Page 52 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

“Understood.”

Sure enough, as Theo steers toward my parents’ neighborhood, cyclists wave more energetically than normal. Mrs. Abernathy, the gossip queen next door, literally lifts her cat from the bay window to stare better.

Hunter, being Hunter, waves enthusiastically at her, causing her to jerk away from the window. “So, this is the Castle Beach grapevine, I presume?”

Something sits heavy on my chest. “Yep.”

“This’ll be fun.”

Fun, he calls it. “I like your other ideas about fun much better than this.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yes, but for now, you’re required to wear clothes. It’s a crime against nature, but such is life.”

I giggle and roll my eyes, thankful for his irreverence.

My parents’ cottage appears—white clapboard, teal shutters, flower beds erupting with marigolds, and a brick pathway leading to a robin’s-egg blue door. Hydrangeas the size of softballs crowd beneath the windows. My heart flips like a fish netted too quickly.

Theo parks. Gage hands me the lilies—it feels like a knight placing a shield in my grasp. Something for defense. How mad can Mom be if I hand over her favorite flowers?

I lead the group up the walk, past gardenia bushes so fragrant they bloom like perfume bombs. The screen door bangs open. Mom rushes out, apron smeared with flour, dark hair escaping its bun. Her smile is bright but stretched—blurred at the edges with nerves. She touches my cheeks, eyes shining with tears she’ll deny later. “My baby’s home.”

Dad appears behind her, wiping barbecue sauce from his hands. He’s tanned from mornings fishing, gray at the temples, wearing his favorite “Grill Captain” T-shirt. There’s pride in his gaze—tinged with palpable curiosity aimed at the three tall strangers hauling luggage.

Mom steps back, smoothing her apron. “We’ve heard…things,” she begins delicately. “Come on in. We have potato salad, pies, and cookies to make, and the smoker’s been going since dawn.”

Inside, the house is chaos incarnate. Ceiling fans stirring warm air, patriotic bunting half-taped along the staircase, counters buried under half-made pies and deviled-egg trays, my teenage trophies still crammed on a shelf by the door. None of that has me as frazzled as the tension in the room.

Dad clears his throat. “So…these fine gentlemen are…?”

Gage steps forward first, extending a steady hand. “Gage Carver, sir. Pleasure. These are my brothers, Hunter and Theo.” Hunter mirrors him with a charming grin. Theo offers a courteous nod.

Still, my parents’ eyes ricochet to me—asking silently,Is the rumor true?The weight of every whispered phone call in town presses behind their polite smiles. Mom introduces herself and Dad by their first names, but Dad says, “Mr. and Mrs. Markoff.” A slight correction to the formality he prefers with strangers.

I know how this works. I’ve always known. You can’t forget to say grace at a friend’s house without your grandmother knowing about it in ten minutes. Gossip is Castle Beach’s lifeblood, pumped by a heart made of superficial judgment.

It’s a huge part of why I left this place. For all its cutesy façades and sunshiney surroundings, the whole town is little more than a pretty pretense. I don’t miss this feeling at all. Not that I dated multiple guys back then—that part’s entirely new. But the sensation of everyone’s eyes on me, of the most important people in my life disapproving of my choices? That is far too familiar.

My pulse thunders. I feel the brothers hovering like an unspoken vow—whatever I say, they’ll echo. The room hushes—only the soft pop of the smoker vent outside breaks the silence. I inhale the home-smell of hickory and sugar-rub ribs, the same smell that clung to my hair every Fourth of July.

I could tell them I said that to Billy to keep him off my back. He was never good at taking no for an answer about anything, so the story would pass muster. The old me would have done that. I would have dodged, joked, and kept the peace.

And what did that get the old Anya? A lifetime of fear. Years spent worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. A boyfriend who was perfect on the outside, and a jerk on the inside. A fiancé worried about nothing but looks and gossip. Maybe that was why I overlooked Calvin’s superficiality. I’d had a lifetime of thinking walking on eggshells and saving face was normal.

“Mom. Dad.” My voice trembles. “This is Gage, Hunter, and Theo…and they’re my boyfriends.”

Mom’s mouth opens, closes. Dad blinks once, twice. Outside, a gull laughs raucously over the surf—as if Castle Beach itself cackles at the scandal. But I stand taller for it. Because the choice is mine, and I’m done apologizing for the size of my heart.

22

GAGE

The wordboyfriendsdetonates in the Markoff cottage and leaves a hush so deep I can hear the minute hand on the cat wall clock click forward. Time stands still. Blueberry glaze congeals in its bowl. Boiled potatoes for the potato salad steam like the fog of war. None of us moves.

Mrs. Markoff stands frozen at the kitchen island, wooden spoon midair, blue eyes wide behind tortoiseshell readers. But it’s Anya’s father who catches my eye.

Mr. Markoff plants both palms on the back of a dining chair as though bracing for impact. He’s a tall slab of a man, gray hair cropped Caesar-short, pale blue gaze sharp as sea glass, shoulders still linebacker-broad beneath a decades-old apron. He scans over the three of us, and I have rarely felt such excessive judgment.

Hunter clears his throat—the sound ricochets. Theo’s brows lift in diplomatic sympathy as he steps aside so no one blocks the exit. Anya chews her bottom lip but holds her ground under parental cross fire.