Page 39 of Stroke of Luck

“Okay, breakfast together it is. Now, was that so hard? I might need one of you to drag me out like Giorgi did this morning, but if it means a lot to you for me to be at breakfast, I will. Could we make a compromise and weekends I get to sleep in? Or whatever two days you think you would be alright with?” I counter.

They all look at each other and then mutter and nod their heads.

“Brilliant! See, this is how it’s going to work. If something upsets you or bothers you, don’t let it stew until you all become sharks in the water waiting for the first hint of blood.”

“It wasn’t just about breakfast, baby girl. We had something we wanted to show you—that surprise I mentioned,” Othello adds.

I frown in confusion. “So last night wasn’t the surprise?”

His face lights up with a smile at that. “No, but I’m glad you enjoyed it enough to think that. Going to the club was a spur of the moment thing we decided when we got worried you would think the gala was boring as all hell.”

The one thing I love more than sleep—or sex, or even Pop-Tarts—is a surprise! Okay, if the surprise ends up including any of those things, it might be the best thing to ever happen to me in my life, but I don’t think that’s the case.

“Oh man, look at her, she’s practically ready to pop out of her own skin with excitement.” Giorgi laughs. “Unfortunately, we will have to have breakfast first since you made all of us wait on you.”

I all but snarl at him for saying that, and Remo grabs me so I don’t launch over the kitchen island. “Not cool, man! You can’t just tell a girl that you have a surprise and then rip the rug out from under her feet!”

Othello stands and walks over to me, placing me in yet another Remo and Othello sandwich that makes me shiver as I remember last night. “Baby girl, everyone lives by these rules in this house—even me. Now come. Let us all sit for a meal together, and then we will show you the surprise we have. If you continue to be unreasonable, I will treat you like the child you are being and not let you have it.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he lays it out like that. I’m totally being a diva about this whole thing. “You’re right.” I lean to the side so I can see the others. “I’m sorry guys, morning is not my thing.”

“We forgive you, skittles. Besides, it’s a lot to hit you with before giving you coffee,” Enzo says, getting up and pouring me a cup. “Don’t let these guys make you feel too bad—they’re assholes, and sometimes they need to be put in their place when they gang up on you. Come on, have a seat.” He kisses me on the head before pulling out a chair.

Breakfast ends up being quite the event once it’s all pulled out of the oven.

“Guys, this is crazy! Who eats all this for breakfast? There is enough to feed a whole army!” I laugh, taking it all in.

Now, I know they don’t make the food, but still—they’ve asked for it to be made. It is rather sweet of them, too, if you include the fact we are in the kitchen and not the formal dining room, making it feel more normal. Remo goes right in and fills a plate with stuffed french toast, mini quiche, fruit, and two sausage links, then slides it in front of me. As much as I want to complain about how much food he’s given me, I keep my mouth shut and just accept it, because he is being so goddamn sweet. The others dig in, and to my shock and awe, most of the food is gone while I am still only half into my meal.

“It’s clear that you haven’t been living with boys or you would know how much we eat,” Giorgi teases.

“We don’t get these good looks for free, you know,” Paolo adds. “It takes effort and physical training. While you were sleeping, we all hit the gym or swam laps, showered, and got ready—hence why we got a little hangry. Typically we would have eaten and been out the door by now working… well, besides Othello since he works from here most days.”

I gape at all of them. “When do you get up?”

Paolo shrugs. “Somewhere between five and six a.m.”

“Fuck no! God, if you want me to be up that early I just won’t go to bed. I didn’t know that this is what I was committing to! Nine maybe, eight would be pushing it, but six a.m.?! You have got to be out of your mind!” I rant, dropping my head into my hands.

“Skittles, calm down, will you? This is the schedule we’ve had because it’s just been us. We didn’t make an effort to have a routine meal a day. Hell, Othello had to make a monthly mandatory dinner so we could all be in the same place at the same time to catch up. Yeah, we live together and see each other in passing, and every once in a while some of us are free for a night, but for it to be all five is tough,” Enzo explains, making me feel like an idiot. “It wouldn’t be fair for us to ask you to have breakfast and demand you get up crazy early, knowing morning isn’t your thing. I think we can all manage meeting down here at eight if that’s what needs to happen.”

I look up at all of them when no one disagrees with Enzo. “Sorry for the freak out, I just know I won’t be good company if you drag me out of bed that early. Eight is going to take some getting used to, but I’ll manage. While we are on the subject of our relationship… seeing as my parents have blasted it all over the news last night, where does that leave us?”

“I’ve made it known that while yes, we are together and one day hope to be married, I have not proposed as of yet and that your parents were misinformed on the situation seeing as they have been out of the country,” Othello shares, handing me over a newspaper.

Reading over the article on the second page, it says exactly that. “How the hell did you get this out so fast?”

“Baby girl, did you forget who I am? One of my lawyers reached out to them and explained the situation, and since I hold some very valuable information about a few of the newspaper owners, they decided to rectify the situation.”

I blink at him a few times, still stunned at just how much power he holds in this city. “Damn, that is impressive.”

“Oh, that’s nothing—wait until someone really pisses me off. Then you’ll see how much control I have in this town.” He chuckles, giving me an evil grin.

“Can I have you use some of that mojo you have to find out what I’ve been up to for the past four years?” I tease.

Enzo takes that moment to pull out a folder and hand it to me. “This is everything I found on you and your friends. There is a girl named Lennon; she has family that is local to Illinois. Harper is from England, and Bristol is a system kid that moved out here from Oregon to go to school.”

Hearing their names leaves me with a whirlwind of emotions. I still can’t picture their faces, but being able to finally put names to them is amazing. Opening the folder, I look at the information, feeling tears well up in my eyes.