I quickly learned that the Monet Residence was like a minefield. Most of the time, there was relative silence, somewhat misleading because there was always the danger of running into one of the brothers at any moment. I tried to avoid them, especially those who didn't particularly warm to me. I was relieved when, the next day, I managed to make my way from my bedroom to the kitchen without any encounters.

I first woke up around four in the morning because of jet lag. My body wasn't fully rested, but I couldn't fall back asleep, so I lay in bed for a long time, watching as my beautiful new bedroom gradually filled with light. At some point, I fished my phone out from under my pillow, where it was plugged in to charge. To do this, I had to crawl to the edge of the mattress. I'd never slept in such a huge bed before.

Until about seven o'clock, I caught up on my book account. I added a few titles to my reading list and replied to some comments. Then, with a sigh, I opened a few private messages I had previously chosen to ignore for some reason.

One of them was from Aunt Marie, a woman I barely knew, my grandmother's sister, who lived in Ireland with her family, with whom we had never maintained contact. I knew she didn't really want to take me under her wing, especially since she was very old and somewhat bitter, and her children and their children barely knew me. She was the only person from that side of the family who bothered to attend the funeral, and I could almost see the relief on her wrinkled face when she learned I had a new guardian and she wouldn't have to come up with any excuses as to why she couldn't take care of me, even though she supposedly wanted to so much. I replied to her dry, polite message just as succinctly and moved on to the next one.

This one was more detailed, which wasn't surprising since it was from Roxane, my childhood friend. It was sad because we used to be inseparable, but then she moved back to her family's home in Greece, and our connection suffered greatly. Despite our efforts, it was hard to maintain our relationship as before. However, I knew that even if our friendship had faded, I could still count on Roxane's support, especially in such tragic moments for me.

The last unread message was from a school acquaintance. I couldn't shake the feeling that she had written it surrounded by a circle of gossip-hungry classmates, of which there was no shortage in the hallways of my former school, so I modified the response I had sent to Aunt Marie and, with another sigh, put my phone down.

That was enough for now. With a heavy heart, I got out of bed, mentally preparing myself for another day full of challenges and annoying brothers. I took a thorough shower, dressed neatly, combed my hair, made my bed, opened the window to air out the room, and unpacked my luggage. My belongings took up only a tiny portion of the closet space.

I spent a good half hour staring at a pair of small gold heart-shaped earrings, which lay in an elegant box nestled in a white velvet cushion. It was a gift from my mother, which was once merely valuable but now had become priceless. I allowed myself a moment of sentimentality, but when I pulled myself together, I couldn't delay any longer and finally dared to leave the bedroom.

That morning, I met Eugenie, the housekeeper Vincent had told me about. Humming unknown tunes, she was wiping the counters accompanied by the sounds of the working dishwasher.

"Good morning," I greeted her politely, absent-mindedly rubbing my elbow with one hand.

The woman froze for a moment, then suddenly turned around. Her eyes lit up at the sight of me. Her short, lush curls were tied with a thick, colorful scrunchie, creating a haystack-like effect on her head, but I pushed that unkind thought away because she immediately won me over with her extremely friendly, broad smile, showing off her upper row of teeth. Eugenie was an older lady with mature, oily skin. The most noticeable thing was the wrinkles that formed on her forehead with every slight change of expression. She was dressed in a very loose white collarless shirt, gray sweatpants, and funny white slippers.

Her appearance intrigued me because I expected the housekeeper in such an elegant home to be more formally dressed. I was glad it was different because Eugenie radiated an air of normalcy, making me feel that we had something in common from the start. I didn't need more rules, regulations, and luxury. I just wanted a bit of normality, and Eugenie looked like someone who could have been friends with my grandmother.

The woman quickly started showering me with compliments, marveling at my long hair and, as she put it, "adorable face." She immediately tossed her cloth aside, swearing she was ready to make me whatever my heart desired for breakfast. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I shyly agreed to her suggestion of pancakes.

