Page 73 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

I smile. Can’t help it. “I like those tacky roadside velvet paintings.”

“No!”

“Yes.” I give a rueful smile. “It’s a vice, I suppose, but I put one in every house my crew and I flip, as a welcome present. I keep a series of dogs playing poker in my home office in Boston.”

“You lie.”

“Not at all.” I grab my phone and slide through the pictures. “I think I have one…here. This is me in my office chair. See that? The bulldog with an ace-high hand?”

He laughs sharply, shaking his head. He pours water from the decanter into mismatched vodka glasses, hands me one. The gesture feels like a checkpoint reached. We both sip, and it’s fine, cold, and a hint of metal. The good stuff.

“That’s all well and good,” he says, setting his glass down. His smile fades. “But a résumé and some tacky paintings is not character. Calvin had money too.”

“True. He uses it to build his brand. A cybersecurity firm that will help him in politics. Everything he does is about himself. I use my money to build others’ chances. That’s to say nothing of Theo or Hunter, who are equally philanthropic.” I match his stare. “Yet you still only see three men who upset the social norms around here.”

He leans on the desk, voice gravel-quiet. “My concern is not only propriety. Anya has a tender heart. She cares much about what others think of her. If you love her, you will pick the best path for her—even if that means you go away.”

“Choose her path for her? I’d never dream of it.”

He grips the desk edge until his knuckles pale. “She does not always choose wisely.”

“With respect, it’s still her choice to make. She has to make her own choices to learn what she wants in life.” My tone softens. “If we risk nothing in life, we never gain wisdom.”

Silence expands until the room holds only our breathing and the measured tick of that brass clock. Finally, he pushes upright, arms dropping. “You speak philosophy. Give me something concrete. Tell me this—besides a freakshow, what life do you offer her?”

I let that slide—arguing about our status will not help our cause. “Options,” I answer without pause. “If Anya wakes tomorrow wanting to start a new degree in underwater basket weaving, we cover tuition. If she wants to open a maritime art gallery in Castle Beach, we bankroll the lease. If she decides to see every UNESCO site, we arrange itineraries and go, or step back so she can travel solo. She holds the compass. We provision the ship.”

His lips thin, but he nods once. Then his gaze sharpens. “So you keep her like pretty pet? Provide funds, no responsibility to her?”

“No.” I set my glass on the desk blotter with deliberate care. “Calvin caged her in comfort and left her with nothing. We want to scaffold her autonomy. Big difference.”

He goes quiet, studying the scars in the walnut grain. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, almost reluctant. “She smiled more this morning than when she was with Calvin.” He runs a thumb over the sparkler photo. “I want that smile permanent, not a souvenir.”

“I do too,” I say. “And my brothers. Hunter makes her laugh at trouble, and Theo makes things happen. I will keep her safe, always. The three of us will do everything in our power to bring nothing but joy into her life, sir. That’s all we want.” I pause. “That, and your blessing.”

He exhales through his nose and meets my eyes dead center. “You ask for my blessing?”

“I’d be honored.”

He barks a single laugh, rough but not cruel. “You push your luck, Gage Edison Carver.” He taps the desk. “Blessing comes with time, not pretty speeches. Come back Fourth of July next year. If she is healthy, smiling, and still choosing you three, we will talk again.”

That’s not a no. “Agreed. One year.”

He rounds the desk, extends his forearm—a builder’s handshake. Up close, I catch the faint lemon-soap scent of his workshop.

We release. He nods, almost approving. “One more thing. If she cries tears of regret because of you—” He taps the cedar wall “This wood will build your coffin.”

I don’t doubt that. “If the day comes, I’ll hammer the nails myself.”

He nods once more. “In the meantime, I think Anya would like it if you called me Alexei, and my wife, Jessica. Your brothers too.”

“We’d be honored.”

31

HUNTER

I’m standingon the back porch of the Markoff cottage, watching Anya weave her way through a sea of cousins, aunts, and uncles I can’t keep straight. It’s early afternoon, and the sun is hot, but the ocean breeze keeps the sweat at bay.