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“Yeah, but I never hear from him. It’s not like he’s emailing me and calling me and making sure I’m okay. Sure, he barely keeps in contact with my mom, who we both know is a gold digger and only with him because of the allowance she gets, but I wish he wouldn't judge me by her stick.” He sniffs. "I'm only 50 percent gold-digger."

“Romeo,” I say, laughing slightly. This is why I love Romeo. He may be my stepbrother and not blood-related to me at all, and he may be the only son of a gold-digging whore who literally only married my father for his money, but he’s honest about it.

“I’m just being honest. You know I love you, girl, like a real sister. And that has nothing to do with the fact that your dad is rolling in gold bullion somewhere in Italy.”

“You are my brother, my real brother.” My voice cracks slightly. I’m feeling emotional and wish that he was here with me.

“I mean, I know I am, but…” His voice trails off, and he lets out a deep sigh.

“But what?”

“But it would be legal for us to get married, and not just in Alabama or Kentucky.” He giggles. "Sorry to all the normal people in Alabama and Kentucky."

"That's horrible, Romeo. Everyone in the South isn't a hillbilly."

"I know." He groans. "I take it back...kinda. But the fact of the matter is we could be man and wife if we wanted to."

“We’re never going to get married.” I pretend to throw up. "Gross."

“That’s because I’m gay, darling, not because I have scruples.”

I burst out laughing then. “Romeo!”

“What? I’m just saying, if I was the sort of guy that didn’t care, I’d flirt with you and do whatever I had to to get you to fallin love me so I could get your millions.” He grunts. "You know there's a whole group of people who marry their stepbrother or sister."

"That's disgusting, and you know that I don’t have any millions.” I giggle. "In fact, I need to call my dad, my monthly deposit hasn't arrived yet, and I have bills to pay."

“He's probably so busy trying to find you the perfect match. And you know that one day, you'll be a millionaire, heiress.”

“Romeo!”

“What?”

“We don’t even know what my dad does for his money. I'm not an heiress. It's not like I'm related to the King of England or anything."

“I mean, we don’t know, but we have an idea,” he exclaims. “I don't want to get him in trouble with the FBI, but can we say mafia don?”

“He’s not a mafia don,” I say, to convince myself as well as him.

“Come on, we’ve both thought it.” His voice is solemn. "What if he's literally the real Godfather?"

“Romeo, you watch too much TV. My father is not The Godfather."

"Move over, Marlon Brando, there's a new Godfather in town."

"Romeo, get a grip."

"Marlon Brando was gorgeous in that movie, by the way." He makes a smacking sound with his lips, and I can't stop myself from giggling.

"My dad is not in the mafia."

“He’s literally having you fly over to Sicily. The birthplace of the mafia.”

“No, actually, I’m going to Florence.”

“Ooh, okay, Florence, Sicily, same difference.”

“I’m sure the people in Italy think there’s a huge difference.”