Eugenie moved around the kitchen with incredible skill, and I began to suspect she knew it better than any of the boys living here. I sat at the table, watching her, offering my help a few times because I wasn't used to idly watching someone fuss over me, but Eugenie insisted I sit and not worry about anything. She tried to engage me in conversation, first asking about my favourite foods and what I didn't like, then inquiring about my life and habits in England. She also proudly mentioned that her daughter would be going on a student exchange to Newcastle next semester. I had never visited Newcastle, so it was hard for me to comment on that, but I smiled at the mere mention of a city in my home country.

"They say the accent there is tough," said Eugenie, who spoke good English herself, though it was noticeably colored by a strong "r," revealing her foreign origin. "But I tell her that it's good, she needs to learn. You can never have too much education." The woman flipped the pancakes almost automatically, smiling to herself. "My daughter is a smart girl, you know, and she sounds like a real American."

I smiled lightly. "She'll do great."

"Of course, she will," Eugenie waved her hand, then leaned toward me. "I tell her she got a chance she mustn't waste. When I was young, college was far beyond my reach. No one offered to cover my tuition," she sighed. "How lucky we are that Mr. Vincent turned out to be so kind to us. At first, I thought he was very different from his father, Mr. Camden, because he always seemed so serious and focused. But as it turns out, his heart is just as golden, and nothing will change my mind about that."

Hearing my father's name made my insides tighten. It was the first time someone had spoken so freely about him in my presence. Even my mom would change the subject whenever I asked about him. Eugenie simply didn't realize that mentioning him in front of me was a significant faux pas, and I did my best not to show that it affected me. My acting, though poor, must have worked because the woman continued her monologue, and instead of nodding in agreement like I had been, I drifted off in thought.

Camden Monet, the man who once lived here, slept in one of the many bedrooms, and ate in this kitchen. Eugenie might have brewed his coffee and placed it in front of him on this very table where my elbows now rested. He had a golden heart—at least that's what she said about him. As much as I didn't want to be preoccupied with him, I couldn't ignore the incessant questions that kept flooding my mind. What was he like, what did he look like, and most importantly, why didn't he want to meet me?

I registered that Eugenie could be a valuable source of information about him, especially since she loved to talk, even if a bit thoughtlessly. However, I didn't want to ask her any questions about him out of caution. What if one of the brothers overheard or found out? My curiosity had to wait.

Soon, a plate of fluffy, golden-brown pancakes topped with maple syrup and sprinkled with berries was placed on the counter before me. I had dreamed of such pancakes ever since I saw them in an American cartoon a few years ago, though my grandmother, despite being a fantastic cook, could never get them quite right. Eugenie wished me a good meal and disappeared to do the laundry. 

I smiled at her, happy that in this large house full of men, there would be at least one woman around.

The portion was too large for my capacity, so I spent nearly an hour over it. When I finished eating, I washed my dishes, forgetting about the dishwasher, and then stood in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to accomplish next. I had absolutely nothing to do and felt this acutely in the unfamiliar environment. By chance, my gaze fell on the large kitchen window, through which the sunlight streamed, illuminating the already bright room. The weather seemed much nicer than yesterday, and I immediately thought that today's sun might signal hope for something good in my gray reality. Encouraged, I threw on a thicker hoodie and stepped outside through the main door.

Yesterday, Will had brought me from the airport and left the car in the driveway, where another car was now parked—suspiciously ordinary compared to the luxury jeep. I guessed it belonged to Eugenie, only because of the beet-colored paint. I simply couldn't imagine any of my brothers behind the wheel of such a car.

A path extended from the driveway, disappearing among the trees, and I knew it intersected with the entrance gate further along. I decided not to go that way, so no one would think I was scoping out the area, planning an escape. Instead, I veered onto the perfectly trimmed green lawn, deciding to walk around the large residence.

