twentieth birthday, and the universe clearly had a sense of humor.

Everyone started finding seats.

Except Jackson and Beau.

They stood apart, arms crossed, watching Luc like he was a wolf in their pasture.

Luc noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t push. He didn’t force conversation. He simply existed — calm, respectful, attentive — and somehow that made it worse.

Finally, Jackson spoke.

“So. You’re the one takin’ her away.”

“Dad! Stop!” I snapped.

Luc spoke before I could continue. “I offered her to stay with me, and Briony accepted. It was her choice. I do not force decisions on her.”

Beau scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Luc turned to him, voice still gentle. “I do not make decisions for her. I make them with her. Sometimes, there isn’t a choice, and I have always been very upfront with your sister.”

Beau stepped closer. “Ya think yer better than us?”

I stepped between them. “Beau — stop!”

“No,” Luc said softly. “I think I am good for her. And I know she is good for me.”

That was the spark.

Beau’s fist clenched. Jackson’s breath hitched. Cody whispered, “Don’t—”

Beau shoved me out of the way; I stumbled backwards against Uncle Connor and my brother swung.

It was fast, emotional, reckless — a cowboy punch, all shoulder and fury.

Luc moved like water.

He stepped aside, caught Beau’s wrist, redirected the momentum, and Beau hit the hardwood with a shocked grunt — not hurt, just stunned, staring up at the ceiling like it had appeared out of nowhere.

The candles on the lavender‑dressed table flickered from the sudden movement. The birthday cake wobbled on its stand like even it was reconsidering being here.

My dad and Cody froze in shock.

The entire room went silent.

Security moved in from the edges, but Luc flicked two fingers, and they stopped instantly.

Beau scrambled up, red‑faced, humiliated. “What the hell—”

Luc’s voice was steady as he held out a hand. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Beau spat.

“Good. I am not in the habit of hurting people, Monsieur Kershaw, but I most certainly won’t let anyone hurt me. Or Briony.”

My father stared at Luc — really stared — for the first time.

“Where’d ya learn that?” he asked, voice low.

Luc nodded once. “It was part of my training since childhood. A leader must be a protector too — and how could I be, if I cannot even protect myself, non?”

Jackson exhaled, long and slow. “Damn.”

That “damn” was the beginning of something.

I realized I was shaking. Luc reached for me, thumb brushing my wrist, grounding me again.

“Briony,” he murmured, “everything is all right.”

But I wasn’t.

I was terrified. And impressed. And shaken. And proud. And something else I didn’t want to name yet.

Jackson cleared his throat. “Sorry about my boy. Gets emotional… I shouldn’t’ve let that happen. Ya know how to stand yer ground, and ya ain’t afraid. Didn’t expect that. But I respect it.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw Brad jerk like a meerkat. My father had never said anything like that to him.

Luc inclined his head. “You came here. I respect that.”

Beau muttered something that sounded like cursing, but Jackson shot him a look that shut him up instantly.

Uncle Connor stepped forward, breaking the tension. “Well. Now that the pissing contest is over… shall we eat?”

Laughter rippled through the kitchen — nervous, relieved, real.

Luc pulled out my chair. I was about to sit when my dad nudged me.

“Briony… can we talk for a minute? Alone.”

I froze. Almost everyone was staring. The lavender decor, the candles, the untouched cake — all of it suddenly felt like a spotlight.

I sat instead. Inhaled.

“No. I have nothing to say to you in private. Look, I’m here — we’re here — because Luc insisted. I wasn’t gonna come and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna invite you. Or Beau. And nice going there, brother, proving me right. You are such an asshole. You both are. What’s next? Punch Brad again, just because?!”

My father stiffened. Uncle Connor shifted, ready to intervene.

“Briony, I wanna talk to ya. Please.” my father insisted.

“Say it right here.”

“Pa, let it go. She wants to be a bitch about it.” Beau interjected.

This earned Beau a whack to the back of the head, making him jerk around to glare at our father, who now rumbled:

“I told ya to behave and what did ya go an’ do? I told ya not to repeat my mistakes. And I didn’t think ya need tellin’ that I can talk for myself!”

“I don’t like him, Pa. And I don’t like any of this,” Beau shot back.

“Well, and I don’t like yer attitude. Told ya to stay home or behave if ya come. Cody’s behavin’, why can’t you?” Jackson countered.

