Why would I want to go elsewhere, when I have so much that I love here?Max seems bent on the idea that I deserve freedom, adventure, and a future free of the dangers unique to the world that men like he and Viktor inhabit–but everyone I love is a part of it. I don’twantto start over, and deep down, I feel a flicker of resentment at the idea that I should have to choose anything other than whatIwant for myself…even if that’s something other than what others believe I should do.
The clouds are heavy and dark by the time we make it back to the stables, and as we dismount and Max starts to help me untack, raindrops are starting to fall.
“We’re going to have to make a run for the Rover,” he says grimly, once we have the horses brushed and returned to their stalls. The rain is coming down in a sheet now, and he stands at the doorway of the stable, clicking the keys to unlock the car so we can jump in. “Ready?”
I nod, and together we bolt out of the doorway. A giggle bubbles from my lips as we duck and run through the rain, Max’s face screwed up in obvious distaste. We’re both soaked by the time we fling ourselves into the car, and he shakes his head like a wet dog, sending droplets flying from his now slicked-down dark hair, all the curl flattened out of it.
He drives carefully back to the house, the wipers flying back and forth, the road slick and slippery by now. When he pulls up to the house and kills the engine, he hops out, coming around to get my door before I can open it.
“I’m fine. I don’t need help–ah!” I yelp as my boot hits a patch of mud and I slip, nearly falling straight down on my ass. In the last moments, I feel Max’s hands grip my arms, pulling me upwards, and I topple forward, almost fallingintohis arms as we stand there in the rain, more and more drenched by the second.
He looks down at me, blinking away the water streaming into his face, his hands still clutching my upper arms. I’m suddenly, intensely aware of how my t-shirt is clinging to me, glued to my skin, my hair plastered to my face, both of us soaked. Max is looking down at me with that inscrutable expression again, his eyes flicking down to my lips. For one wild moment, everything I’d resolved this morning flies away as my heart leaps into my throat.
And then he pulls back, looping my arm through his elbow as he turns us towards the house. “Come on, I’ll make sure you don’t fall!” he calls out over a peal of thunder. We run together towards the back door, kicking off our muddy shoes in the mudroom as we both break into laughter, soaked to the bone.
“I was wondering when you two would show back up.”
Max and I both turn, still breathless and giggling, to see Giana standing in the doorway, her lips twitching with humor disguised as disapproval. “There’s someone waiting to see you in the formal living room,” she adds.
I swallow back the last of my laughter, glancing at Max in confusion as I see him straighten, his brows drawing together. “Let me just get changed, and I’ll see him in my study.”
Giana presses her lips together, her face carefully blank as she shakes her head. “He was very insistent that he see you the moment you walk in, and he’s been here for some time already.” She hesitates. “You should go now,tesoro.”
Max’s frown deepens. “I can’t change into dry clothes first?”
Giana gives him a pointed look, and Max lets out a sigh, looking at her with a narrowed curiosity that gives me a sudden, anxious pit in my stomach. I have a feeling that whoever is waiting for Max, it has nothing to do with me. I’m free to go upstairs and change out of my drenched clothes, but I find myself following Max as he strides irritatedly toward the formal living room.
If he notices I’m trailing along, he doesn’t say anything.
“In here,” Giana says, opening the door. “Maximilian,tesoro–”
Whatever she was about to say, it trails off as we step inside, and I see Max’s back stiffen. He stops in his tracks on the other side of the room, from the masculine figure standing facing the windows, with me hovering nervously behind him.
“Arturo?” Max’s voice is rasping, hollow with shock, and I feel as if I’m suspended in some kind of animation, on the outside looking in, as the man at the window turns slowly to face us.
He’s extraordinarily handsome, model-handsome, with a smooth, chiseled face, stylishly cut black hair, and sparkling green eyes flecked with gold that could make any woman stop in her tracks if they were turned towards her. He stands there, hands shoved casually in his pockets, his leanly muscled body filling out the tight distressed jeans and a black t-shirt that he’s wearing, his gaze fixed squarely on Max.
“Well then,” the stranger says in a rich Italian accent. “It’s good to see you after so long, brother.”
13
MAX
It takes a moment for me to even be able to speak, a cacophony of thoughts crashing through my mind.
How is he here?
Whyis he here?
I’ve never been a paranoid man, but it rips through me at that moment, as my little brother, now grown-up and standing in the house that is technically mine, turns to face me with a glint in his eyes that I recognize all too well.
Growing up, Arturo was the troublemaker, the cause of mischief, the one who seemed to delight in angering our father and made our mother swing wildly between despair and coddling. The theater room I’d shown Sasha was made for him, the brother whose only job was to go into the priesthood at eighteen and satisfy the family tradition, while our older brother took on the mantle of an heir, and I took over some facet of the family business.
Of course, he hadn’t done so. And I haven’t seen him since he ran away to Milan, more years ago than I care to count now.
I hadn’t imagined he would appear out of the blue when my attempts to contact him had gone entirely unanswered. Combined with the reasoning for Sasha and me hiding away here in the first place, an instant, paranoid suspicion rises within me, and I narrow my eyes at him. “You could have called first.”
Art’s eyes widen, and he dramatically claps a hand to his chest. “You wound me, brother. Really? Can’t I surprise the only family I have left?”