Page 112 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
“Pineapple,” Lyra says, absolutely serious.
“Perfect,” Jack says. “Unquestionably perfect.”
For a while, it’s like this—conversation flowing easily, food passed without hesitation, Parker brushing her hand across mine whenever she reaches for another dumpling. Phil stays quiet, but I watch him watch her. Watch us.
I see it happen gradually. His eyes track the way Jack talks to Lyra like she’s already the smartest person in the room. And to be sure, she clearly is. I suspect Levi could give her a run for her money, but he’s too quiet to prove it. The way Harrison leans down to help Levi tie his shoelace when he comes back from the hallway, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The way Parker keeps touching all three of us without even realizing—casual, unguarded, like she knows we’re hers.
Phil isn’t smiling. But he isn’t scowling either. That’s progress.
By the time Parker’s mom brings out ice cream, there’s laughter spilling into every corner of the apartment. It’s a family. And I have no urge to run away from it.
The kids are halfway through their second tiny bowl of ice cream when Phil finally speaks. “I didn’t come here to give speeches.”
Parker quietly says, “I’m glad for that. But you never did mention why you came.”
Part of me wants him to tell her about Vivian’s plan to buy the building. God knows I don’t want to be the one to tell her. But I also don’t want that stress put on her or her mom or the kids.
Phil glances at Parker, then at the kids, and finally at the three of us. “I’ve been angry. I still am, maybe. I’ve known you all since high school. I’ve worked alongside you, defended you, told everyone I knew how brilliant you were. And then I find out—like this—that you’re all…datingmy little sister.” Pretty sure he cleaned that up instead of saying fucking in front of the kids.
Parker groans quietly. “Can we not phrase it like that?”
Phil ignores her. “It’s a lot. I’m still not convinced it’s not a train wreck waiting to happen.”
“We understand,” I tell him.
Phil cuts a look at me. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looks back down at the table for a moment, drumming his fingers against the edge. Then, slowly, he exhales. “But…this fits. With you. All of you. I watched the way Lyra curled up in Jack’s lap like she’s known him for years. The way Levi talks to Harrison like he’s the only adult who understands cartoons. The way my mom—my mom—smiled like she’s already planning where you’ll all sit at Thanksgiving.”
He leans forward now, resting his forearms on the table. “I don’t like it.” He pauses. “But this isn’t about me. And if this is what makes Parker happy—if this is what’s good for those kids—then it’s not my job to like it. Yeah, I don’t get it. And other people aren’t going to get it either. But screw it. Make this work and prove the world wrong about this family.”
He says “family” like it’s a challenge. Like we’re all in this now, for better or worse. It’s a relief, not only for me. Parker’s mom raises her glass in a silent toast.
Jack grins, wide and wolfish. “We can work with that.”
Phil mutters something under his breath and grabs another fortune cookie like he didn’t just drop the biggest moment of the night and pretend it was nothing.
But Parker’s smile? It tells me everything. Her brother didn’t just tolerate us tonight. He joined the table.
Soon the kids are in pajamas and pretending to sleep on the living room floor. Parker’s mom has claimed the guest room, promising to wake up early and make pancakes. Phil made a big deal about needing to “grab a drink with someone not entangled in a four-gy or whatever the hell this is,” but I caught the way he hugged his mom before he left. His arms held a little tighter. His goodbye lingered a little longer.
Jack and Harrison are in the kitchen, finishing up dishes and pretending they aren’t both quietly eavesdropping through the open balcony door. The lights outside are soft, and the quiet hum of traffic from a few blocks over filters in with the breeze. The air smells like night and leftovers and something so warm I don’t have a name for it.
Parker and I are standing out here, side by side, leaning on the railing. Fingers crossed about the tetanus.
She’s barefoot. Her hair’s pulled into a loose braid, and she’s wearing a soft long-sleeve shirt with tiny holes in the sleeve cuffs where her thumbs always find their way through.
And I can’t stop looking at her.
“I thought you might leave,” she says softly. “After all of this.”
“I wanted to.”
That earns me a glance, but I don’t let her sit in it too long.
“Not because I didn’t want you. Because I didn’t think I could handle it. The weight of wanting more than I thought I deserved.”