“She ain’t his sister!” Beau retorted, fiery.

“She’s my niece though!” Cody put in.

“Yeah, the one ya like to kiss around on,” Beau spewed.

Cody jumped up, and there we went again — shoving, yelling, Dad in the middle, Uncle Connor rising, Luc’s security stepping forward until Luc signaled them back.

Then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The loud clatter of pots and pans froze everyone.

Hailey stood in the kitchen, wielding a pot in one hand and a pan in the other, banging them together, looking like an avenging angel. The frilly birthday cake on the island behind her made the whole scene look like a deranged Hallmark special.

“Are you kidding me!?” she snarled at Beau, who stood frozen, looking like a little boy caught with both hands in the cookie jar by grandma.

“He started it!” Beau protested, sounding exactly like that little boy.

“And I finished it! Are we clear now? Goes for you too, Jackson. Last time I wasn’t home, but I am now. Any of you cowboys start anything again, I will whack you in the head with these. Try me!”

Everyone stared. Luc’s mouth twitched — amused. I cringed. Great first impression my family was making here.
Honestly, I was one disaster away from Luc slapping a shipping label on me and returning me to sender like a misdelivered package.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear any of you,” Grandma Hailey said sweetly. “Usually such loudmouths. Are we clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Beau muttered, small.

She looked at Cody, who nodded. Then at my father, who said nothing.

She stepped toward him, finger in his face. “Bend one hair on Brad and see what happens.”

“Yes ma’am,” my father said.

Luc chuckled — quietly — which got her attention.

“Oh, this is funny, Your Highness? I amuse you now?”

“Gramma!” I pleaded. Oh God, not this too.

Luc lifted his hands slightly. “I meant no disrespect, Madame Cameron. But yes — it is rather amusing to see how much of you reflects in Briony. This… spiciness was what caught my attention first, and held it ever since. She is unlike any woman I have ever met. And frankly, Madame, so are you.”

“Yeah, ya got that right,” Grandpa Chase said proudly. “She’s a spicy girl, alright, one of a kind, and she handed that down to our daughters and the grandbabies.”

“Well, yeah,” Grandma Hailey said. “I don’t take shit from anyone, and I raised my girls that way too. Since I partially raised Briony, you betcha she’s like that. Just this crowd likes to forget it.”

She shot a quick stink‑eye at my father and brother, and they folded into themselves. Kinda funny, if it weren’t so sad.

She flicked Beau’s ear. He flinched like she’d hit him with a two‑by‑four. My moment of glee didn’t last, as she now turned that look on me.

“And now, I believe your father wanted to talk to you, Briony,” she said.

“I have nothing to say to him,” I snapped.

Grandma Hailey crossed her arms. “Okay, young lady, that’s not working for me. This is my house. You invited everyone here. Chase, Colton, Maddie and I are happy to host family, especially for a birthday celebration, but not some fucking reality‑TV‑show shit. If you don’t want to talk to him, why did he drive all the way out here? You’re pretty, but not THAT pretty, sweetheart!”

I wanted to sink into the floor. The lavender decorations, the candles, the cake — all of it suddenly felt like props in a parody of my life I didn’t want to be in.

Luc stepped in — calm, composed, voice warm but formal.

“Madame,” he said gently, “that was at my behest. I have been… quite insistent with Briony about meeting her entire family. She carries much pain from past events and was not ready for this. I knew that, yet insisted anyway. The responsibility is mine.”

In my peripheral vision I saw Grandpa Chase and Colton leaned in, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls. Very mature. And helpful.

Grandma Hailey huffed. “You know, I admire your balls, I do. Seriously. Most don’t have them, especially with the horse wranglers over there. But my granddaughter is usually neither shy nor at a loss for words — more the opposite. If you ever tried to watch an entire movie with her, you’d know she is physically incapable of not speaking for any prolonged time. And I think I was asking her, not you.”

Luc inclined his head. “You are correct, Madame. And I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

“Great. More humiliation,” I muttered. “Just what I needed. Well, Luc, this is them. This is my family. Hope you enjoyed meeting them, because I am already over it.”

I stood so fast the chair scraped against the hardwood. The candles on the lavender runner flickered. The birthday cake on the island sat there like a witness to my unraveling.

I ran.

Brad moved first to follow, but my father blocked him.

