Page 81 of Filthy Rich

“But how did you have those photos to begin with?” Octavia asks all the great questions.

“Did you want to tell the story, or should I?” Seren’s lip’s twitching.

Dave scowls. “There isn’t a story. My stupid friend Bernie asked me to housesit and didn’t tell me he’d installed security cameras.”

“Wait,” I say. “You didn’t mean to take these?”

The expression of irritation on Dave’s face is hilarious. “Of course not. I’m not a weirdo.”

“Hey, I’m not ready to rule that out yet,” I say. “You vacuum out the utensil drawer once a month.”

“That’s just good hygiene,” Dave says.

“And I’m not sure photos—if both people want them—are weird,” Octavia says.

“Really?” I turn toward her. “You don’t say.”

Seren’s got her fingers stuffed in her ears and she’s saying, “Lalala.”

Dave grabs her arms and tugs them down with a smile. “Anyway, when Bernie was checking the surveillance feed, it told him when there was. . .” He coughs. “Motion at an unexpected time. He saw what I did at his place, and he took issue with it. To make his point, he took some still shots and did more or less what your mom just did, shoving them at me.”

“And you never got to housesit again,” Seren says.

“That was a real trial for me,” Dave says. “Bernie’s stupid yorkie wouldn’t go outside to potty if it was raining. Do you know how much pee I had to clean up that weekend?” He shakes his head. “He deserved what he got, snooping around on what I did while I kept his house clean and his tiny, cricket-of-a-dog alive.”

The next half hour is one of my favorite breakfasts of my life. Octavia slides right into the conversation like she’s always been a part of the family. She makes jokes, she laughs at theirs, and she even manages to make a reference back to both Bernie’s video camera and Seren’s fear of needles before we finish eating the eggs, turkey bacon, and cinnamon toast Seren makes.

And when we’re done, Octavia insists on loading the dishwasher, which wins her lots of points with Dave since that’s usually his job. Even though we’re not supposed to get together to celebrate my party until much later, Killian rolls out of bed at the end of breakfast, his nose turned up and sniffing. He rubs his eyes. “Is that bacon?”

Seren laughs. “I saved you some.”

He wraps his blanket a little tighter, but I notice that he’s not wearing a shirt underneath.

I stand up. “Please tell me you have pants on, at least,” I say. “I brought my girlfriend.”

“Wait, you brought a dirty little tramp home to meet Mom and Dad?” Killian’s eyes widen.

“She’s not a tramp.” I slug his shoulder.

Which makes him drop his blanket.

Seren starts shouting, because, in fact, he was not wearing pants.

“Ew,” Dave says. “Tighty whities? Really?” He groans. “A son of mine.”

Before Killian has even finished the breakfast Seren saved for him, and just after Octavia finishes the dishes, Ardath shows up. She looks pretty tired. “You okay?” I ask. She’s always been the least talkative of my siblings, but when she’s tired, she barely says a word.

“I’m fine.” She yawns. “Stuck with an overnight. Couldn’t sleep at home—they’re doing construction next door.” She points at the hall. “Can I?”

Seren waves her back. “You need your beauty rest.”

“Sick burn,” Killian shouts at Ardath’s retreating form. “Mom says you’re an ug-oh.” Then he freezes and turns slowly toward Octavia. “I’m sorry. Should I not have said burn?”

Octavia’s eyes widen, and she half-smiles. “No, I’d say my traumatic reaction to that word has sufficiently healed. You can use it with impunity.”

“Does that mean it’s fine?” he hisses at me.

I just roll my eyes.

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