Of course, my sudden jealousy is confusing to her.
Sasha backs up, tension on her face as she forces a smile again. “I’m still soaked from getting caught out in the rain,” she says quickly. “I’ll talk to Giana about dinner–I’m sure you’re staying for dinner, right, Art? And I’m sure the two of you have a lot to catch up on. I’ll just–go–”
She turns quickly, her voice trailing off awkwardly as she escapes the room, and I can’t blame her. The tension in the room has ratcheted up sharply, and I turn to face Art, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
“Of course, I’m staying for dinner,” Art says, either ignoring or failing to notice the expression on my face. “In fact, I’d hoped to stay here for a little while, once I found out you were home. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my brother.”
“Don’t you have a runway to walk or a photoshoot to be at?” I can hear the anger in my words, the clipped resentment, and I know I’m being harsh. But in the face of all that’s happening, I see no reason not to be. The rational part of me knows that everything that’s happened to me, to our family, the choices I’ve been forced to make, aren’t entirely Art’s fault–and sometimes not even really his fault at all. But that doesn’t help at this moment, when all I can see is the brother who should have entered the seminary and the memory of how I had to take his place.
My life as it would have been–couldhave been–gone. Any dreams I might have had for myself were crushed before I had a chance to see them really develop. My choices were stripped away–unless I wanted to follow in my little brother’s footsteps.
I used to find peace in my choices and reasons to be grateful for how things turned out. Now–since our older brother’s death and more and more often since then–I wonder if it was cowardice that kept me from forging my own path, too. I don’t like to think of myself like that, but it’s something that’s come up more and more often over time.
“Actually, I don’t,” Art says smoothly, without the slightest hint that he’s affected at all by my anger. “I don’t have anything booked for a few months. Not that I want to stay here that long,” he adds. “But I cleared my calendar when I heard my older brother was home. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re here?” I narrow my eyes at him, arms crossed over my chest. “Just to catch up? For old times’ sake?”
Art is wearing that wounded expression again, the one I don’t trust in the slightest. “What other reason would I have to come?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
He steps closer, his face earnest. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d almost believe him. “You’re the only family I have left, Max. I told you, I didn’t get any of your attempts to reach out. So I came here to do it myself. I wanted to see you. That’s all it is–I promise. I wanted to see you–and I want to know more about what happened to our brother.”
14
SASHA
The first thing I do is go and find Giana.
It’s the only way I can think of to cope with the sudden turn of events–find a task and focus on it. It’s part of how I’ve dealt with what happened to me over the past year. At home in New York, I have my tasks–get up, help with breakfast, get Anika and Yelena off to school, and help Caterina with the babies. An order to the day, every day–and here I don’t have that. I’m cut adrift, all of my hours my own, and I’ve found myself wanting to spend every single one of them with Max, as ill-advised as that is. And now–
His brother.I don’t know what I’d been expecting, especially after Max had said his younger brother left to go and pursue his dream of modeling, but it hadn’t been that. Even with what I know of their past, too–how Art bailed on his responsibilities and left Max to pick them up, how he hadn’t responded to any of Max’s efforts to reach out–I hadn’t expected the open hostility that Max had shown him.
I also hadn’t expected to be so hurt by Max’s insistence that we’re only friends.
That’s what we are,I remind myself as I look for Giana, clothes changed into dry leggings and a long, loose t-shirt that drapes just past my hips, my hair wound up into a clip. It’s not the sexiest outfit, but something about Art makes me want to look as unappealing as possible around him.If I were you, I’d have her on her knees every night for communion.
It had been a rude, inappropriate thing to say, especially when he’d thought I was Max’s wife. It had been exactly the kind of thing that puts me off of the idea of dating altogether, especially when I know and love Max, who would never say such a thing.
Who had, in fact, actively defended me.
Something thrills deep inside of me at the memory of Max jumping at his brother, arm flexing as he’d grabbed the front of Art’s t-shirt, anger and jealousy flaring in his face.
He’d been jealous. Jealous of his brother talking to me, flirting with me.I’d seen it again when Art had tried to make his careless comment up to me, and it had both thrilled and frustrated me.
If you’re so jealous of anyone else wanting me, then make me yours.I know it’s not so simple, but I can’t help the frustration I feel over it.
I find Giana on the guest floor, down the hall from my own room, fixing it up–ostensibly for Art. I poke my head in, and she looks up just in time to see me step inside.
“Need help?” I ask, and Giana purses her lips, that humorous disapproval in her eyes again.
“Now, what kind of housekeeper would I be if I let the guests do that?”
“I’m going to be here for long enough that I’m not really a guest, Giana,” I tell her, crossing over to the other side of the bed and helping her fit a fresh sheet over the mattress. “And besides, I’m used to this. I mean–I don’t really do these kinds of chores normally at home, but I’m the nanny, so there’s plenty of times when I do step in and handle it.”
Giana looks at me curiously. “The nanny, hm? So you like children?”
I nod. “I love them. My employer–she’s really more like a friend, honestly, but she has four of them. It’s a lot to keep up with–but honestly, sometimes I would rather be there helping her than having a day off.”