Chapter Text
It’s a little thrilling, sneaking plots and plans between standard wedding planning. Devin feels like he’s in one of Eden’s political novels.
It’s also exhausting.
“I’m really sorry to impose,” Francesca says after telling him a mountain of impossible requests. Her laugh is self conscious and paired with a plastered-on smile. The only thing that betrays her are her cold eyes.
“It’s not imposing; it’s his job,” Eden always smiles. Michael scribbles something down behind him as Eden sweet talks the princess.
Nearly a week in and their whole routine is becoming rote. Devin feels cemented in his role, in too deep for escaping to higher ground before the flood of pressure washes him away.
“Still,” she laughs. “I know we’re a mess.”
Devin plasters on what he thinks is an understanding expression and a relatable chuckle, “You’re not, I promise.”
“It’s a high profile wedding; of course you want it to be perfect.” Eden’s pleasant facade is better than Devin’s could ever be. He’s had years to hone it, after all. “High standards aren't messy.”
It’s totally messy, and it’s all Brandon’s fault. Devin doesn’t know if Ritchie has talked to him yet, but he hopes a change is coming soon.
Dread pools in his stomach as he looks down at his brand-new to-do list. He almost feels dizzy trying to reconcile his secret obligations with them. His personal, merged, to-do list is so long it could be plastered up as fresh wallpaper for the entire castle. Probably. Maybe.
It’s a lot.
Francesca wants a live band now. Her parents want an imported orchestra and the Diaboluses are willing to take anything that will astound their guests. Brandon has magnanimously suggested no music at all, as to not take away from the romance of their vows. All Devin has to do is find a suitably luxurious middle ground between heavenly orchestras and utter silence, without pissing anyone off.
Magnanimous. Right.
For another one of his tasks, Devin has already decided on the baby’s breath and roses and a half a dozen other flowers he thinks would be fantastic as gap fillers. He just needs to find a florist to hire for the event, something he probably should have offloaded from the start. It’s just so hard to communicate as just one person that it’s even harder to imagine looping in other groups.
He still hasn’t found the perfect fabric for the table runners, either. He’s gone with Ritchie twice to no avail, and he’s getting worried.
And all that is without taking the biweekly meetings in Captain Morgan’s back room into account.
It feels a bit like he’s drowning, but luckily Devin Seabrooke is a damn good swimmer.
As they wrap up the day’s work in the castle, he rolls up his sleeves to prepare for the work outside of it. He catches Eden’s eye. The other man has a questioning eyebrow raised and Devin waves him off with all the confidence of someone who loves his twin but doesn’t need his brand of meddling. Eden’s style is very different from his own.
Anyway, he has to accomplish the second step in his post-meeting plan: go to the florist.
It’s the second because the real first step is making long, even strides toward him already. Ritchie slides into place next to Devin’s side like he was meant to be there. He grins, “There’s my shopping buddy! Was worried you’d leave without me.”
Devin smirks, “You almost missed me. I was on my way out.”
“My lucky day then,” Ritchie says.
“I’m glad someone’s excited for this mess,” Devin says a little sardonically. “Yesterday’s list has nearly doubled.”
Ritchie breathes in sharply in sympathy.
Devin thinks if Ritchie were shorter than him, he’d be hanging off of him. As it is, he’s rested his chin in Devin’s hair, the cleft of it poking through the semi-separated fingers buried behind his fringe. “Where to today?”
Devin can hear the vibrations of his words through his head, and every syllable sends chills down his spine. Fighting to keep from flushing, Devin swats him away. “The florist’s. You don’t happen to know any good ones, do you?”
Ritchie thinks for a moment, before nodding to himself. “We typically source from Echeveria’s. They do bulk orders if you request early enough, and have a fine selection. Their head florist is a real character, but he does his job really well. I hate to admit it, but he’s the best in the business.”
“Well, then. What are we waiting for?”
They make their way out of the courtyard together, Devin only faintly aware of the press of Eden’s eyes on him as he slips away. He doesn’t notice the confusion and amusement on his twin’s face, like a cat preparing for the pounce.
The walk to Echevaria’s takes the two of them through hill and glade, far away from the bustling town square where their adventures have taken them before. It’s only after twenty minutes of following Ritchie that Devin considers that he doesn’t actually know if the prince’s sense of direction is intact.
