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“Yes, sweetie?”

I turn to her, trying to hold back my laugh. “Did you really call Dad a bitch boy?”

CHAPTER TEN

Olive

Sebastian doesn’t walkthrough the door alone when he finally arrives at our mother’s house. The petite raven-haired girl who follows close behind him silences the conversation Mom and I are having about what the best kind of cheese is to have with white wine.

My brother closes the door behind them, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder when he guides her further into the house. Her dark hair is a mixture of black, blue, and a hint of purple, and braided away from her face with a skill I can only hope to have some day. She looks nervous, her dark brown eyes darting between me, my mother, and Sebastian, before taking a tentative step closer to him.

I’ll give her this; her makeup is flawless. If I didn’t know my shit about foundation or contouring, I probably wouldn’t even know she’s wearing any. I’ve always wished I could pull the no-makeup makeup look off.

I’ve never seen Sebastian with anybody, especially not here. But if this is his girlfriend, she’s cute.

And—“Oh my God,” I say aloud when she shifts to her side revealing the bump on her stomach.

I know that bump. It’s almost identical to what Skylar’s was when she was carrying Bentley. It’s not like mine, who clearly never says no to pasta. Or tacos. Or anything containing carbs, I guess. Nope. This girl is pregnant. Noticeably so.

Mom doesn’t catch on until a few seconds later, her confused brows pinched together until her eyes see what I do. “Oh.” Her eyes widen as they lock on Sebastian. “Honey…?”

He clears his throat. “Mom. Olive. This is Tori.” His hand slides from her shoulder to her lower back and stays there. “My wife.”

My eyes widen so much I think my eyeballs might fall out of my head. “Your what?”

“Wife,” Mom repeats in shock.

Tori’s face reddens as she offers a squeaky, “Hi,” accompanied by a little finger wave.

Mom and I both look at her hand to see the small gold ring there with a not-so-small diamond in the middle. If that thing is real, my brother must have spent some serious money.

I didn’t even know Sebastian was seeing anybody until now. But married? Likelegally? “I don’t know what to say,” I admit, blinking as my brain rushes to process the information. “Are we being pranked? Are there cameras?”

Mom gets her shit together quickly. “Hi. Hello.” She steps toward Tori and takes her hand with a wide smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, Tori. I’m—wow. Sorry. I’m Claire. I’m just a little surprised.”

That’s a nice way of putting it.

Tori glances at Sebastian, using her elbow to nudge his ribcage. “I told him we shouldn’t bring it up this way, but he said it was better to ‘rip off the Band-Aid’. Not very romantic, but…” Her shoulders lift. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, Claire. And you must be Olive. Bash has told me so much about you.”

Hopefully not all of it has been bad. “I’ve…” Do I lie? “Never heard anything about you. But I like your lashes. What mascara do you use?”

Sebastian glares at me. “Liv.”

“What? I’m not going to lie.”

Tori smiles at me. “Loreal Paris. Their panorama mascara is the best. I like your lipstick.”

“Estee Lauder in starlit pink,” I reply easily.

Mom clears her throat. “So…” She wets her lips and studies my brother and his girlfriend. Wife. Whatever.

They haven’t addressed the biggest piece of news, which I’m struggling not to stare at. Even though I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent positive that she’s pregnant, I’m not saying a word until one of them confirms it. When I was little, I poked a stranger’s belly in the supermarket and asked if there was a baby inside. There wasn’t, and the woman had understandably been offended. Granted, I was four and didn’t know any better. But Mom drilled it into my head from that day forward to never assume.

Mom gestures for them to come in. “Please sit down and make yourself at home. Olive and I were just about to put some snacks together. What kind of—” She stops herself before asking Tori what kind of wine she wants. “—drink would you like? We have water, soda, coffee—”

“Wine,” I supply helpfully.

Mom clears her throat. If I were still standing next to her, she’d probably swat me. “Yes, we have plenty of that. Sebastian, do you want your usual black coffee?”