Another stand‑down.

“Jackson, let’s not do this again,” Brad warned, voice tight.

“Yer doin’ it again,” my father growled. “Ya keep doin’ it, ’xpectin’ different results, which is damn stupid.”

“Jackson!” Grandma Hailey snapped, sharp as a whip.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he shot back. “Just existin’. Or is that too much for ya now too?”

“Jackson, stop!” Mom jumped up, pushing herself between him and Brad.

“Why are ya lettin’ him go after OUR daughter?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t it have been you? Yer still the mother, ain’t ya?”

“Oh, now you want to teach me how to parent,” Mom shot back, “when you couldn’t raise our son right? Briony likes to talk complicated situations through with Brad. That’s why. Not like I owe you an explanation.”

Luc rose — calm, deliberate — and headed for the door. Jackson blocked him too.

Everyone reacted at once — Uncle Connor, Colton, Grandpa Chase, Chris, Luc’s security inching forward, Grandma Hailey grabbing her pot and pan like weapons.

Luc didn’t flinch. When he spoke, the vowels softened in that quiet, unmistakable lilt he never quite lost.

“Would you mind allowing me to pass, Monsieur Kershaw?” he asked, voice low, polite, but edged with steel.

“I mind,” Jackson said, planting himself. “I will go talk to my daughter.”

Luc’s tone softened, but his posture didn’t. A faint trace of his accent warmed the edges of his words, even as they stayed firm. “With all due respect, Monsieur, I do not believe she is ready for that yet.”

“Oh, now the prince is tellin’ me how to parent my own child? How many kids ya got, huh?” Jackson challenged.

Luc didn’t blink. His consonants stayed precise, but the vowels rounded — that tiny shift he made when he was speaking from something deeper. “None. But I am someone’s child. I lost my mother far too young, and another woman took her place beside my father. She never tried to replace my mother — but she offered guidance when I desperately needed it. I grew to love her for that. But she will never be my mother, nor has she ever tried. She simply… was there, when my mother could not be.”

“Bullshit! He’s just tryin’ to make himself important!” Beau barked.

Cadence cut in sharply. “No, he’s not. Learn how to use the internet — it’s all out there. He has a stepmom.”

Luc nodded once. “I do.” The words were simple, but the soft, rounded o carried that quiet, steady lilt that was uniquely his.

Jackson looked at Brad, who stiffened, then back at Luc.

“Yer not afraid,” Jackson said quietly.

Luc’s answer was soft, almost philosophical. “Fear is universal, Monsieur Kershaw. We all carry it. Sometimes it is justified, sometimes imagined — but it can consume us if we allow it. I choose not to allow it. And I have had many years of very explicit training — physical, mental, diplomatic — to know how to defend myself. I do not fear what I can control. Such as physical conflict.”

Jackson studied him — really studied him — for the first time.

Luc held his gaze, unblinking, posture straight, hands relaxed at his sides. Not challenging. Not submissive. Simply… present.

“Yer nothin’ like I thought ya were,” Jackson finally said. “I’ll admit that. I thought ya were a few levels worse than that fool over there.” He jerked his chin at Brad. “Ya see that? That is who took my spot — in my ex‑wife’s life and bedroom and in my daughter’s life. I know what ya think of me. I know Briony told ya stories. But ya don’t know the half of it.”

Luc didn’t interrupt. He didn’t move. He simply listened — the way only someone raised to rule is taught to listen.

Jackson continued, voice cracking at the edges.

“I married into a life I had no business bein’ in, and it cost everyone dearly. My father made the same mistake — but with royalty — and it damn near broke him. I had to let my daughter go so she could grow up happy. But make no mistake — it hurt me every damn day and still does. I can’t protect her from afar. And when she told me about you, I knew I was losin’ her completely.”

Silence.

“You can judge me now,” Jackson said bitterly. “Everyone else does.”

Luc stepped closer — not threatening, but steady.

“I will not judge you,” he said softly. “I told Briony this already — I understood why you reacted the way you did. We all have burdens, Monsieur. Some heavier than others. But none of us can force peace. Or love.”

Jackson swallowed hard.

Luc continued, voice low, warm, almost intimate in its sincerity.

“From the bottom of my heart, I believe Briony loves you. Deeply. But she also loves Brad. I love two mothers — equally, yet differently. One gave me life. The other gave me guidance. Neither replaced the other. Both shaped me.”

