Page 78 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

This is the same record she played. The same song that made her feel alive.

I expect to burst into tears—that’s what’s been happening to me so often lately—but maybe I’m taken with her spirit. Maybe I’m tired of being sad about everything. Or, just maybe, it’sTravis standing in front of me, having found a way to fix my most prized possession.

Instead of crying, I step forward and take his hand in mine, tugging him into a dance move like my grandma did to me when I was a teenager. A grumpy, angry-at-the-world teenager who didn’t feel like listening to music at all, let alone dancing around the living room. She was my saving grace, the thing that softened me into the person I am today.

She helped me to appreciate art. To see and capture the beauty in the world.

So now, I do just that. I set my cheek against Travis’s cheek as “Something” plays, and after a moment’s hesitation, he relaxes, settles his cheek against the top of my head, and falls into step with me.

I’m certain Travis took dancing lessons growing up. It seems like exactly the kind of thing a rich kid does in his spare time, and I can feel it in the precise cut of his movements. But he doesn’t strong-arm me, doesn’t force me to fall into a pattern.

Instead, we float around the foyer, two bodies melded into one, until I can’t feel anything but the sound of his breath and the warm sunlight pooling into the room like glittering, precious love.

I’m certain I’ll never forget this moment.

“Hey,” a voice says from the stairs, and I look up to see Ryan working at a cuff, stepping down two at a time. “What’s going on here?”

When I pull back from Travis, I have to swipe the backs of my hands over my cheeks. So, I cried after all. Tears of joy. “Travis fixed my record player.”

“Well,” Travis says, “I had it sent to the original manufacturer, then to a vintage refurbishing expert.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, steps in and slips me away from Travis and says, “Such a show off.”

Travis flips him the bird and Ryan just laughs.

He takes me into his arms and we dance to “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” goofier and lighter. Ryan twirls me as often as he can and taps me on the back in time with the beat.

“I’m pretty sure this is actually a morbid song,” I laugh, just before Graham cuts in and takes me for “Oh! Darling.”

Graham tucks me into his body, smelling like the garden outside, and I breathe him in. I’m too happy, too happy with these men, with this situation, with my friends on their way here right now.

If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

It took no effort from Alex to put the record player out in the rain. One second, we were fine, then everything was terrible. Travis went to all this trouble to get the player repaired for me. The guys are, so far, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If losing Alex set me on a semi-reckless path, barreling into Travis’s office, then what would happen to me if I lost Travis, Graham, or Ryan?

Orallthree of them at once?

I close my eyes as Graham sweeps me up into his arms, cradling me and singing along with the lyrics, the other guys laughing and teasing us. It’s all I can do to keep up the flood wall against the sinking, terrible feeling that this is all going to come to an end.

Chapter 42

Serena

Aknock on the door interrupts our dancing, and Graham removes his arms from around my waist, squeezing me once before stepping back completely. Travis and Ryan carefully move the record player to the corner of the room before setting the album to play again, this time softer.

I answer the door, finding Georgia and Lillie on the other side, both looking immaculate. Georgia’s in a black dress, her sleek, dark hair loose around her shoulders. Lillie is wearing her purple hair in two space buns, with the pink dress Georgia suggested.

“Hi!!” I squeal. And they squeal right back at me. We grab each other in a group hug.

Peering around them, I ask, “Where are the guys?”

Georgia sighs and steps forward for a hug. “Sid was suspicious of the car, so they insisted on driving themselves.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. Of course he was.

Then, after hugging Georgia and Lillie again, I’m introducing them to my guys. When I say, “Lillie, this is Ryan, and Ryan, this is—” Lillie interrupts me, stepping forward and taking one of Ryan’s hands in both of hers.

“Lillie O’Connor, 26, part-time pastry chef and full-time fan of yours.”