Turns out, it’s pretty good.
“Wow,” the word is ripped out of Devin’s mouth as he takes in the field of flowers in every color of the rainbow, improbably growing in one biome in long straight lines behind the building. Devin’s never seen this many flowers, nevermind so well organized.
“Right?” Ritchie grins, and his eyes shine and crinkle at the edges in a way that makes Devin smile back automatically. He’s treated by seeing the other man’s grin grow wider.
The front landscaping is elegant, a demure waterfall flowing into a rippling lake. The midday sun reflects off of it like something out of a dream, and it complements the thin winding path toward the building itself.
It’s small and charming, with sculpted overhangs and a porch adorned with a flower-covered swing. Jutting out from the side is a greenhouse embossed with nature’s jewelry. Climbing vines and trellises provide contrast to bright tropical flowerbeds, and Devin can’t see it all through the glass but he sees enough to be entranced.
A large sign hangs above the door, declaring the building as Echeveria’s with pride.
“That’s where the real store is,” Ritchie nods toward the greenhouse. “Be careful though, it’s David’s domain.”
Devin gives him a cheeky grin, “And here I thought it would’ve been Echeveria’s.”
Ritchie paws at his shoulder with another tantalizing laugh before tugging him forward.
There’s the twinkling of chimes as they walk into the side building, and the humidity of a well-watered greenhouse hits Devin full force.
“Welcome in,” A man’s voice calls, no nonsense. “Watch your step!”
“He thinks he can hear plants,” Ritchie murmurs to Devin, low and cheeky. He tiptoes theatrically across the floor, and Devin has to keep himself from giggling at the sight. “Apparently they scream when trampled.”
Well, it’s not the weirdest thing Devin’s heard, and not the worst way to get customers to stay off your wares.
They creep closer to a desk hidden within the jungle of plant life, behind which a man with combed black hair stands. He raises his eyebrows at the sight of them, “Look who’s back! Prince Ritchie, plant killer.”
“David,” Ritchie nods.
“Talk about a royal title,” Devin smirks, carefully moving into view without touching a plant. “What’d you do to earn that one, sir?”
Ritchie points at the man behind the counter—David— accusingly, “Demented, remember?”
“Have you been telling stories about me, Killer?” David asks with a perked eyebrow. Ritchie glares back, and Devin tentatively sends a comforting hand to squeeze the prince’s. He hopes it wasn’t a misstep, but with his prince’s calloused, tense hand in his, Devin doesn’t even care.
“Warnings,” Ritchie corrects. “Not stories.”
David shrugs like the difference is nothing to him. He focuses on Devin, his icy blue eyes sharper than a hawk’s. A chill runs down Devin’s spine.
“So who’re you, pretty boy?”
Devin flushes, and he tries to scrabble for purchase, “The… royal wedding planner.”
“Prestigious,” David compliments. Devin flushes. There’s only a second between the compliment and when he looks, a little confusedly, back at Ritchie. “And you’re what, the little flower boy?”
Ritchie’s face reddens enough to match Devin’s, and he puffs up his chest—which, today he’s wearing a blue loose linen shirt under an elegant, golden clasped cloak and it’s stylish and preened and Devin really shouldn’t find that as hot as he does. That’s a prince, for gods’ sake, he probably had someone else pick it out for him, and Devin lets himself wonder for the tiniest moment if maybe there’s a job opening there— and crosses his arms defensively. “I’m the best man.”
David’s eyes go theatrically wide, and Devin sees the moment Ritchie realizes he’s fallen into David’s trap. “Then why, pray tell, are you in my flower shop?”
Ritchie glares.
“Aw Ritchie,” David pushes ahead, gushing. “I knew you missed me.”
“I’m here with him,” Ritchie exasperatedly sighs.
David sends a disbelieving look at Ritchie’s arms, like he’s found them completely lacking, “As protection? Don’t you have guards for that?”
Ritchie’s mouth opens to snipe right back and Devin realizes it’s not Ritchie but Devin who has fallen into their trap: he needs to stop this now or the store will close for the night before he even takes another step.
“He’s my second opinion,” Devin barges into the exchange. “It’s very important for an event like this, and crown prince Brandon’s very busy, so who better to bring than his best man?”
Ritchie’s defensive arm crossing shifts into something more smug.