Occasionally, a breeze blew, making me pull my hoodie tighter, but other than that, my walk was not only pleasant—fresh air cleared my head and allowed me to relax—but also necessary, as I felt too full after the hearty breakfast, and the movement did me good. The garden surrounding the residence was enormous, though unfortunately, after a while, it seemed dull. In my opinion, it needed flowers, and there was definitely no shortage of space for them.

I passed the large kitchen window, through which I peeked to see the room still empty, just as I had left it. Then I continued walking, passing other large windows until I reached a deck laid with dark planks, featuring a charming set of patio furniture with cushions already put away for winter. There was also a swing for two people, on which I shyly perched for a moment. I had always wanted one.

As I had noticed, the deck led out through sliding doors from the living room. Soon, I resumed my walk and discovered another deck nearby, this one with lounge chairs and a built-in jacuzzi, and a fairly large pool, which—as Will mentioned—had already been drained.

I walked along its edge and even stood on the steps leading down, imagining what it would look like when filled. How the surface of the water would shimmer in the summer sun. I live in a house with a pool, I thought, shaking my head in disbelief for the hundredth time. I never expected to experience such a level of wealth.

Here, the ground floor wall of the house was entirely made of glass, reflecting trees and sky at this time of day. On the upper floor, a balcony provided a small roof. I sneaked under it, curiously approaching the slightly open sliding door I had just noticed. I peeked inside and discovered that I had stumbled into the sports section of the house, an area I had planned to avoid.

It was a spacious and bright room with various exercise equipment. The only gym I had ever set foot in was at my old school, where the equipment was decades old, and the air reeked of rubber. My brothers' gym, full of gleaming new machines, was its complete opposite. There were treadmills, weight benches, several machines whose purpose I couldn't fathom, pull-up rings, mats, and punching bags, as well as fancy speakers that probably usually played music to accompany the guys' workouts. One wall was entirely covered with mirrors, and it was only when my gaze landed on it that I realized I was not alone.

"Still snooping around?" Dylan asked, looking as if he had been watching me for a while.

He stood in a corner where water bottles were stacked in a pyramid. He held one in his hand, open and half-empty. His hair was slicked back, exposing his sweaty forehead, just like his muscular arms. He wore a loose tank top that hung on his muscles like a sack. Red headphones hung around his neck, faint music playing from them.

I was immediately stressed by the presence of this brother, whom I didn't particularly like. I had known from the start to avoid the gym, and now my nosiness had gotten me into trouble.

"I'm just walking around," I replied, trying to stay calm.

"Is that what you call peeking into random rooms?"

His malicious smile only confirmed my suspicion that he was trying to provoke me. I gripped the barely visible handle of the patio door and muttered, "Will said I should feel at home, so I'm just looking around. If you want to be alone, just say so, and I'll go."

Dylan didn't take his eyes off me as he lifted the bottle to his lips and downed the rest of its contents in two seconds. He crushed it with one hand and tossed it aside, wiped his mouth, and shrugged.

"Then go."

Ignoring the slight twinge of sadness that his indifference caused my sensitive self, I retreated back into the garden. Hugging myself tighter, I walked along the house a bit further, for some reason now barely interested in what I was passing by. I was afraid to look into the building's windows because I didn't want to be unfairly accused of spying again. The sheer size of the Monet Residence intimidated me; the house itself did not evoke warm feelings. Especially when I reached another driveway. This one was much smaller, and the entrance doors were sturdy. I didn't know the building well enough to even guess which part they led to, so I simply walked past them. I then stepped along a huge extension that had no windows and served as a garage. Finally, I finished this walk as I found myself back at the front of the house. At that point in my tour, my head was already aching from the excess of fresh autumn air.

I stepped back into the house, which reminded me of a dangerous jungle. It lacked only the lush green colors and the suffocating smell of soil, but otherwise, everything matched. Under the veil of relative calm, there were many secrets here, and I felt it with all my senses.

