Page 12 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Idiotic," she finishes.

I don't argue. But I do wonder what changed her mind. It must've been my mad negotiation skills that our friend and business partner Hunter Monroe has been teaching me after watching his real estate mogul brother Elliot his whole life.

"One week it is! You're staying at the house for one week," Zachary says, and honestly, a little too loudly.

She slides off the bonnet. "And I'm buying groceries."

I follow my friends back to my car as she reaches for her own car door. "Oh, no, you don't have to⁠—"

She spins and looks me dead in the eyes with her narrowed ones. And I shut my mouth. Guess she's buying the groceries.

We watch her get in her car, start the engine, and pull out into the empty street. "Well, I guess we've got a house guest," I say, clearing my throat. Now that she's not actually right in front of me the reality of the situation is starting to settle.

Zachary stops, his hand on the car door handle. "Not sure if we should make ourselves scarce or make sure she's not feeling alone tonight."

I shrug. "I guess we could maybe ask her what she wants?"

We both look at each other for a split second and then simultaneously yell, "Not it!"

Rhys groans from inside the car and drops his face into his hands.

FOUR

Alexia

I stand in the bathroom, fully dressed, staring at my own reflection in the mirror for almost ten minutes before it becomes impossible to deny that it's getting beyond ridiculous.

Look, I'm not hiding. I am preparing myself. Those are two distinctly different things. One is smart, prudent, cautious, everything the adults told us to do. The other is cowardly. I pick not that one.

The sounds beyond the bathroom door suggest that at least two of my impromptu, temporary housemates are already awake, going back and forth between their rooms and the hallway, without too much conversation. Going through the process of getting ready for the day.

My palms spread out down the front of my shirt, and I check my reflection again, making sure I don't have toothpaste smeared somewhere, and that my buttons have all been slotted through their corresponding holes. And then I give my nervous reflection a nod, and try to remember that I'm almost twenty-five years old, with an almost postgraduate qualification in international power dynamics and I have, surely, handled much worse than what awaits me beyond that door.

I leave the sanctuary of the fogged-up bathroom and wander towards the kitchen.

Marcus is at the stovetop, mumbling something about brown versus white eggs. He's wearing a tight white tank top, an unbuttoned red plaid shirt pushed up to his elbows, his work boots already laced, and faded, worn jeans fitting in all the right places. It's a look that works for him, a little too well, to be honest. It's like he walked directly out of the builder version of GQ. Something I'm sure he knows.

Rhys sits at the breakfast nook in a charcoal grey suit, completely ignoring Marcus other than to pull the sports section out of the newspaper and slide it across the bench. They still get a physical newspaper. I didn't know people still did that.

Marcus gives the pan a prod with the spatula, tops a coffee with frothed milk, and sets it in front of Rhys, who lifts it with a mumbled thanks, eyes still on the paper. Eggs land on a plate and are slid over to Rhys, who, too slow to respond, gets a sharp rap on the hand with the spatula. He finally looks up, almost remorseful, mumbles something like appreciation, and Marcus beams before turning back to the stove.

I'm almost reluctant to break up the little domestic tableau.

Before I can retreat to my room, Zachary comes up behind me, hair still wet, wearing a crisp royal blue polo shirt and beige trousers. His eyes practically leap out against the colour. Takes me a second to catch my breath. How could I forget how blue they are?

Oh, because I'd made myself forget. Glad I was more successful than I thought.

"Good morning, Lex, how'd you sleep?" he asks as he fastens his watch, giving me a soft smile.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Zachary Wren. Here. Asking about my sleep. Who slept across the hall. Who's standing there staring at me, waiting.

Shit. Say something, Alexia, you idiot.

Er, how about... Oh, I know. "Yup," I say out loud. Well, that should do it.

He frowns. Huh. His eyes are as beautiful when they're looking confused. Interesting. "I asked⁠—"