He let that settle.

“You have your preferences. Briony has hers. You do not wish her to judge yours — why would you not extend the same courtesy?”

Jackson blinked.

Luc’s voice softened further.

“I understand why you may not prefer Monsieur Cunningham’s company. If I were in your position, I might not either. But Briony did not go into the world seeking a new father. She did not choose Brad to replace you. She simply lived with the consequences of choices made by others — choices beyond her control.”

He paused.

“And hurting Monsieur Cunningham may give you a moment of satisfaction… but I assure you, it wounds Briony far more deeply than it wounds him.”

Jackson inhaled slowly, shoulders rising, then nodded once — a stiff, reluctant gesture.

“So… since ya know my daughter so well, what would ya have me do? Just let her go? Jus’ like this? Go back home and sit there, hopin’ one day she’s ready to speak to me again? What if that day never comes, ’cause she’s too busy with all that palace stuff with ya, forgettin’ about me?”

Luc stepped closer — respectful, steady, voice warm but formal.

“I can assure you, Monsieur Kershaw… not a day passes in which you have not been on her mind. She is not trying to walk away from you.”

Jackson flinched. “Can ya stop with that! I ain’t no Monsoor or whatever. I am Jackson. Call me Jackson.”

Luc inclined his head, gracious and immediate.

“Très bien. Then I remain simply Luc to you.”

He continued, voice low and sincere, the cadence unmistakably French.

“As I was saying… Briony is trying to protect herself, not wound you. If you desire reconciliation, you must first master your anger — and your disdain for the circumstances. She wishes Monsieur Cunningham in her life. You do not have to approve. But if you can… arrange yourself with it, even a little… I am certain Briony will not cling to a grudge she does not wish to hold.”

Silence fell — heavy, charged, real.

Jackson stared at him, jaw working, eyes sharp and searching. Luc didn’t look away.

Finally, Jackson exhaled — long, rough, defeated.

“Hell,” he muttered. “I got a damn French kid tellin’ me how to parent now. How old are ya, son? Twenty‑five?”

Luc offered a faint, understanding smile — the kind that softened the sharpness of the moment without diminishing its weight. “I am twenty‑seven, Monsieur Kershaw,” he said gently. “And I may not have experience as a parent,” he continued quietly, “but I have a great deal of experience being someone’s child. And I was a very observant boy.” His voice gentled. “I know parenthood is… complicated.”

Then his expression shifted, touched by memory.

“As my father always told me: « Être parent, mon fils, c’est aimer sans garantie, pardonner sans condition, et tenir bon même quand le cœur se brise. »”

He let the French linger in the air for a moment before continuing, warm and steady.

“In English… ‘To be a parent, my son, is to love without guarantees, to forgive without conditions, and to hold steady even when the heart breaks.’”

Jackson snorted. “Understatement of the century. Smart man, yer Pa. I hate to admit it, but I like ya, son. I didn’t think I would, God knows I thought ya were gonna be the worst that has happened to my family yet, but yer… decent enough.”

Luc’s eyes softened. “Might I then go speak to Briony? Perhaps I can convince her to rejoin us. Then… perhaps we all sit. Eat. Speak like family.”

He hesitated — just long enough for the room to feel it — then added, with a faint, nostalgic smile:

“Another thing my father told me: « À table, mon fils, même les guerres font une pause. », which translates to ‘At the table, my son, even wars take a pause.’”

Jackson looked around the room — at Brad, at Mom, at Grandma Hailey still gripping her pot like a weapon, at Uncle Connor ready to intervene, at Beau sulking, at Cody trying to disappear into the wallpaper probably regretting he let curiosity win and came here knowing it would blow up.

Then he sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Reckon we could try that. Looks like what we used to do wasn’t working worth a damn. This dog here ain’t too old to learn a new trick. And I am so hungry I could eat the asshole out of a—”

His head snapped to Luc. He smirked. “Sorry ’bout that, prince. Jus’ sayin’ I’m real hungry.”

Luc nodded once — calm, regal, respectful.

And for the first time since he’d walked through the door, Jackson didn’t look like a man ready to start a fight. He looked like a man ready — maybe — to start something over.

Luc waited a beat, letting the air settle. Then he turned, scanning the faces until his gaze found Chase.