Every step I took on the marble floors of the residence was silent. Wearing only socks, it was hard to change that, even though I wanted very much to disturb the unsettling silence and stop feeling like a hopeless detective.

Experimenting with different ways of stepping, I went to the bedroom to hang up the warm sweatshirt I no longer needed. I almost tripped on the stairs, again staring at the strange painting in the hall, but quickly regained my balance, and no mean-spirited chuckle reached my ears, so I guess there were no witnesses.

I encountered someone only when I decided to peek out of my room again, this time to make myself some tea. The headache was slowly subsiding, and I even got a bit of autumn sniffles, and that's when I decided to make another trip to the kitchen.

"Are you cold?"

I was bending over a newly discovered drawer full of herbs and teas, and at the sound of this voice, although it seemed friendly, I jumped violently. Will was standing in the kitchen entrance, smiling at me. At first, I was scared that it was my oldest brother, all because of the formal clothes I hadn't seen Will in before. He was wearing a shirt that perfectly highlighted the deep blue of his eyes and dark suit trousers. If I had to describe what a successful person looks like, instead of wasting words, I would just point to him.

"A bit. I went for a walk."

"I know," he replied, and when I looked at him surprised, he added with the greatest ease, "I saw you through the window."

I begged myself in my thoughts for my facial expression not to betray the confusion I felt inside. I so much wanted this awkward feeling to stop haunting me so incessantly.

"Do you want some tea?" I asked to change the subject, waving the sachet I had chosen.

"No, thank you. I have to go. " He glanced at his wrist, where he had a watch, probably different from yesterday but just as elegant. "I should be back in a few hours. We have a reservation at a restaurant for the evening. Our favorite."

"Me too?"

This question slipped out before I thought, and Will looked at me strangely.

"Most of all, you. It's because of you that we're going out. Let's say it will be a little integration."

"Oh. Sounds great," I lied.

Will surely sensed the insincerity of my reaction, but he didn't comment, giving me only an understanding look. I liked that he didn't unnecessarily dwell on my behavior, giving me time to get used to reality.

"In case anything happens, you're not alone. Vince and Dylan are home. You can always call me. And Eugenie is around here somewhere. Have you met Eugenie?"

"She made me a delicious breakfast."

"She cooks amazingly," Will agreed, then must have received a message, as he glanced at the screen of his phone, which he held in his hand, and said, "Alright, Hailie, I really have to go. We'll see each other later," he said and did something I completely didn't expect. Still half-focused on his phone, he approached, gave me a brief hug, and kissed the top of my head. "Have a nice day!"

Then he disappeared before I could even respond with a simple "same to you." Instead, I spent the next minute regaining control over my stiffened limbs, frozen from surprise at this act of affection. Will, although the nicest of all the people I had met recently, was still a stranger to me, from whom I would never have expected such direct gestures. I pondered for a moment what to think about it, then concluded that I kind of liked being treated this way. I wasn't entirely sure yet, but for a moment, it felt like Will had put a small band-aid on my broken heart.

I thought about it further as I waited for the water to boil, holding a large mug in my hand. I wondered how it was possible that, for example, Dylan and Will could be such opposites despite being so closely related.

Accompanied by the orange-mint aroma, I first walked towards the table, but halfway there I changed my mind and headed up the stairs to the bedroom, and then I remembered the library and once again changed direction.

I liked how almost every wall here was lined with tall, dark brown bookshelves full of books. It created a unique, magical atmosphere in the room.

I curiously examined the piano more closely, which, although simple, looked elegant. I wanted to open it and look at its keyboard, but I was afraid I would detune it just by touching it. Instead, I became interested in a simple photo frame that stood alone on it. I hadn't come across any photographs in the Monet Residence until now, so this one immediately caught my attention. It didn't show any of the boys, just two women. Both were blonde. One of them was smiling broadly and charmingly, while the other seemed more reserved but also rather content. I reached out to grab the frame and take a closer look at the photo, but it turned out to be heavier than I expected, and I almost dropped it. I quickly withdrew my hand and fled to the other end of the room, scolding myself mentally. It would be better for me to focus on the books. They were harder to destroy.

