"I see him in tuxes all the time. Banquets and crap." Still, maybe a wedding wouldn't be all bad. Surely there had to be a few perks in there somewhere. Hopefully.
At Devon's name, Fisher's expression changed, and his eyes shift downward and away from Nox's gaze. "He's fine," he said simply, picking at a loose thread on the bottom of his jeans. "Modeling." Of course, Fisher had no idea how Devon was doing, because he hadn't seen or spoken to him in at least eight years. But Nox would not approve of that, and he wouldn't admit to it if he didn't have to.