“This could be your chance, Cohen. You could get the wedding you always dreamed of. Remember? You told me you don’t want a court—” “Luna,” Cohen firmly says. “No.” “You don’t want what?” Declan asks, turning in his chair. Uh-oh . . . Did Declan not know? Crap. I shrink into my seat, trying to become one with my stool. Getting caught between my brother and Declan is never good. It never ends well, and I usually earn a good lecture afterward. From the way Cohen’s staring daggers at me, I should probably pencil in a ten p.m. bedtime lecture now. “Nothing,” Cohen says through clenched teeth. Maybe
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