“It wasn’t your honeymoon!”

“But you didn’t even want to do it until I said I wanted to do it!”

“So! It was a good idea.” Buzz casually takes a drink of the water at his place setting. “It was awesome.”

“I hate you.”

I frown. Lean over to ask, “Are you seriously mad right now that he got a pedicure and you didn’t? Because you can go get one tonight if you want. Most places are still open.”

He crosses his bulky arms. “Not the kind with the fish.”

“But…why are you upset?”

“Because. That’s what I wanted to do.”

“But you didn’t go on the honeymoon.”

He rolls his eyes at me like I’m some kind of imbecile.

Their sister laughs. “Tripp tried inviting himself on their honeymoon, but Buzz wouldn’t allow it.”

“I mean, that’s understandable.”

He frowns, shooting me narrowed side-eye. “Whose side are you on?”

There are sides? “Um, no one’s?”

He turns his body away from me.

“Oh my god.” True laughs. “Could you be any more immature?”

He one hundred percent could—but their mother doesn’t allow it.

She shoots the entire table a warning look, crossing her arms and resting them on the table. “So, you went and had fish pedicures—what else did you go do?”

“And don’t say banged,” True adds nonchalantly, earning a gasp from Mrs. Wallace.

“Really, True? Can none of you behave for five minutes? Is it so much to ask? You’re all giving me a heart attack. My blood pressure is skyrocketing.” She feels for her pulse dramatically. “Roger, say something.”

He looks up from using his butter knife to push meat sauce across the plate and onto his fork. “Be nice to your mother.”

Mrs. Wallace frowns.

“We swam with stingrays,” my cousin says with a smile. “Buzz screamed like a girl when one rubbed up against his leg. Scared the daylights out of everyone in our group.”

Their sister makes a face. “You screamed like a girl swimming with giant pancakes, yet you let tiny fish eat the dead skin off your feet? You really are a complete dunce.”

“It was so loud.” Hollis chuckles at the memory.

Buzz looks affronted. “I’m sorry—have you ever swum with stingrays? They give you no warning, just rub their bodies up on you out of nowhere. And hello, that jungle guy Steve Irwin got stabbed in the heart by one and died—I could have died, that’s all I’m saying, and no one even cared.”

Hollis pats his cheek. “I cared, baby.”

“Did you at least get videos?” True asks.

“No, we couldn’t take our phones in the water, but we do have a picture of him kissing its fin.” She stabs some lettuce and pops it in her mouth. “He looks like he’s sucking on a Sour Patch Kid.”

Tripp snorts.

“What else?” Mrs. Wallace wants to know. “Tell us everything.”

“Not everything, wink-wink.” Buzz laughs. “If you catch my drift.”

“Mom said we’re not supposed to talk about sex at the table,” Tripp reminds him.

“I wasn’t going to, idiot. I was joking.”

“I swear to god, if I could find your leg under the table, I’d kick it,” Tripp tells his brother.

They scowl at each other.

Wow.

Just…wow.

I thought they all got along?

Our family isn’t like this—at all. We’re quiet and polite and suffocatingly…

Blah.

This exchange between them all is so entertaining I don’t realize I’m stuffing garlic bread into my mouth and giggling to myself until Tripp turns back toward me, eyes wide.

“Laugh it up, clown,” he says, looking me up and down, the doughy bread in my hand suspended mid-scarf.

I can’t get any words out, my mouth otherwise occupied with carby deliciousness, so I shrug. And giggle again.

“So, Chandler.” Mrs. Wallace turns her attention to me for the first time this evening. “How long have you been a black belt?”

Oh shit. That was a random question—fair, but random.

I take a drink from my water glass to wash down the bread lingering in my throat. Wipe my hands on the napkin placed in my lap.

“Since I was in high school, actually. I started karate when I was four.”

Everyone’s brows go up except my cousin’s.

Mrs. Wallace turns toward her. “Hollis, dear, do you know karate?”

She shakes her head. “Unfortunately not. My parents put me in ballet and tap dancing lessons—and one ill-fated baton twirling class when my dream was to be a twirler in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

“Do you still know how to twirl?” Buzz sounds interested.

“I do.”

“You gonna show me?”

Hollis nods.

“Babe, that is so sexy,” her husband says.

To my right, True makes a gagging sound. “Gross. Stop. No one wants to picture your wife wearing lingerie and twirling a baton for you.”

“Why would you say that?” Tripp groans. “I wasn’t thinking about her being in lingerie until you said it, asshole.”

“Don’t call your sister an asshole,” Roger chastises. “Especially at the dinner table. Have some damn class.”

I’ve gleaned—after only a short time with the Wallace family—that any effort on Roger’s part to discipline the kids earns him gold stars with Mrs. Wallace, because after his statement, she puts her hand on top of his and they share a…look. Like, the look.