Page 66 of Filthy Rich

“You should ask him about it,” Octavia says. “You don’t have to tell Seren. If it’s really something as awful as you’ve thought for all this time, maybe this will be the impetus he needs to come clean to her. But it’s possible there’s an explanation that won’t hurt anyone.”

“I guess.”

“My parents got divorced when I was young, because of infidelity,” she says. “I think it was actually better for them and me than it would have been if they’d just lied to each other.”

“I can’t think of anything I could do that would be worse than breaking them up,” I say.

“I can,” she says softly. “How about not trusting that they’re who you think they are? Not giving them a chance to explain and do the right thing?”

Maybe she’s right.

“Because, Jake? Even good people make mistakes sometimes. You know, it’s possible your dad was right and Dave’s already confessed and been forgiven. People are complicated, but not knowing is hurting you, and it’s within your control to put a stop to that.”

I can’t believe she thinks that, just like that, I could ask him.

“It would probably have to be an in-person conversation.” I frown. I won’t be back home for weeks yet.

“I may have overheard a conversation with Bea where Seren was saying something about a birthday or anniversary or. . .” She lifts both eyebrows.

Not this again. “Look, we never celebrated birthdays growing up. Dad said they were a manipulation by society that forced us to celebrate mediocrity at an arbitrary time. So when this new do-gooder family wanted to celebrate the day I joined them, which also happened to be the day my dad went to prison?” I’m not sure what to say. “It felt contrived. I wasn’t really their kid. They didn’t really care when I was born. They didn’t even know I existed when I was born. I didn’t have a ‘real’ family, so I tried to stop them from throwing me a party.”

“Then you don’t want to go back to celebrate your birthday-slash-anniversary of joining the Fansee family?”

I wish I didn’t sound so angsty. “I would actually like to go back. I tolerated it for years, but it has grown on me. It’s just that if I tried to leave now, especially after the re-casting, I doubt it would go over well. Catching up again means working long days, even on weekends.”

Octavia drops a hand over mine again, and a nice, warm feeling suffuses my whole body. “Jake, I support whatever you really want, but I disagree with one thing.” She pauses.

I like her holding my hand, so I don’t rush her.

Finally, she says, “Everyone, born into a family or not, feels like they don’t quite fit in at some point. No family is perfectly homogenous. Talking to people when you don’t want to, squeezing in when you don’t quite fit, and asking them the questions that are hard and being open to their answers. . .” She taps her pointer finger on the top of my hand. “That’s what family is.” She scrunches her nose. “That’s their job. They do it because they love you, and you have to meet them halfway, or in this case, find a day to fly home.”

“Then do you like birthday parties?”

“Not even a little bit,” she admits. “But I’m an introvert—not as bad as Bea, but I prefer to spend my nights in—and my family isn’t harmonious. When I was a kid, I liked them.” She squeezes my hand. “But that’s because I felt safe, then. Maybe you could like them now.”

The real reason I should go home is to ask Dave whether the pictures have some explanation. The risk is that my questions might blow things up.

“Some risks are worth taking,” Octavia says.

When she answers a question I didn’t even ask, it makes me genuinely wonder whether she can read minds. “You might be right.”

“About this?” The corner of her mouth turns up. “I am.”

After we finish our food, we talk a little while longer. I ask her about her birthday parties as a kid. She asks what my real birthday is, and I evade. But then, I give her a ride back to her hotel and prepare to head back to the set.

“Don’t go yet.” Bea races out. “I got you a ticket home.”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “I’m not five. I can get my own plane tickets.”

“But you wouldn’t do it,” she says. “And with all the drama, you need to go home.” She hugs me. “So do I,” she whispers in my ear.

“Are you coming?” I glance over Bea’s shoulder at Octavia. “I know you guys have some stuff left next week, but I hope you can.”

“I figure the flight and this hotel cost about the same,” Octavia says. “I may as well come for the day.”

“But the label’s paying for our hotel,” Bea says.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Not the point.”

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