Page 45 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

Then it dawns on me that I have seen her before—once, when I stopped by Alex’s place to pick up an old tent he was donating to the organization. He’d acted like he had something to hide inside the house, and when I peered in through the window, I’dseen her there on the couch. Why did it take me so long to realize where I’d seen her before?

“Right,” I say, lifting her up and out of my lap. I can’t be any closer to her—can’t be doing this with Alex’s ex-girlfriend. It’s one thing to flirt with Ryan’s girl, especially since he’s got so many of them, but it’s different with my brother.

It’s not like Alex and I are best friends, but we’ve always been closer than he and Travis. As the middle kid, maybe I’ve got a little more understanding of both of their positions.

“Sorry,” Serena says. The good news is that she’s no longer focused on the storm raging around us. The shitty thing is the way she looks at me now, with obvious wanting on her face, even a tiny bit of hurt. Like I’ve turned her down for any other reason than familial loyalty.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I say, even as I put distance between us. Not her fault, but I’m also not crossing that line with her.

“So,” Serena asks, clearing her throat from the other side of the tent. She might as well be on the other side of the world now. “What was Alex like? Growing up?”

I decide that talking to her about this isn’t crossing the line. Plus, it will help distract her further and keep her from trembling in fear.

So I tell her about Alex’s entitlement, his mother—Priscilla—being our father’s final wife. Since his death, she’s had a lot of fun blowing through every penny of her inheritance. The only thing she hasn’t been able to touch is our trusts.

Quietly, under the hum of rain against the tent, I tell her about Travis’s disdain for our father, how he was ruthless with my older brother, harder on him than on Alex and me.

I surprise myself by wanting to share my past with her, to talk about what it was like to grow up as an Oakley.

Despite Serena smelling like roses and despite the way my body longs to be closer to hers, I draw the line at talking. I keep my hands to myself for the rest of the night.

But when we get down off this mountain, I’ll be calling my brother to find out what the hell he did to lose a woman like this.

Chapter 24

Serena

When I get back to the house, I’m sweaty, sexually frustrated, and thoroughly exhausted.

Graham clearly had no interest in me after finding out about my history with Alex, which only added to my dissatisfaction and fear. Somehow, I eventually managed to fall asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, the sun shone merrily through the thin material, and Graham was packing up our things. Everything was wet. Despite all the talking the night before—during which I even told him about my history in the foster care system—the walk back down the mountain was just as awkward as the walk up.

Now, after carefully parking Lillie’s minivan on the street, I haul my camera bag up to the front door and push inside, expecting to find Grayson and Sid in the living room, Lillie in the kitchen, maybe some commotion, people fighting over the remote.

But the house is weirdly dark and quiet. It’s rare that all my roommates are out at the same time. They could be seeing a movie or something, I guess. The dim hallway and quiet remindme, for a moment, of what it felt like to come home to Alex’s place.

Myplace. Our place. The house we rented together. The one that was supposed to be a precursor to the rest of our shared life.

I pause, close my eyes, expecting to feel that familiar rush of grief and pain, the twisting sensation that comes each time I remember the break-up. Each time I think about all my things on the lawn, just another chapter in the saga of not being wanted.

But it doesn’t come.

In fact, I feel more thinking about Travis. How he left me in that hotel room and hasn’t answered any of my texts since then.

There’s a creak on the stairs, and I’m pulled from my thoughts, opening my eyes and finding a familiar brunette in the low light of the windows, looking out at me like a ghost.

“Bianca!” I sputter, surprised.

“Serena,” Bianca says, her mouth slightly open, like she forgot that I live here too. For the first time in a long time, I’m not catching her on her way out. Bianca is perpetually put-together, which means that even though she’s not dressed in designer clothes with her hair straightened, she’s still wearing a matching silk pajama set, her hair braided neatly into a heatless curling rod.

Face pink, scrubbed of make-up, she still has the kind of fine bone structure that makes her look dainty and perfect. I’ve always been jealous of that. I stare at her for a long moment, thinking it’s been long enough that I almost forgot what she really looked like.

“Hey,” I finally say, dropping my bag and stepping forward to pull her into a hug. “You’re not on your way out, are you?”

“No,” she breathes, shaking her head against my shoulder. “Sorry. Things have just been so… busy.”

Throughout college, and then after moving in here, we rarely went more than an hour without texting or sitting next to each other talking. Now, I feel like I have no idea what’s going on in her life. It’s the longest I’ve gone withoutreallytalking to her.