“Even a phone call would have been a surprise.” I grit my teeth, frustrated with this newest development. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Art. You weren’t even at the funeral.Eitherof them.”
Art’s expression sags a little. “I know. But you see my side of things, don’t you, Max? If I’d come to our mother’s funeral, I’d have been locked in the basement before our father let me run off again.”
“Unlikely.” I feel my jaw clench tighter. “I’d already done your duty for you. Most likely, you would have been tossed back out. What’s your excuse for our father’s funeral, then?”
Art snorts. “You think I wanted to pretend to be sad that old goat died? He was a pain in my ass when he was alive, and I doubt he left me enough to cover my trip here and back.”
“So that’s it, then. You’re here for money.”
“Max!” Sasha’s voice cuts into the conversation, and a sharp burst of guilt hits me. I’d been so focused on who our unexpected visitor was that I hadn’t even noticed she’d followed Giana and me.
If I had noticed, I’d have asked her to go upstairs. The last thing I want is for my brother to get an eyeful of her, before I find out why he’s really here.
“You’re being rude,” she continues in a hushed stage whisper that Art can definitely hear. “Your brother is here. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“I’m not sure,” I say tightly, and I catch a glimpse of Sasha’s startled expression out of the corner of my eye.
Art sighs. “I’m hurt, brother. I heard you were here, back home at last, and I wanted to see you. Tosurpriseyou. And I’m being treated as if you found me razing the place to the ground on your arrival.”
“I’m more surprised that you weren’t. I tried to get in touch with you. You didn’t answer a single call or bit of correspondence–no matter how I tried to reach out.”
Art presses his lips together, still looking wounded. “You might have had the wrong number. I didn’t get a call from you, Max. Not a voicemail or a text. I assumed you’d forgotten about me like the rest of our family.”
“I also sent an email. A few of them, in fact.”
Art smiles ruefully. “I have assistants now, Max. Maybe they thought it was spam.”
I’d forgotten, in the years between when I knew my brother as a rebellious teenager and now, how quickly he could come up with an answer for everything, a reasoning to get him out of any scrape. It had driven our father insane, and me as well–especially since if there was a situation that needed pinning on someone else, it usually happened to be me. Our older brother was too responsible.
Until he wasn’t, and I ended up in a back-alley street, gun pointed at a man with revenge chilling through my veins.
A flash of neon-lit rain and the slap of wet stone beneath my shoes, the sound of pleading, and the report of a bullet fills my thoughts for one brief, startling second, until Art’s voice cuts through it again.
“Is this your wife?” He gestures to Sasha, who is still standing next to me. “I heard you left the priesthood,” he adds, a teasing note in his voice, light as if we’re children again. “For her? If so, I can certainly see why. I’d have her on her knees for communion every night.”
I move so quickly that I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing, or why. I feel a hot, possessive flush run through me, a quick burst of anger that’s entirely foreign. I have never in my entire life been a rash or angry man, but as Art makes the lewd comment. I hear Sasha’s startled intake of breath, I cross the space between him and me, my hand fisting in his undoubtedly expensive black t-shirt.
“Don’tfuckingtalk about her like that, or you’ll be missing so many teeth that you’ll never book so much as an Old Navy catalog again.”
Art jerks backward, out of my grip, running his hands over the wrinkles in his shirt where I’d grabbed him. “Christ, Max, calm down. Sorry if I seemed rude,Mrs. Agosti,” he says a bit sarcastically, looking around me toward Sasha. “I just like giving my brother a bit of shit, that’s all.”
“She’s not my wife, you fucking idiot,” I seethe, stepping backward and putting some distance between us again. “Sasha and I are just friends, only that. She’s here visiting, and that’s all.”
I catch, in my periphery, the quick flash of hurt that crosses Sasha’s face.I should have noticed her following and asked her to go upstairs. All this could have been avoided.
“Exactly,” Sasha cuts in, her voice so flat and careful that I know with cold certainty that she’s trying to hide just how much the exchange bothered her.And why wouldn’t it? Last night you spent the entire evening with fingers, tongue, and balls deep in her. You forgot every single promise you made just a week ago to keep your hands off of her. She might have said it was a mistake this morning, but neither of you was singing that tune last night.
“I can see why you might think that, though,” Sasha continues, stepping forward a little with a smile plastered on her face. Art might buy it, not knowing her, but I’m well aware of the fact that it’s a forced smile, and I know it’s my fault. “We’re very close friends. It’s good to meet you–Arturo? Max has talked a little about his family, but there’s nothing like getting to meet you face to face.”
My brother’s demeanor instantly changes as he steps forwards, offering a hand to Sasha. “You can call me Art. I hope any friend of my brother’s can be a friend of mine–I’m sorry if I came off as crass just now.”
Sasha takes his hand, shaking it, and a smile spreads across Art’s face. “Honestly,” he says, in a conspiratorially lowered voice. “My brother is a foolnotto have married you. Unless you’re otherwise spoken for? You must be–no one this beautiful could possibly be unattached.”
I see red as Sasha flushes, her cheeks stained a pink that I’ve previously only ever seen cast in my direction. That possessive burn in my gut rises up again, acid burning the back of my throat as I watch my brother flirt with Sasha. She’s not flirting back–but I can tell she’s buying his act, and why wouldn’t she? Sasha is innocent, inexperienced with men–and she trusts me. I’ve only been as forthcoming about my family as I’ve felt I needed to be, so there’s no reason for her to think that she shouldn’t trust my brother as well.
“Back off, Art.” My voice is low and irritable, and Art at least pulls his hand back, although he doesn’t look in the slightest bit chagrined. “Sasha is here as my guest. She doesn’t need you fawning over her.”
“It’s not fawning to simply speak the truth,” Art says smoothly, and Sasha casts a confused glance at me–which she has every right to. I’ve told her again and again that there can be nothing between us but friendship, that every time I’ve given in to my desire for her has been a betrayal of my vows and myself.