“Shut up, Gav. You’re the pervert.” Rhea’s voice was muffled, but I caught the edge of a smile she tried to hide behind her mug.
God, I’d missed this. This was the stuff you didn’t realize you needed until it was almost gone forever.
I watched her as she grabbed some pancakes and dug in, and for a second, it was like we were kids again. No Azzaro drama, no shadows over our heads, just a guy and his bratty little sister fighting over breakfast.
Elin slid onto the stool beside me. She watched us with that careful, quiet look she had when she was cataloguing everything. I loved the way she could be both part of the chaos and slightly apart from it. Like she was always thinking three moves ahead but couldn’t help enjoying the shitshow.
“So, Rhea,” Elin said, pouring herself more coffee. “If you had to pick one, which is it: never have carbs again or give up sex forever?”
Rhea blinked. “That’s not even fair. You can’t ask me that.”
“I can and I did,” Elin replied, her tone smug. “It’s a classic dilemma.”
Rhea made a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Ugh. I refuse to answer. Life isn’t worth living without both.”
I was laughing so hard I almost choked. “Just admit you’re obsessed with pancakes and dick. It’s fine.”
She huffed, tossing a piece of pancake at my face. “You’re the worst brother ever. You know, I could still tell Elin that thing you did in Miami.”
I felt my smile freeze, just a little. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She grinned, sweet as poison. “Try me.”
Elin arched an eyebrow. “Miami?”
“Nope. Not a story for the breakfast table,” I replied, stabbing another forkful of pancake and shoving it into my mouth before they could press further. “What happens in Miami, stays in Miami.”
Elin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m going to get that story out of you one of these days.”
“Not if I’m dead first,” I muttered, but inside I liked that she wanted to know everything. The messy, stupid, reckless parts of my life.
The sun kept coming in brighter, and for a moment, I let myself pretend that this was real. That we could actually have mornings like this, where nothing mattered except the syrup on the pancakes and who could get the last word.
I watched Rhea, and even though she was battered and exhausted, there was still some light left in her. She was tough, tougher than anyone gave her credit for. Maybe even tougher than I was.
I finished my coffee, then just sat there for a second, not wanting to break the spell. “Remember when Mom used to make us breakfast on Sundays?” I asked, voice soft. “She’d stand at the stove in that hideous pink robe.”
Rhea giggled. “And she’d sing along to Madonna and pretend she was a famous pop star. Dad used to complain about the noise, but I think he secretly liked it.”
“Of course he did,” I said. “He was a sucker for Mom’s voice.”
Elin smiled, this time genuinely, not just the smirk she used when she was about to destroy me. “It’s nice. The two of you together.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You are family too, Goddess. You belong at this table.”
Something flickered in her eyes. I knew that look—I’d seen it after the first time she’d let me call her Goddess. Like she was finally letting herself believe she could be loved, too.
Rhea let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll be gross and say I like having you around, Elin. Don’t get used to it.” Her demeanor changed as she continued, “I miss breakfast with Joel and you. This reminds me of that and what could have been.”
Elin took a long sip of coffee, fighting a smile. “I’ll savor this moment.”
I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head. “You know, if Dad could see us right now, he’d probably shit a brick.”
That got a laugh out of both of them. Rhea snorted so loud she nearly spilled her juice, and Elin covered her mouth, trying and failing to hide the full-body shake that came with real laughter.
I watched them both, feeling something tight in my chest that wasn’t fear or anger for once. It was . . . hope. Or maybe just the bittersweet edge of knowing this wouldn’t last, so I’d better enjoy every second I could.
Rhea pointed at me with her fork, syrup dripping onto the table. “You know what I remember? When Gavriel tried to cook eggs for me that one time when Mom was sick.”