David sniffs but says nothing other than a, “Well in that case, what can I do for you?”
Devin settles in and talks shop with him for a few moments, hammering the details out into something feasible and suitably off Devin’s plate. David, for all of his snips and comebacks, is good at what he does. He practically begs Devin to hand him over the reins of arranging all of the flowers, which Devin does gratefully. He has enough to handle as it is.
In the middle of deciding what size Francesca’s bouquet should be, a small figure hops into the room, “Plant!”
In an instant, David’s shark grin melts.
“Come here, Plant!” The kid scampers toward him before turning their big purple eyes to Devin. “This is my son, Echeveria. They’re a cute little bugger, hm?”
“As a button,” Devin smiles warmly, before getting closer to them.
Holy shit. The kid is made of plants.
Very carefully, he keeps his eyes and mouth fixed in a warm smile. Ritchie doesn’t react from where he’s stood at Devin’s side, so maybe this kind of thing is normal in Salode.
Right.
Ritchie brings his hands wide in a hug, and the small plant jumps into his arms. Devin’s chest warms. “Hey Plant! I missed you, bud.”
David flicks a fake tear onto the ground, “My own son. How could you, Ech.”
“Plant.”
David gasps.
“Admit it, your kid likes me,” Ritchie brags. He lets Echeveria go, ruffling their hair. “Plant-killing and all.”
David’s tough face melts at the sight, and he shrugs, “There’s no accounting for taste.”
Devin’s too busy watching the exchange that he only notices Ech has come up to him when they latch onto his waist. When he looks down, he’s met with two purple puppy-dog eyes. “Plant?”
“That’s Devin, bud,” David walks next to him, kneeling down to his kid’s level. He leans close like he’s sharing a secret, “He’s a wedding planner, and friends with the big dunce.”
“Hey!”
“Plant!”
“Yep,” David says. “It is a tragedy, huh?”
Plant swats at their dad.
“Nuh-uh! Hands are not for hitting, Plant.” David shakes his head. “But really, I’m sure he’d show you all the flowers he’s picked out,” he turns to Devin, “won’t he?”
“Yeah, of course.” Devin waves Echeveria over.
He spends the rest of the early afternoon showing Ech and David both his plans and and getting surprisingly solid advice from the former—translated by their dad, of course. They point out weak points in his arrangement plans and end up with him feeling like he’s offloaded onto the right person.
For the first time in this whole wedding planner gig, he feels his stress lessen instead of build. It’s a nice feeling, and one he could get used to.
“Bye-bye Ech!” Devin pauses at the greenhouse door Ritchie is holding, waving to the plant kid. Ritchie calls back his goodbyes. “Thank you so much, David. Really.”
“Yeah, yeah, get outta here,” David smiles.
Devin leaves in step with Ritchie, and the man turns to him once they’re on the path.
“I got you a little something, dahl-ing.” Ritchie puns, redder than Devin has ever seen him. His flushed cheeks match the dahlia he’s passing to Devin.
Devin blinks down at the flower that has been gently passed to his hands. “Oh. Wow.”
Ritchie’s hand is still wrapped around Devin’s, “It reminded me of you.”
The flower is a dark red in the middle, growing in vibrancy as its petals bloom outward.
“Ritchie,” Devin says. “This is so sweet.”
“Just like you,” Ritchie smiles. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do. I really do,” He rubs his thumb against the back of Ritchie’s hand. Devin chances a look up at the Prince, only to meet his eyes where they were staring at Devin. They both blink, caught in the act.
His mouth goes dry, and his hand slips out of Ritchie’s. “‘Dahl-ing, huh?’ Did you think of that all on your own?”
“Maybe,” Ritchie runs a hand through his hair. “I thought it worked.”
“I thought it was cute.”
“Oh,” Ritchie says lamely, his mouth shaped like an ‘o.’ Devin is struck with the sudden urge to lean up on his tippy toes and kiss him.
Which, shit.
He jerks back from where he had started drifting toward Ritchie.
This is a prince. Of a country. Something Devin, a merchant several generations back, is very much not. Devin smells like the sea and was named for it; Ritchie smells like a storm brewing and fabrics too expensive for Devin to even look at.
Besides, it was just a flower, one Ritchie probably would have gotten for himself anyway. A cute little witticism. It’s impossible, and not for Devin to want.
