Page 23 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

ANYA

Magnolia Avenue curves through Castle Beach like the lazy tail of a seahorse, its hot asphalt shimmering in late-morning sun.

Our SUV noses past landmarks I haven’t seen in years.

Pelican Palace Mini Golf with sun-bleached windmills stuck mid-spin.

Weird—I thought for sure they’d be open for the holiday week.

Summers are hot in Castle Beach which drives tourists away, but with all the families coming to visit, most businesses capitalize on the holidays.

Riverview Creamery’s sign promising “World-Famous Fudge Sticks” with bright pink flags sticking out almost into the road.

Salty air curls through the open windows, carrying fry oil from Shrimp Shack and the metallic tang of the Atlantic.

I inhale so deeply it pinches—every scent a memory, every memory a small tug of dread.

Or a big one.

Hunter’s nose is glued to the glass. “This town is pure cotton candy,” he says, pointing at a row of turquoise mailboxes shaped like fish. “I’m getting a cavity just looking at it.”

“It’s colorful,” I murmur, though my pulse flutters. Yes, it’s colorful. It’s quaint and full of Americana, but that’s not what has me on edge. Castle Beach is also famously talkative. Folks here catalog new information faster than any gossip blog.

Theo drives at a measured crawl, eyeing pedestrians wandering the street without glancing up from their sweet teas.

Gage rides shotgun, sunglasses reflecting the glimmering sea.

Even he can’t hide from how picturesque it is.

Pastel cottages trimmed in white lattice haunt the tiny roads, their porch swings rocking lazily, cheerful bunting strung between lamp posts for tomorrow’s parade.

It’s sure to be nothing compared to Boston’s festivities, but that’s okay. We aren’t here for the parade.

We turn onto Peach Tree Lane—the heart of downtown Castle Beach.

Blossom & Vine sits dead center, its sea-foam clapboard exterior freshly painted, window boxes spilling with petunias.

I’m hit with the sensory flash of the waxy feel of corsage leaves on my prom dress.

Then, it’s Miss Jolene’s laugh as she let me hand-tie Mom’s Mother’s Day bouquet.

I worked there for pocket change on random weekends in high school when I dated her son.

The place means more than I was prepared to think of, and my throat tightens.

“Flowers first,” Gage reminds gently. He remembers everything, even Mom’s preference for stargazer lilies.

The bell above the florist’s door tinkles—soundtrack of so many teenage milestones.

Cool humidity envelops us, dense with rose petals, eucalyptus, and damp oasis foam.

Buckets line the walls holding scarlet gerberas, sunflower faces following imaginary sun—the artificial lighting in the place—and ivory stock so fragrant it feels like sugar on the tongue.

Behind the counter, Billy Street trims thorns from coral roses, sleeves rolled to reveal freckled forearms dusted with pollen.

Time has broadened his shoulders, but his boyish cowlick still flips at the exact same spot.

He looks up—blinks like a porch light flickering on—and breaks into a slow, practiced grin.

Weird to think he’s still cute. But it’s the truth.

I wonder what his life is like now. He only posts business things on his social media—flower arrangements, holiday advertising, that kind of thing.

It’s so odd to see him, especially when I’ve been bed-wrecked by my three companions for the past few days.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Big City,” he drawls. “Anya Markoff, back to brighten our humble bouquet of beach bums.”

The old nickname pricks. That’s what he angrily called me when I told him I was leaving town. “Hi, Billy,” I say, smoothing my hair. “Here for the holiday.”

His eyes rake—gently, politely, but definitely raking—over me. “Boston didn’t frost that sunny smile. What can I get ya? Holiday bouquet, hostess gift…?”

I glance around the shop in search of his mom. “Is Miss Jolene in?”

His expression softens. “Um, well, no. She passed last December. A stroke in her sleep. Quiet.” He shrugs, clearly still upset, but fighting through it. “I run the place now.”

I swallow grief. “She always called me Sunshine.” I don’t know why I say that. It’s stupid. But that’s the first thing I think of for some reason. “Sorry, I…my condolences.”

He bobs his head once. “I’m just glad it was quick.”

“Me too.” I wasn’t particularly close to Miss Jolene, but she was always kind and had a good heart. I have no idea why Billy didn’t turn out nice like her. His father wasn’t around to ruin him, so I guess he did that on his own. “It’s good to see you, Billy.”

“Yeah, you too. Looks like Boston suits you.” He cocks his head like a predator. For a second it’s just us, the ghosts of teenagers who used to make out behind the cooler door. The memory makes me blush. I don’t know why. Strange the way time makes years feel like minutes.

Billy steps closer, voice dropping. “You visiting family alone? Or is there some Boston boyfriend I should know about?” The tilt of his smile is flirty, deliberate.

Heat crawls up my neck. I open my mouth, but that’s when Hunter drapes an arm over my shoulders—easy, confident, entirely possessive.

His mahogany skin contrasts mine, and the warmth of his biceps against my neck feels like a shield.

A heartbeat later, Gage’s hand settles on my hip from behind, thumb stroking absent circles.

Theo casts a flirty smile my way from across the room.

Billy’s smile flattens as if he’s bitten a lemon. “These are your…friends?”

I glance at the guys. Hunter’s grin says, Your move, sweetheart. Gage’s hand slows to a stop, but doesn’t lift from my hip. A spark inside me catches. I’m tired of half-truths, tired of shrinking. The town will talk about me regardless of the truth, so I might as well have some fun with it.

I square my shoulders. “They’re my boyfriends.”

Billy’s shears hit the counter with a clang. “Boyfriends… plural .” He fumbles, cheeks flushing beet red. And then, it’s his finger that’s beet red. He cut himself when the shears dropped. “Dammit.” He scrambles for paper towels to tidy up.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” I ask, swinging around the counter to help.

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles as he pulls out the small white box. “You’re a customer, remember? They go on the other side of the counter.” He tries for a dry chuckle as he puts the bandage on his finger.

“Just wanted to help?—”

“And I’m all set,” he says through a tight expression. “You came for flowers for your mom, right?”

I nod, mouth dry. “Stargazers.”

“On it.” He heads for the back.

My pulse hammers with adrenaline. I can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe he cut himself. I’m never going to live this down.

Hunter’s grin goes ear to ear, and Gage’s husky laugh falls on the back of my neck.

Even Theo smirks from across the room, shaking his head as he pretends that a pelican vase is the most interesting thing in the room.

When Billy returns, he wraps the lilies too tightly, paper crinkling like firecrackers.

Hunter whistles a jaunty tune. Gage thanks Billy with a nod so cool it borders on smug.

Money changes hands, and we exit into sunshine that suddenly feels electric.

As soon as the shop door shuts, Hunter whoops, nearly toppling a chalkboard advertising “Half-Price Hydrangeas.” “That was priceless! Billy looked like someone stuffed a Roman candle down his Dockers.”

My cheeks burn, but my laughter breaks free. “I can’t believe I said that.”

Gage’s chuckle rumbles. “Next time, give us at least a wink of warning before we claim the title. We could have said the wrong thing or played it wrong.”

“You’re right.” I squeeze his hand as we get to the car. “Thank you for backing me up.”

Theo, who’s been observing with bemused detachment, slides the lilies into the cargo area. “Can we presume the local information network will propagate that revelation by supper?”

I close my eyes and nod. “And my parents will probably interrogate me.”

“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 facades 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.