Many of the volumes here were business guides, some very old and probably outdated. I also found a few of the psychological kind, some (though not many) motivational ones, something about running, healthy cooking, and even a few erotica novels, which I avoided. Finally, I came across fictional novels for people my age, and I lingered at this bookshelf forever. I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that there was a lot of fantasy here, and at first glance, it seemed good. Some of these books I already knew, liked, and appreciated.

Especially when I felt bad, when I had a lousy day, someone upset me, or I did something embarrassing that my brain tormented me with for hours afterward, I liked to immerse myself in an interesting book that allowed me to enter another world, making me completely forget about reality. For such occasions, I usually chose promising fantasy.

I finally found a book that I literally fell in love with at first sight. The hard, shiny cover featured a black dragon with green eyes, the ribbon inside the volume resembled a thin, blood-red dragon tongue, and the description on the back won me over with the first sentence. I intended to read just the first chapter, but the novel captivated me completely, and I devoured every word like a charm, curled up in a ball in the chair that Vincent had previously occupied.

However, I would be lying if I said that I didn't have trouble concentrating at first. It was the first time since my mother's death that I managed to indulge in this former pleasure, and I felt like ages had passed since I last read a book. And yet, only a little less than a week had passed since the tragic events that turned my life upside down. So before I immersed myself in a new world, I had to deal with guilt and sadness. Mom always liked to listen to me talk about books that I particularly enjoyed. It crushed me to know that I would never tell her about this one.

With the gloom that had overtaken me, only a truly excellent story could help. I spent the entire afternoon with my new find, changing positions now and then, completely absorbed in what I was reading.

Only after several good hours was my peace disturbed. I was lying across the armchair with my back arched, holding the book just above my face when the library door opened and one of the twins appeared. I felt a wave of relief when I realized it was Shane, the nicer one.

"Here she is," he called over his shoulder to someone before turning back to me and motioning behind him with his head. "Hey, we're leaving soon."

I couldn't quite suppress a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, I put the book down on the table, using the blood-red ribbon that came with this beautiful edition as a bookmark.

I took the empty mug to the kitchen, where I encountered Will and Tony, who stopped their conversation at my appearance. Will looked at me kindly and repeated what Shane had told me, while Tony glanced sideways, seemingly avoiding glancing at me directly.

Without enthusiasm, I climbed the stairs to the bedroom, wholeheartedly regretting that I couldn't just flop onto the bed and sleep. Or continue reading. I had no desire to go out, especially not with all my brothers, most of whom had a dubious attitude toward me.

I pulled out the most elegant dress I had from the closet. It was simple, navy blue, with three-quarter sleeves and a slightly flared skirt that reached just above my knee. Nothing special, so I wasn't worried about being overdressed. Quite the opposite – when I stood among the dressed-up boys, I felt starkly out of place. I tried to convince myself it was just my insecurities, but it was hard to argue with the gloomy voice in my head whispering: You're not even close to their level, Hailie Monet. You look like an orphan. Which, after all, you are.

No one commented on my appearance, though. The brothers dispersed around the garage, negotiating who would ride with whom and in which car. For a moment, they all looked identical to me, and I had to squint to tell them apart. They were all dressed in dark suits and light shirts, some with ties, some without. Each had a well-groomed hairstyle and moved with the ease characteristic of people familiar with luxury. I could hardly believe I was going out with a group of men who looked like that.

However, it wasn't their sight that left me speechless. I was shocked by the garage itself, which I entered for the first time, following the brothers' lead. Its vast interior made an even greater impression than the exterior. For a moment, I felt like the doors were a portal transporting us to an exclusive car showroom. The cars were lined up neatly, and it was clear their owners took special care to maintain order here. 

