Page 111 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
His hands fist. “It was necessary to lie to me? We’ve been best friends since prep school. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means everything to me, and that’s why I lied.” I sigh at myself. “It’s why we all lied. Because we knew how you felt about this. You went around telling all of us that she’s off-limits, and…we couldn’t stop ourselves.”
He spits, “Chosenot to stop yourselves.”
“You’re right. We made a choice. And we will keep making that choice every day for the rest of our lives, if she lets us.”
He exhales loudly out his nose, but his hands relax. Possibly a good sign. “You care about her that much?”
“More, but I thought you didn’t want to hear about that.”
He turns and grips the railing. Looks like he might get tetanus from holding it. This place needs a ton of work. But then Phil says, “I hate this.”
At least he didn’t say, “I hate you.”
“Come back in,” I say, nodding toward the door. “We’re just having dinner. The kids are laughing. Your mom is doling out advice no one asked for, but everyone is grateful for.” I laugh to myself. “It’s like being with a real family, like all the ones I saw on TV when we were kids. I always wanted that.”
He swallows as the tension in his shoulders drops. “I know you did, Gav.”
“Let’s go in. You can yell at us later. Or never. But not tonight. At least not in front of the kids. Okay?”
He exhales. “Fine. But if I see you sneaking off to touch my sister under the table, I’m flipping it.”
I smirk. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The door clicks shut behind us, and for the first time since he walked in, it feels like the night might not burn down after all.
The table’s already covered when we walk back in—boxes stacked two deep, sauce packets scattered like confetti, little white cartons crowding each other for space. Lyra’s perched on a kitchen chair, legs swinging, chewing on something with too much enthusiasm for it to be anything but dumplings. Levi’s already on his second helping of lo mein, wielding chopsticks with alarming precision for a six-year-old.
Jack’s got his sleeves rolled up, fielding questions about crab rangoon like it’s a board meeting. Parker’s mom is laughing at something Harrison said. Parker catches my eye as I close the door behind Phil, and it’s all there in her face—relief that turns my rib cage into something fragile.
Phil hovers near the wall like he hasn’t decided whether this is a dinner or an ambush. He nods to his mom, then to Parker, and finally takes the empty chair at the far end of the table. It’s subtle, but I see it—the shift.
We pass boxes back and forth. Someone finds the fried rice. Jack discovers the egg rolls. Parker insists on feeding me a bite of sesame chicken with a look that dares me to say no, and I don’t. I lean forward, meet her halfway, and take the bite off her chopsticks while Lyra fake-gags in the background.
“Gross,” she announces, dramatically pushing away her plate. “Grown-ups are always kissing and stealing food.”
“Someday you’ll like both,” Parker says, biting back a laugh.
“Nope,” Lyra says. “I’m going to marry a girl who doesn’t steal my noodles.”
“Good luck finding one,” Jack says, grinning.
Phil eyes us all carefully, not eating yet, but watching. Measuring.
It’s Parker’s mom who starts the next thread of conversation. She’s halfway through a spring roll when she says, “You know, I always wanted a little place on the beach.”
Parker raises an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since forever,” her mom replies, sipping from a glass of water. “Something quiet. A porch swing. A breeze that doesn’t smell like exhaust.”
Levi perks up. “With sand?”
Lyra immediately says, “Can we get a dog?”
Phil mutters, “Oh god, please no.” The room breaks into laughter, and even Phil cracks half a smile.
Harrison leans in. “What would you name the dog?”
