Page 158 of Kingmakers, Year Four

Anna and Leo sit directly in front of us, Leo grinning brighter than I’ve ever seen. The reason is obvious—his hand rests on Anna’s belly, which stretches the limits of her tight black dress.

“How was the flight over?” I ask her, squeezing her shoulder in sympathy.

“Miserable,” she says. “One of these babies is a real fucking asshole.”

“Maybe both of them!” Leo says, with undisguised excitement.

Even as I watch, the side of Anna’s belly visibly distends with a well-aimed kick.

“I don’t know if they’re gonna let me back on the plane,” Anna says. “I’m so big that I look like I’m due tomorrow.”

“I think Cat actuallyisdue tomorrow,” I say.

“I wish she could have come,” Anna says. “And I envy her only having to push one baby out.”

“Yeah, but she’ll have to go through the whole thing again if she wants another,” Leo says. “This is like a two-for-one deal on the pregnancy.”

“Easy for you to say!” Anna says, smacking him on the shoulder.

Leo just grins and pulls her close.

“Sorry babygirl. Twins on both sides of our family — it was pretty much guaranteed to happen.”

Cara Wilk drops down in the seat next to her sister, panting slightly.

“Oh good, we’re not late!” she says. “I broke a heel on my shoe.”

“Don’t worry,” Hedeon says, sitting down next to her. “Those sandals are even prettier.”

He puts his arm around Cara’s shoulder so she can snuggle against his chest.

I can’t help smiling, seeing that Hedeon has matched his tie to Cara’s pale blue dress.

Hedeon moved to Chicago so he can see Cara over the summers when she comes home from Kingmakers. He’s been working with Leo and the rest of the Gallos. Well—the rest of them except for my husband.

Miles and I are perfectly happy in Los Angeles. We’ve been developing a TV show for Netflix—my version ofThe Sopranos, centered around teenagers from mafia families.

“Just don’t put anything in the script that will get us in trouble,” Miles told me.

“You mean, don’t call their high school Kingmakers and put it on a secret island?” I teased him.

“Well . . .” he raised an eyebrow. “It does make for a good setting . . .”

I love working with Miles. Our strengths and weaknesses perfectly complement each other. His ambition is boundless, and he’ll do anything to reach our goals. I’m the rudder that helps steer him away from some of his more fantastical ideas toward those that might actually work.

“Oh!” Cara gasps. “Here she comes!”

In true Chay fashion, she walks down the aisle to the pounding refrains of some German rock band I’ve never heard of.

Her father is wearing his leather Night Wolves jacket over a pair of artfully-distressed jeans and studded boots. He holds Chay’s arm, grinning broadly.

Ozzy steps up to the altar to wait for her. He’s dressed in plaid pants, combat boots, and a sleeveless suit jacket that shows the tattoos running down his arms. An oversized orange peony protrudes from his buttonhole. His mohawk has been spiked up to itsmost astronomical heights. He looks dazzled, utterly stunned at the sight of his bride.

No one can outshine Chay tonight. She’s got the bouffant of Texas beauty queen, the makeup of an 80s hair band, and a dress that trails ten yards behind her. The layers and layers of exploding tulle are dyed in descending sunset colors: fuchsia, salmon, tangerine, scarlet, indigo, and purple.

She practically runs down the aisle to Ozzy.

Ozzy’s dad performs the ceremony. He keeps it short and simple.

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