“Pardonnez‑moi,” he said softly. “You know Briony’s heart better than I do here. Would someone kindly tell me where she might have gone?”

Grandpa Chase rose immediately. “Yup. Come with me.” Then he turned to Jackson, pointing a warning finger. “Behave. Patches ain’t playin’. She’ll whack you in the head with cookware, and Connor will kick you into next week, son. And that’s just warm‑up. If I get back in here and hear you thought my house is a wrestling ring, you and I will have a serious problem, cowboy. I wasn’t home last time, and it wasn’t fair to leave Connor alone with all of you. But I am home this time, and if I find one hair out of place on my son‑in‑law ever again, I’ll teach you manners in a way that will make your daddy cry. You know I like you, Jackson — you’re like a son — but so is he, and I’ve known Brad longer.”

“God‑daaaamn, Chase. Relax.” Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a bad day last time. I mean, I was invited to finally see my little girl after months of nothing, only to have all those news tossed at me like a damn cinder block. I get it — all y’all stacked hands that I’m the asshole here, fine by me. Not my finest moment. Trust me, I heard all about that from the wifey back home, Amy rubbed my nose in it real good – fer days! But I’m a reasonable human bein’—”

Snorts of laughter erupted from Brad, Mom, Jasper, and Iris. Chase snapped his head toward them, finger raised like a loaded weapon. “One word and you’re next.”

They all shut up instantly.

Jackson growled, then continued, “Anyway, all it needed was someone to talk to me like a normal person, and that had to be the prince of all people. No offense. The one I thought was gonna be the most useless here. Turns out, he’s the only one with balls.”

Luc’s mouth curved — a small, private smile. “None taken.”

“I take offense,” Chase barked. “I’m talkin’ to you and I got balls, son, but that wasn’t my fight and you know I am not a meddler. But keep talkin’ like that and you’ll feel my big balls in ways you never wanted to. Anyway — come on, Luc. Let’s find my wayward granddaughter so we can finally fucking celebrate the damn birthday like civilized morons.”

“Merci.”

The night air was cool against my skin, the ocean below a dark, restless blue that matched the knot in my chest. I stood at the cliffside overlook, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of a family that should never have been in the same room together — on one side Bellacordian royalty, on the other entertainment moguls and knuckle‑dragging cowboys, the latter two united only by their shared love of profanity as punctuation.

Footsteps crunched behind me — two sets, steady and unmistakably purposeful.

I heard Grandpa Chase’s voice, low and sharp, but couldn’t make out the words. Then one set of footsteps retreated, giving space.

And then I felt it — the familiar, steady warmth of Luc’s hand settling gently between my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes briefly and let myself lean into it.

“Mon cœur…” he murmured, his accent softening the edges of the words.

“How bad is it?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

“Not bad,” he murmured, his voice warm against the cool night air. “But everyone is ready to eat, and we were hoping you might join us for your birthday dinner — and cake.”

I looked up at him as if he had lost his mind. “Eat?”

“Yes,” he said, patient and earnest. “Your grandmother cooked for us. It is a dinner. And your birthday cake.”

“Okay, first of all, my grandma doesn’t cook.” I rubbed my forehead. “She hated cooking with a passion when she was morta— umm… well, you know. She doesn’t cook. She probably ordered it from Sophie and… never mind.”

“Mais oui, there is food,” Luc replied, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “It was… commissioned.”

“Where is my father?”

“Sitting at the table, last I saw,” he answered.

“And Brad?”

“Also at the table,” he said with a small shrug.

“Nobody’s injured?”

“Non.”

I leaned into him, letting the tension drain out of my shoulders. He wrapped his arms around me, steady and sure, while his security guards tried very hard to look anywhere but at us. Ugh.

“Will you come inside with me?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

I nodded against his chest.

We turned, one arm still around my shoulders, and walked back into the lion’s den. At least that’s what it felt like.

As we stepped into the kitchen, every head lifted. They were all seated around the table — the lavender runner laid out neatly, candles flickering, plates arranged with surprising care, the air warm with the smell of actual food. And on the island, my birthday cake waited with its tiny gold “20,” like it had been holding its breath for me.

Brad looked pristine, of course. He smiled at me — that soft, reassuring Brad‑smile — and I managed one back. Then I caught my father watching me. I looked away quickly.

