“I’m just saying, my sister deserves to have a life outside of work and kids. And Ryan seemed genuinely interested. Not in a creepy way. In a ‘wow, Parker Carter is impressive, and I’d like to get to know her better’ way.”
“At most,” I say firmly, “it would be coffee. Or a work lunch. Nothing that requires a babysitter or formal planning.”
“I’m just trying to help,” Charles says innocently. “Ryan’s a good guy. He’d treat you right.”
“How did the attack squad react to that?” Sienna asks casually, but her dark eyes are sharp. Knowing.
Charles snorts into his wine. “What? They don’t care who Parker sees. Why would they care?”
Mom makes a soft sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Oh, my dear son. You’re so adorable.”
“What?” Charles looks between our mother and Sienna. “What did I say? Why am I adorable?”
“No reason, darling.” She smiles serenely, taking a delicate sip of her wine before catching my eye across the table. She winks.
My face heats. Because, of course, Mom knows. Has probably always known. Mothers see everything.
“Can someone please explain—,” Charles starts, but Jimmy interrupts with a story about recess, and the moment passes.
Dinner continues in that chaotic, warm way that family dinners do—overlapping conversations, laughter, the occasional argument about who gets the last roll. My sons fit into it seamlessly, like they’ve always been here. Like this is home.
And maybe it is.
After dinner, the kids tumble outside to play in the sprawling backyard—chasing each other under the oak trees, their laughter carrying through the open French doors. Charles and Mom move to the sitting room to discuss something business-related.
I’m clearing plates when Sienna appears beside me.
“Leave them,” she says. “Staff will handle it. Come outside with me.”
It’s not really a question.
We step onto the terrace, warm evening air wrapping around us. The boys are visible in the distance, playing some elaborate game that involves a lot of running and shrieking.
“So,” Sienna says, leaning against the stone railing. “Ryan Matthews.”
“There’s no Ryan Matthews,” I say immediately. “Charles is being Charles.”
“Mhmm.” She takes a sip of her wine. “And how do Jace, Cal, and Silas feel about Ryan asking you out?”
“I don’t know. Why would that matter?”
Sienna gives me a look—the kind that says she sees straight through my bullshit and is choosing to be patient about it.
“Parker. Tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“About them.” She gestures vaguely. “About the three men who’ve been watching you like you’re the only thing in the room since you got back. The three men who made pancakes in your kitchen and assembled your furniture and clearly have feelings that go way beyond ‘Charles’s best friends.’”
My stomach drops. “I don’t?—”
“When Charles and I were dating,” Sienna continues, cutting off my denial, “I noticed things. How they behaved around you versus when you weren’t there. Even when you weren’tphysically present, you were present to them. Cal was checking your social media constantly. Jace was always finding reasons to be wherever you were. Silas listened to conversations from three rooms away if your name was mentioned.”
She pauses, studying me.
“At first I thought they were just... overprotective. Maybe obsessed in an unhealthy way. But then I saw how they looked at you. All three of them. Like you were precious. Like you were theirs.”
“Sienna—”
