A loud knock on his bedroom door startles us both.

“Stone,” his mother calls out. “I need you to take out the garbage.”

“In a minute, Ma,” he grunts, thoroughly annoyed.

That makes two of us.

I swear the woman knows exactly what we were up to.

It’s no secret she’s not my biggest fan—especially after Stone punched his brother and forbid him from being in our wedding party—which makes the fact that we’re all going to be living together soon…awkward as hell.

I sigh in defeat. It’s safe to say my impending orgasm is long gone.

“I need you to do it now,” his mother demands. “If you can’t, then ask Bianca.” A moment later her footsteps fade down the hall, but not before I hear her mutter, “It’s not like she does anything else around here…besides my son.”

Removing his fingers, Stone exhales heavily. “She’s just upset because you didn’t invite her to go dress shopping with you.” He kisses my stomach. “She’ll get over it eventually.”

More like next century.

“I didn’t invite my dad’s wife Nadia to come either,” I point out. “It’s me who’s picking out the wedding dress, therefore it should be me who decides who comes along.”

And the only people I want there are my maid-of-honor Sawyer, and my bridesmaid Dylan.

It’s so much less pressure that way.

“Plus,” I continue. “I told your mom that after I find the right dress, she’s welcome to come to the shop and see it.”

Heck, she’s free to come to every fitting I have if she wants to.

I just want to make sure I have the final say in my dress since it’s the only thing about this damn wedding I seem to have any control over.

“I know,” Stone says, sitting up in bed. “But she’s still insulted.”

Annoyed, I start ticking things off with my fingers. “The woman already picked out our wedding cake, our flowers, the priest, and fought me tooth and nail about the venue she wanted us to choose.”

All of which my father is footing the bill for.

“I get it, Bourne. I really do.” He shrugs. “What can I say? She’s just being a mom.”

His words send a pang of hurt through my chest.

I wish she was here.

She should be here for this.

Standing, he drops a quick kiss on my forehead. “Don’t let it ruin your day, though okay?” He tips my chin. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Fine,” I whisper because it’s better than arguing with him on what’s supposed to be a special day.

He treks to the door. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

I stare at the blueberry muffin and grunt in contempt.

“There are so many choices here,” Sawyer assures me. “Don’t give up just yet. We’ll find your dream dress.”

I hope she’s right because if I have to try on another ugly taffeta concoction they have the nerve to call a dress, I swear to God I will rip the shit to shreds.

“You want a sweetheart neckline, right?” Dylan questions.

“At this point I’d take a decent looking paper sack as long as it’s white,” I mutter.

Dylan laughs. “Amen to that. I hate shopping, too.”

That’s the thing. I love shopping. I just can’t seem to find the right dress that’s beckoning me.

Sawyer and Cole’s wedding isn’t for another year and a half, but when we went dress shopping for her, it was lucky number three that ended up being the one. The moment she looked in the mirror you couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

Heck, birds chirped, bells rang, and the heavens opened up as we all squealed like a couple of maniacs because she looked so beautiful.

So happy.

It was a great moment.

Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have her luck because I’ve already tried on fifteen dresses today and they all suck balls.

I’m starting to regret not taking my father up on his offer to get my own designer, but he’s already spent so much on this wedding I felt bad and decided to go with an off the rack dress.

I stalk over to one of the plushy chairs and plop down. “I’m so over this.”

“Calm down,” Sawyer says. “We’re not leaving until we find the one that makes you feel like a princess.” She tracks down a salesgirl and points to something on her phone. “Do you have this dress in stock?”

The woman nods. “As a matter of fact we do, but it’s limited edition and the designer only sent one to the store.” Wincing, her eyes sweep over Sawyer. “It’s a size four though so I’m afraid it won’t fit you.”

Instantly Dylan and I are ready to scratch the bitch’s eyes out, but we don’t have to.

Giving her a big smile, Sawyer simply states, “That’s okay, I already have my wedding dress that I look hot as hell in.” She looks at me. “Fortunately, my friend is a size four and I think this one will be perfect for her.”

The woman nods. “I’ll go bring it out.”

She starts to walk away, but Sawyer clears her throat and says, “Actually, can you have someone else do it?”

The woman blinks. “Why?”

“You work on commission, right?”

The woman raises a brow. “Yes.”

Sawyer flashes her some teeth. “That’s why.”

“You little badass,” Dylan says with a smile.

Sawyer pretends to wipe some dirt off her shoulder. “Damn skippy.”

I start to laugh, but then another woman walks over to us. She’s carrying a huge bouquet of stunning flowers.

“Bianca Covington?”

I exchange a curious glance with Sawyer and Dylan. “Yes?”

She sets the bouquet on the small table next to me. “These are for you.”

“Ooh, la, la,” Sawyer sings. “Someone’s a lucky girl.”

She’s not wrong.

“Tell me about it.” I flip open the card. “This morning it was a red rose and now it’s an entire b—”

I stop talking as I read the card.

She’s with you.

Love, your big brothers.

Tears clog my vision because my brothers are the sweetest assholes in the world.

Dylan and Sawyer’s eyes go wide and they rush to my side.

“What happened?”

“Are you okay?”

“No.” I reach for a tissue. “Blame your stupid men.”

That only confuses them.

Sawyer blanches. “What do you mean blame our stupid men?”

I show them the note.

And then I quickly hand Sawyer a tissue because she turns into a blubbering mess.

Dylan waves a hand in front of her face and looks up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe he actually listened to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Dylan starts. “I mentioned that today might be hard for you because…” Her voice trails off.

Because we’re both members of the club that no one wants to be in.

The dead mother’s club.

Emotion rises in my throat all over again. “Thank you.”