Luc guided me to my seat, his hand light at my back. He pulled out the chair with that quiet, practiced grace he had — the kind that made the whole table pause — and waited until I sat before sliding it in with a smooth, unhurried motion. The gesture was small, but it felt like a shield.

Maddie elbowed Colton.

“What?” he snapped.

“Why can’t you do that?” she complained.

“’Cause I’m not a prince and you’re not twenty years young, babe.”

She whacked him with her napkin. Chase, Hailey, Jasper, Iris, Keira, and Connor laughed.

“Braddy does that,” Mom said pointedly, staring straight at my dad — a very obvious FU to him.

He deadpanned between sips of coffee, “Gotta be good for somethin’.”

“Bri…” Grandma Hailey shot her the mom‑glare. I giggled. I couldn’t help it.

So, we ate.

Stories were told — Chase and Colton’s stage antics, Connor’s non‑gross hospital stories, Chris and Cadence chiming in, Jasper’s film‑set disasters that had everyone rolling. Cody added ranch nuggets, helped by my father.

Luc listened at first, quiet but attentive, the corners of his mouth lifting every time someone landed a punchline. Then, when the table finally turned to him — expectant, curious — he offered a small, almost shy smile.

“Well,” he said, “I could tell you about the time Briony tried to whisper something romantic to me at a garden party.”

My fork froze mid‑air. “Luc. No.”

He continued anyway, eyes sparkling. “She had been practicing French with Eloise. Very diligently. Very seriously. She wanted to flirt with me. So she leaned in to tell me ‘Je t’adore.’ Meaning, she adores me. Very sweet.”

A few snickers around the table already.

“But instead,” Luc went on, “she whispered ‘J’t’endors.’”

Maddie frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“It means,” Luc said, barely containing his laughter, “‘I’m putting you to sleep.’”

The table detonated. Chase slapped the table. Colton wheezed. Jasper nearly spilled his drink. Grandma Hailey snorted so hard she had to grab her napkin.

I dropped my face into my hands. “It was ONE TIME.”

“Oh honey,” Mom said, wiping tears, “if there’s one thing you’ve never done, it’s put anyone to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Connor added, grinning, “if there’s something Briony cannot be accused of, it’s being boring.”

“Understatement of the century,” Beau muttered, smirking.

Luc wasn’t done. “Eloise choked so hard she sprayed champagne across the table. I must keep composure is such setting but could not. I was laughing so hard and could not stop. Half the garden turned to look at us. My father was not pleased.”

“And I wanted to die,” I muttered.

He leaned slightly toward me, voice warm. “And I told her, ‘Mon cœur… you have never put me to sleep. Not once. It is impossible.’ But then was all laughed, none of us could stop. Quite the spectacle and it resulted in a full two-hour lecture by my father later that day. Which was, very much …uh … sleep-inducing.”

The table was still chuckling when Luc lifted his glass, eyes glinting with mischief.

“And since I shared an amusing tale about Briony’s language mishaps,” he said, “I will offer one of myself. A very humiliating and humbling one. I understand very well how hard languages can be — and how easily mistakes can happen.”

Everyone perked up.

“It was my first official state dinner. I was about Briony’s age. Verdemar’s Minister of Finance was present — a very serious man, very respected. His name is Ministro Álvaro Pires.”

He pronounced it perfectly now — PEE‑resh — smooth, elegant.

“But at the time,” Luc continued, “I was nervous. My Portuguese wasn’t very good. And I kept calling him ‘Ministro Álvaro Pilas.’”

He said it with the wrong ending — PEE‑las.

Chase blinked. “That bad?”

Luc nodded solemnly. “In Portuguese, pila can be slang for… well, penis. Ergo, pilas is .. several.”

The table erupted. Colton nearly fell out of his chair. Connor choked on his drink. Beau wheezed, “You called him Minister Bunch o’ Peckers?”
Brad set down his fork with surgical precision laughing. “I sat through many a strategic planning sessions with billionaires. ‘Bunch o’ Dicks’ would’ve been a charitable assessment.”
Grandma Hailey covered her face, shoulders shaking.

Luc lifted a hand, dignified even in humiliation. “I did call him that. Repeatedly. All night long. In front of everyone.”

“Oh my GOD,” I gasped, laughing so hard my ribs hurt.

