Page 92 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

And propped up on easels throughout the room are the photos Serena took for him.

I can tell without asking that she was the photographer, can feel her on the other side of the camera like she’s in the photo herself.

Shots of the grotto, sun dappling in through tree leaves and waterfall mist. Graham turned, gazing up at her, a look of wonder in his eye. I recognize that look. I felt it the first time I saw her, then again when she burst into my office, demanding that I fire her.

That feels like a century ago, now.

I can’t help but feel numb. Ryan and I wander through the party, and my mind turns over the situation once more, feeling along the edges, looking for a solution.

In the quiet after she left, we’d stood around looking at one another. It happened so fast. I’d started for the door, thinking I could follow her, make sure she got home safe, at the very least.

But Graham caught me by the arm, said quietly, “Maybe we need to give her space.”

None of us wanted to give her space. That night, we got wasted and talked over what we could do to get her back. We came up with way too many ideas on how to make Alex stop, stopping just short of murder.

Awful or not, Alex is still our brother. Not to mention the fact that I’ve done my best to keep my hands completely clean.

The best I could do was make a call to my lawyers, asking them to look into Alex. When I got off the phone, Graham had said, thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s not just Alex we should be looking into.”

So I made a few more calls, and now I’m waiting to hear back.

Ryan and I drift through the crowd, past billionaires, lobbyists, producers, and government officials. A few socialitestake pictures in a corner, their faces lit by the glittering chandelier.

There’s even a rumor that the vice president herself might appear tonight. Maybe there’s one happy ending in all of this—Graham might save this park after all.

We meander past the band, and I reach out for another glass of champagne, eyes scanning the crowd. Security for the event is on the lookout for my brother, but I’ve not had the best luck with security recently, and I’m on high alert for a mic-tap, and an “excuse me” echoing out across the room in Alex’s voice.

“Travis.” Ryan reaches for me, tugging on my arm, and when I turn, I expect to see my youngest brother, maybe descending from the ceiling like a spy.

But it’s not Alex.

“Serena,” I whisper, blinking, then looking down at my glass like it might be spiked with a hallucinogen.

She’s wearing a shimmering gold dress that hugs her curves and warps in the light, flashing with each purposeful stride she takes through the crowd. Her hair is up, twisted and pinned like some of the other women here. Elegant.

Gold eyeshadow glimmers on her face. Her cheeks are flushed, and her gaze is locked concretely on Ryan and me.

“I just got notice that—” Graham says, appearing at our sides, looking around wildly. Ryan grabs his elbow and turns him in the direction of the stunning woman walking toward us.

“Serena,” Graham says in disbelief.

Ryan says, “Okay… so I’mnothaving a nervous breakdown.”

And then Serena is in front of us, her eyes bright and determined. She’s a vision, all that copper hair spilling out over her shoulders, her chin lifted. Then she takes my lapels in her hands, drags me down, and kisses mehard.

Everything jumps inside me—the acknowledgment of what this means. The fact that everyone—everyone—can see us right now. How public this is. The statement it makes.

My hands come to life and I start to reach for her, to pull her into me, cradle her body in my palms, but she pulls away, breathing hard, and reaches for Ryan instead. I turn, watching in stunned silence as she does the same with him, pulling him in, kissing him. He gets his hand on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, before she pulls back and turns to Graham.

Graham doesn’t wait for her to step forward. He grabs her, picks her up, and kisses her. Without even having to look around, I know everyone is staring. I can hear the franticclick, click, clickof the cameras around us.

Of course, as a man who grew up semi-publicly, there’s a sense of fear. But more than that, I feel relieved.

Serena breaks away from Graham’s arms and, breathing hard, says, “I’m sorry for leaving. You were right—Ryan was right. You all make me happy. And what’s the point of working so hard if I can’t live life the way I want? Ifwecan’t live the way we want?”

Moreclickingcameras, the soft murmur of a shocked crowd getting a show. But all I see is Serena, beautiful and confident, having come all the way here to do this. For us.

With us.