The shiny gray floors were covered with scratches and tire marks that – surprisingly – didn't mar the floor but rather added a unique charm to it and the entire garage. The walls were also gray, but in a slightly different shade, intersected here and there by narrow longitudinal stripes running up to the ceiling, serving as a kind of modern LED lighting.

This was not the typical garage of an average family – cluttered with everything and nothing, full of boxes and long-unused equipment. Here, the entire – considerable – space was reserved exclusively for cars. And if someone has such a garage, it's only because they can afford to keep top-of-the-line vehicles in it – which was the case here.

Among the cars were those I'd only seen in toy form or in children's cartoons or possibly in some movies. Three of them were the kind of bizarre, almost cosmic – bright, flattened, sports cars that probably accelerated to hundreds of kilometers per hour in seconds. Two others were more elegant and sleek – one silver, the other black, which Vincent approached from the driver's side. There was also a huge, high-suspended jeep that Will had driven to pick me up from the airport, and a more ordinary, less conspicuous white car.

At that moment, my lack of automotive knowledge truly embarrassed me. I couldn't name a single brand! I could only categorize them in my head based on color, like a stereotypical woman in sexist jokes.

The Monet brothers quickly packed into their cars (my jaw dropped when I saw a car with doors that lifted up instead of opening traditionally) and soon, two cars left the property. Vincent was driving the sleek black one, with Will sitting next to him. I ended up in the back, unfortunately with Tony, who didn't spare me a single glance throughout the ride.

Shane was driving the other car. He chose one of the sports ones, a beautiful dark blue one with those remarkable doors, and with Dylan, they showed off by revving the engine as they overtook us on the road. In the side mirror's reflection, I saw Vincent roll his eyes, and Will shake his head. Their reactions reminded me of parents frustrated by their children's stunts, and I must admit, the thought amused me a little.

I remember my first outing to the city with my new family as a blur. Maybe I was too stressed, and my brain deemed the memory too traumatic, one I'd want to forget. Or maybe it simply couldn't handle such an overwhelming amount of opulence, which was pouring out of the restaurant's main doors as we arrived.

I remember Vince handing the keys to a valet in a tuxedo, someone bowing to us, someone else asking Will if the chosen table was satisfactory, and passing a young, gold-adorned, visibly tipsy couple at the entrance.

I felt lost, looking at the red carpets, wall sconces, again shiny floors, and the dome-shaped ceiling painted with a fresco styled like the Renaissance. Paintings of plump angels in thick golden frames hung on the walls, and an elegant man was playing a quiet melody on a violin.

I was startled when someone placed a hand on my back, but seeing it was Will, I relaxed. I wasn't about to refuse his support in this place because I didn't even know where to look.

"Alright, Hailie?" he asked quietly as we took our seats at a cozy round table.

I nodded, maybe a bit too energetically, giving my brother a faint smile that certainly betrayed my nervousness. It deepened when Vince sat down on the chair on my other side. I wondered if I'd be able to swallow anything, being so close to him.

I also felt the pressure of the elegant surroundings, affecting my every move, making them unnaturally stiff, unlike my brothers. They were completely relaxed, reclining in the comfortable, carved chairs, taking menus from the waiter and joking frequently. What was a big event for me was everyday life for them, and I felt this outing only widened the gap between us instead of closing it.

It was then that I first saw them as a true sibling group. The kind that knows each other from birth and has that specific bond. They laughed and chatted as they sat at the table, when they placed their orders, and while they waited for the food. I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong. Part of the same blood ran through our veins, but they were a unit, and I was an outsider. I grew sad when I realized this.

"How's your lasagna, Hailie?" Will asked me when we all received our orders and began the feast.

"Delicious," I replied with a shy smile.

It really did taste good, but for most of the time, I just picked at it with my fork because I didn't like eating when I felt uneasy. Everything about this outing embarrassed me – the circumstances, the place, and the company.