“My father,” Luc said, “pulled me aside halfway through the dinner. Very elegant. Very calm. And said—”

Luc straightened, lowered his voice, and slipped into a perfect imitation of his father’s tone: “Luc Sébastien, cesse d’appeler le Ministre des Finances Monsieur Bite. — adresse‑le correctement en tant que Ministre Pires, pas Pilas! “

Luc sighed, resigned. “That translates to: ‘Luc Sébastien, stop calling the Minister of Finance Mister Dicks. Please address him correctly as Minister Pires. Not Pilas!’” He paused, then added dryly, “It was the first — and I sincerely hope the last — time I have ever heard my father use that word.”

The table lost it. Even my father was roaring. Colton had to stand up and brace himself on the wall. Connor wheezed. Beau slapped the table, then Cody’s leg. Grandma Hailey was crying into her napkin in between snorts of laughter.

“Oh my GOD,” I groaned, swatting his arm as the table howled.

Somehow, him being willing to laugh at himself so freely about something they all could probably relate to had caused a shift. It was not blatant, but I felt it. They looked at him differently. They relaxed.

When the plates were cleared, Grandma Hailey clapped her hands once — crisp, commanding, like she was calling a rehearsal to order.

“Well,” she said, “that cake isn’t gonna sing to itself. Are we celebrating a birthday here or what?”

Everyone shifted, chairs scraping, voices dropping into that anticipatory hush only performers have before a cue.

Colton hummed a starting note. Chase matched it. Mom adjusted the key. Jasper grinned like he was about to conduct a choir.

And then they began.

Happy Birthday — but not the chaotic family version. This was the polished, layered, harmony‑rich version they’d been doing for years. Warm, full, effortless.

Beau — the menace — slid in on the third line with a low, cocky harmony that made half the table side‑eye him before he even finished. “…hope the prince bought ya a fancy watch so you ain’t late for yer own birthday next yee‑heear.”

He broke into a laugh at his own joke — loud, unbothered, proud of himself — and immediately got pelted with napkins from several different directions. Grandma Hailey and Maddie were on him next, tickling him mercilessly until he squealed, jerked, and begged for mercy between wheezing laughs.

And damn it… I smiled. Just a little. Even though I was still mad at him.

Luc watched all of it with quiet awe, like he was witnessing a private family ritual he’d only heard rumors about.

They ended on a clean, sustained chord that would’ve made a vocal coach weep.

Everyone applauded. Luc didn’t.

He leaned in, kissed my cheek — soft, warm, reverent — and murmured in French, just for me:

« Fais un vœu, mon cœur. Que cette année t’apporte douceur, force… et un peu de paix. » Make a wish, my heart. May this year bring you sweetness, strength… and a little peace.

I closed my eyes, made a wish I’d never admit out loud, and blew out the candles.

More applause. A few whistles. Beau muttered, “Show‑off,” under his breath, but he was smiling.

“Yeah, took your brother two tries to blow out his cake,” Chris called out, already laughing. “Gotta give up smoking, cuz! Doctor Chris’ orders.”

Beau shot him a hearty one‑finger salute. “I don’t smoke, and ya ain’t never gon’ be my doctor! Had something in my throat!”

“Yeah, missing his sister had him choked up,” Connor added, absolutely delighted with himself.

He earned his very own one‑finger salute from his nephew, which only made him laugh harder.

Cake was cut — lavender‑blueberry infused, a flavor I’d never had at home before, and somehow that made it sweeter. It tasted like home. I mean, Bellacorde. Coffee was poured. People settled back into their seats.

And then — after cake, after two rounds of coffee, after the laughter had softened into something warm and familiar — my father rose.

No warning. Just stood.

I froze.

He turned to Brad and walked toward him.

Oh God. Here we go again. I tensed. Full body, to the tip of my toes.

He stopped, held out his hand.

Brad blinked. Everyone blinked.

“Listen, Brat‑fa.. — I mean… listen, Brad. Where I come from, when a man holds out his hand to ya, we shake it.”

Mom shot up. “Is that one of your stupid cowboy jokes now? Are you seriously starting some shit on our daughter’s birthday!”

“Naw, Bri. Briony’s birthday was two days ago. I am celebratin’ here. This is for her. And it’s called a handshake. Sit yerself down woman and relax, will ya?”

