King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

“You’ve lived here for years; the house is already warmed.”

Sloane’s eyes sparkled at my sigh of exasperation. “But I love a good gift. What is it?”

“It’s in here.” I guided her to the hall next to the living room.

I’d been sure it was the right gift when I bought it, but a ripple of anxiety ran down my spine when we turned the corner and the latest member of our household came into view.

Sloane drew a sharp inhale of breath. “Is that…?”

“A goldfish,” I confirmed.

My worry that I’d overstepped melted when she touched the mini aquarium, her eyes suspiciously bright. The bright orange-yellow fish inside swam toward her hand and examined it for a second, his fins wagging, before he returned to the little pagoda the pet store had set up in the middle of his habitat. Apparently, he was more interested in exploring his new home than the humans hovering over him.

“I didn’t think I’d miss having a goldfish ignore me so much,” Sloane said, her voice thick. “He’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like him. The store said he was the feistiest one.” We stared at the fish as it lazily circled the pagoda. “But they didn’t define what they meant by feisty.”

“Feisty.” Sloane pursed her lips in thought. “That should be his name.”

Feisty the Fish? My God.

“If the store said he was the goldest one, would you have named him Goldie?” I asked, my cheeks hurting from the force of my grin.

Her pensive expression gave way to a stern glare. “Very funny,” she said, her cheeks pink. “I’m not great at naming pets, okay?”

“No, no, I think Feisty is a great name. A proud name. A literal name!” I called after her as she stalked back to the living room. Laughter warped around me as I followed her.

“Shut up before I throw a lamp at you,” she threatened. “If you’re so great at names, you choose one.”

“Nope, he’s for you and whatever name you choose is the one that sticks. At least Feisty is a better option than The Fish 2.0.” I corralled my face into some semblance of seriousness. “Every fish deserves a name, and his is Feisty.”

I almost made it through the entire sentence without cracking up again. Almost.

My failure resulted in Sloane throwing a cushion at my head, but it was worth it.

Feisty the Fish. I chortled.

“If I tell Dr. Hatfield about this and she says break up with you, I’ll do it without hesitation,” Sloane warned.

“Aw, come on, Luna, I’m just poking fun.” I swallowed another bubble of laughter. “Besides, Dr. Hatfield would never say that. She loves me.”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“She knows me by proxy.”

Dr. Hatfield was her new therapist.

Sloane and I had both resumed therapy last year with different practitioners who specialized in (extremely dysfunctional) family issues. It took a few tries before we found the right fits, but I’d forgotten how, well, therapeutic it was to discuss my problems with a stranger whose job was to listen to those problems.

Therapy had been Sloane’s idea. She would never patch things up with her father or Georgia, but Pen was still part of that family. Sloane thought therapy would help her better navigate her relationship with Pen versus the rest of the Kensingtons now that she was seeing her sister on a weekly basis, which meant increased contact with George and Caroline. Sometimes, I accompanied her to see Pen; other times, I left them to their sisters-only bonding.

Surprisingly, therapy helped me more this time around than when I underwent it as a teenager. Maybe I was more open to it now that I wasn’t mired in resentment and guilt. Whatever it was, my bi-weekly sessions had helped me come to terms with my past and my relationship with my father. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter why he’d put the loophole in his will or why he did any of the things he did.

That chapter was behind me, and I was ready to move on to the next one.

“I forgot to tell you. Guess who I ran into the other day?” Sloane asked after we got past the Feisty episode and walked upstairs to shower and change. “I had a meeting with a columnist from Modern Manhattan. They have the same parent company as Fast and Furriness, and when I was in the elevator up…”

“Don’t say it.” I grinned, already anticipating her next words.

“Perry Wilson walked in.” Sloane laughed. “You should’ve seen his face. He tried to leave, but the doors had already closed. We spent ten floors pretending the other didn’t exist.”

Perry had lost his libel lawsuit last year, and Kai bought out his blog soon after. He’d renamed it Confidential Matters, deleted every trace of Perry from the site, and installed a professional team of writers and fact checkers. It was currently pulling in double the traffic Perry had attracted during his peak. People were tired of clickbait articles and baseless mudslinging, and an increasing number were gravitating toward better-quality news.

Meanwhile, Perry had been reduced to manning the phones at Fast and Furriness. I couldn’t say I felt sorry for him.

Sloane and I entered our room.

Our. It didn’t sound as strange as I’d expected. I guess in my mind, I’d already considered the house ours before she moved in.