I noticed that those brothers who weren't driving had ordered beer. Even the underaged ones, which surprised me, but no one seemed to make a fuss about it, and I pondered this for a moment, sipping my cola.

The atmosphere grew more and more enjoyable. A fun time in which I didn't really participate until the conversation quieted for a moment, and Shane remembered it was supposed to be our bonding evening, and started talking to me.

"Hailie, why aren't you saying anything?"

Naturally, all eyes in the room turned towards me, which predictably stressed me out. So, I gave my usual polite, but increasingly boring, smile and looked down at my plate, where half of my lasagna still sat. 

"Because... I'm eating." 

"She didn't say anything when she wasn't eating either," Dylan muttered.

"You're making her uncomfortable, idiots," Will snapped at them, giving his brothers a scolding look. 

"Me? I'm not doing anything," Shane protested, then looked at me, gesturing towards his chest. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

 I shook my head, inwardly wishing they'd drop the subject. 

"She's always uncomfortable," Dylan continued.

"Wouldn't you be?" 

"No." 

"But hey, imagine you're a little girl..."

"Fuck you." 

"No, but seriously, wait. Imagine you're a little girl and suddenly you find out you have five older brothers," Shane said, pointedly looking at Dylan. "I'd go nuts."

"I'm not a little girl," I interjected.

I meant to just throw those words into the air, but they came out loud and clear since everyone had quieted down. 

"Yes, you are," Shane and Dylan answered in unison. 

I raised my eyebrows. 

"I'm almost fifteen." 

"Which means you're still fourteen," Vincent pointed out, setting his glass of water back on the table. He looked at me with slightly raised eyebrows, amusing the others with his remark. 

"But I'm not a child." 

"Yes, you are," they all denied in chorus this time, even Tony. 

I looked around in disbelief at the faces of my new family. Not everyone was keen on making eye contact with me, but nearly all of them had silly, mocking smiles on their faces. 

"That's... not fair," I mumbled, and realizing I sounded a bit childish, I added, "It's five against one." 

"Get used to it," Dylan muttered, popping an olive from his salad, which had been served earlier as an appetizer, into his mouth. 

"Not fair," I repeated more firmly. 

"That's life." 

"In that case, life is shitty." 

At that moment, I really wasn't a fan of life, as depressing as that might sound. Especially my own, which had recently been filled with so many tragic changes. That summary slipped out almost automatically, so I didn't expect anyone to respond, but my brothers' reactions surprised me. 

Dylan wagged his finger at me, saying, "Nuh-uh," Shane and Will grimaced disapprovingly, and Tony snorted. 

"Don't use such ugly words," Vincent scolded me, frowning. 

For a moment, I thought they were joking, and I blinked when I realized they were serious. 

"That was ugly?" 

I wanted to say a lot of things, like that there are worse words than "shitty" or that I'd already heard the boys curse plenty of times without anyone being offended, but the intensity of my oldest brother's gaze stopped me and made me lower my eyes. 

You don't argue with Vincent, and I was slowly learning that. 

In the end, we ordered dessert, which was another new experience for me. Mom and I rarely went to restaurants because Grandma always cooked at home, and if we did go out, we usually stuck to main courses. For my well-off brothers, money was apparently not an issue, so I ordered a chocolate ice cream sundae. The boys also ate and drank a lot and quickly, much faster than I did, so in the end, they waited for me to complete my dessert, which Shane ultimately finished for me, surprising me that he wasn't at all grossed out by eating after me. 

I had to admit that it was nice and fun. I even laughed genuinely a few times, but mostly I just listened to the boys' discussions, rarely chiming in with my two cents. 

At one point, Dylan and the twins were howling with laughter, and although I didn't understand all their jokes, their joy was infectious and affected me too. The Monet brothers just exuded a positive aura today, and I had the privilege of being within its range. 

Even if I didn't feel like part of this family.