Brad cleared his throat, stood, and shook his hand.

“Sorry about all that,” Jackson said clapping Brad on the other shoulder. “I realize I probably shouldn’t have let myself get so angry at ya.”

“Uh… well. Okay. Apology accepted…” Brad clearly wasn’t sure what to make of this.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one. Hailey’s hand inched toward the pan. Chase slapped it down. They glared at each other in silent marital Morse code. Maddie joined in with her own grimace. My family, ladies and gentlemen.

Jackson clapped Brad’s shoulder again — not gentle, not aggressive. Somewhere in between.

“We good?” he drawled.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Brad said, smiling politely.

Poor Brad. He wasn’t buying it. Neither was I.

My father sat back down, nudged Beau, whispered something. Beau recoiled like he’d been handed a rattlesnake.

“Nah, Pa. Nope. I ain’t gon’!”

“Beau Wyatt Kershaw. Yer twenty years old now, learn to be a man. I owned up to what I done wrong — why can’t you? You a lesser man than yer father? Dependin’ on who ya talk to, that seems hardly possible.”

“What? The hell you talkin’ ’bout, Pa? You been drinkin’?”

Cody nudged him. “He told ya. He’s teachin’ ya how to be a real man. Think that was easy for him crawling up to Brad apologizin’?” Then to Brad: “No offense.”

“None taken.” Brad smiled politely.

Beau glared at everyone, breathing hard. Then he looked at Mom.

“Baby… I hate to say it, but your dad is right.” she confirmed. He looked at our grandparents, Hailey just raised her eyebrow and Chase gestured with his hand “Goddamn kid, listen to your father already. Jeezus Christ! Always with the drama, and so long-winded.”

My father shot Mom a look. She shrugged. He shook his head.

“Okay,” Beau muttered.

He stood, walked around the table, and stopped in front of Luc. My entire body clenched.

He held out his hand.

Luc folded his napkin, rose, and shook it.

“A strong grip,” Luc said. “It speaks for a strong character.”

“Yeah. You too,” Beau muttered whatever random thing came to mind.

Then Beau turned to me.

Just stared.

And then — out of nowhere — he leaned down and hugged me. Hard. Breath‑stealing hard.

“Miss ya,” he muttered. “Happy birthday, sis.”

I barely managed to hug him back before he retreated like nothing happened. Cody smirked and winked at me.

Luc sat, reached for my hand. I leaned in.

“What the hell was that? He doesn’t normally do that. My brother isn’t a hugger. And my father definitely does not apologize, especially not to Brad.”

Luc leaned back. “It is progress. When you are ready… perhaps reciprocate.”

I stared at him like he’d asked me to dance naked on the table.

No way. No thanks.

The party eventually wound down.
People gathered coats, exchanged final words. I stuck close to Luc, especially when the Chestnut Ridge crowd said their goodbyes.

My father tipped his hat and walked out. I watched him through the dining room window — Beau climbing into the back of the truck, Cody slamming the passenger door, my father moving slower than usual, like he was waiting for something he didn’t dare ask for.

My hand found Luc’s without thinking. I held on like he was the only solid thing left in the room.

“Mon cœur,” he murmured.

“Luc… what do I do?”

“You already know,” he said gently, like he could feel the war tearing through me — the part of me that hated my father from afar and the part that couldn’t look away from him up close.

The panic cinched tight, sharp as wire.

And then I ran.

Out of the kitchen. Through the hallway. Out the front door. Down the driveway.

My father had just climbed into the truck when he saw me. His head jerked up. He was out of the truck in a second, catching me as I collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

He held me tight — so tight — and it felt good. This was my daddy. Wrong about so many things. But mine. And I loved him.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed.

He kissed the top of my head and drawled softly in my ear:

“Not as sorry as I am, sugar pop. Hey, for what it’s worth — I like ’im. And I love you.”

I didn’t say it back. I couldn’t. My throat was gone, my chest wrecked, my whole body shaking.

But I clung to him — fingers fisted in his shirt — and he understood anyway.

And that was all it took.

It felt like medicine.

Like breathing again.

Like home.

There’s a want and there’s a need
There’s a history between
Girls like her and guys like me
Cowboys and angels

I’ve got boots and she’s got wings
I’m hell on wheels and she’s heavenly
I’d die for her and she lives for me
Cowboys and angels