“You ready to head back?” Devin says instead of something stupid he could never do and can never have.
The walk back is filled with mindless chatter, and Devin knows his heart isn’t in it.
It can’t be.
It’s late when Michael finds him on the furthest dock in port, staring out at the waves. The waves are too big for things like flowers or red cheeks to be given any thought. After all, the ocean is calm today, her waves lapping gently over the beach across the way. The late sunset has cast a pink-purple glow over everything and Devin loves it.
Devin loves how the glittering sea pairs with the towering forests and sandstone buildings. He likes seeing the ocean paired with different architecture, it’s one of the best parts of being a travelling merchant. The worst parts come in the weeks on sea, the ocean’s gentle glistening turned blinding through quantity alone. Devin likes his feet on the ground, but never so much as Michael has.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His brother asks as he settles on the end of the dock. If the two of them were any taller, they would have had to be worried about their toes dipping in the water.
Devin hums in agreement.
“Some days, I still can’t believe I get to live here,” Michael confesses. “On the worst days, I can’t believe I get to put down roots anywhere.”
His voice is softer, “On those days, I can’t believe I chose to.”
Devin’s voice is a little more raw than he would like when he says, “Yeah? You miss us?”
Michael’s grin is wide and playful, “You guys? Nah, I just miss hauling crates and barrels on and off and below deck again.”
Devin shrugs, “You should have just said something, Michael. I have plenty of crates for you to haul if you miss it that much.”
Michael laughs, and Devin unwinds at the sound that is hardwired into him as safety, “On second thought…”
Devin smacks him.
They laugh and poke fun a little longer, before they settle into staring at the sun as it finally slips below the horizon. Watching it blankets something like melancholy over Devin’s heart.
“You know, I always thought it would be you and me against the world,” Devin sighs. “But you left, and now it’s me and Eden against each other,” he sniffles a laugh, “and I realized that you were what made being a Seabrooke worth it.”
Michael swallows, looking deep into Devin’s soul as he meets his eyes, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I miss you, Michael. I miss your pacing on the deck, I miss brainstorming solutions together, and I miss you so much. This project, or mission, or whatever we’re calling it, reminded me of that. Reminded me of how we used to be.
“And I’m happy you’re living your dream, really,” he swallows, the truth almost too raw to say. He takes a shaky breath. “I just wish you had a harder time leaving us.”
I wish I had been enough to make you stay.
Michael grabs Devin’s shoulders, steadying him.
Devin stares into his brother’s eyes even as his face wobbles in his tear-filled vision.
“Devin, leaving you guys was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Michael’s voice gets choked up. Devin watches a slow tear drip down his cheek. “I had to keep moving, or I never would have gone through with it.”
Which is strange, because Michael doesn’t cry. Michael gets overwhelmed, he gets tired, he gets choked up. He has sharp spitting words but he is always, unfailingly pointed in the direction of wherever the next step is. He moves forward; Devin is the one who stays stuck in the moment. It’s their yin and yang, their ebb and flow.
Devin gets stuck, and Michael is already three steps ahead when he turns back and pulls Devin by his side.
Devin buries his face in his brother’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you take me with you?”
He feels more than sees his brother’s shrug. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to see me scared.
“Besides, you hate the boring stuff I was doing,” Michael pokes him. “You would have hated me for bringing you and hated yourself for agreeing to it. All of this wedding nonsense is the most interesting thing I've done in years.”
“So why’re you doing it?” Devin says, muffled against his brother’s shoulder.
“Because I like boring,” Michael’s smile is audible. “I like working on my reading and taking notes at meetings. I like fetching Brandon’s meals and offering him advice. The dream I’m chasing consists of the most boring life known to man, and I want that.”
Devin sighs, because he knows this. “Yeah, you do, you big nerd.”
Michael shakes his shoulder, nearly making Devin fall off of it. “Glass houses, Dev.”
Devin laughs, and it feels good. His eyes are tired and heavy, and his body feels wrung out, but Devin is laughing with Michael just like he used to. Michael starts laughing with him and Devin peels himself off of his brother and flops down on the dock. Michael joins him.
Michael twines his hand in Devin’s, and squeezes it tight. “I love you, bud.”
“Love you too, Michael.”