Page 66 of Filthy Little Pretties

I should be annoyed, offended, maybe even challenged. But nope. I’m as twisted as they are—it’s why we’re best friends.There’s that word that doesn’t really describe us.

Liam takes his post back and grabs my legs again. The show resumes, and I wait for a beat before tossing out, “So under those rules then I’m not allowed to date ever again?”

“That better be a joke,” Liam muses.

“You get us,” Grey finishes.

Only an idiot would ignore the bleeding red flags waving directly in their face. Only someone who’s a fucking fool or so damn caught up in this decadent, incredible moment that she ignores it all to savor them just a little longer. Neither of them looks at me, which is good, because the smile on my face couldn’t go unnoticed even if I tried.

My spoon dips into the creamy thick yogurt, pulling in the honey and fruit before I lift it to my lips and take another bite. This has become my ritual at breakfast—eating alone and reading the paper. It’s surprisingly comforting, the kind of routine I’ve missed. Not that I had much of a choice, though, since my dad only shows up to sleep here.

The Friday newspaper on the table rustles as I flip through to get to the arts section. A photo of Liam’s mother standing with the director of the Met precedes an article about the generous donation of her Picassos for public viewing. It makes me smile, not because I’ve ever much liked her, but because it makes me think of my guys. They’re mine, more so than they’ve ever been. The thought puts a smile on my face.

“I take it by the pleasant look on your face that school has been an easier transition than expected.”

Vic’s voice startles me from my thoughts, and I lift my eyes. “Is that a nice way of saying I haven’t fucked up? I’m a champ, but Hillcrest is a breeze. I would’ve so rocked the Hunger Games.”

My movie reference is completely lost on him, telling by the look on his face.

“Your father would like to have dinner, next week. Monday. He’s asked me to put it on your schedule and also to inform you that he’s arranged the Boulders for your mother.”

My spoon stops midway between my mouth and the bowl. Did I hear that correctly?

“Sure, and thank you.”

I’m partially speechless. That’s probably the most surprising sentence that could’ve ever left Vic’s mouth.

He clears his throat and fills my teacup. “And, may I add, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. While you were unexpected, it hasn’t been terrible having life in this house again.”

My fingertips trace the gold-leaf flower detail on the fragile cup as I digest his words. “I’m happy to have livened the place up. Does this mean we’re friends now, Vic?”

“Miss Kennedy—”

“Oh, come on. I won’t tell anyone you have a soul. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Victor gives me a nod and just a hint of a smile, before leaving me to finish my breakfast. I take two more bites and dab the napkin over my lips, standing to collect my bag before I head out to my waiting car.

The moment I situate myself inside, my phone dings, and I look down to see a text from Bert.

Bert: Meet me on the steps. I’ve got something for you.

Me: A big reveal? I finally get to find out who’s who, huh? I thought you’d at least hold out until Christmas.

Bert: I’m not alone.

This whole time I’ve been confident that “Bert” is Grey. It has to be. Bert is direct, sneaky, and a villain. They’re twins.

Me: Figures.

Bert: Thought you liked the mystery?

Me: I do… but it’s been a month. I want to know.

Bert: Ask me for a clue.

I chew my bottom lip as I type, knowing it’s who I think it is.

Me: What’s my favorite color?