“Who knows what’s in the future?” I give him a small, tense smile. “But I’m not worried about it right now.”
Art smirks lightly. “I wonder why?”
By the time dessert is served, I can feel the tension vibrating across the table. There’s a hint of red that I can glimpse at the edge of Max’s collar, and I can see the clear aggravation on his face. When the table is cleared, Giana comes back in a moment later, clearing her throat lightly in the doorway.
“I’m sure you have things to talk about with your brother, Arturo,” she says calmly. “But in case that goes late, I’d like to show you which room I’ve made up for you.”
Even for all his stubbornness, Arturo gets the clear hint. He stands up, a flicker of irritation on his face now, and follows Giana out.
For a moment, neither Max nor I speak. Max swallows hard, his hands on the table on either side of where his place setting was, and he finally looks up at me, his gaze dark. “I’d rather you gave him a wide berth, Sasha,” he says quietly. “Art isn’t to be trusted. You should watch out in your interactions with him–and keep them to a minimum, if you can.”
“Why are you acting like this?” The words come out before I can stop them, my hands twisted together in my lap.
“Like what?” Max’s voice is flat. “My brother and I have a lot of history, Sasha, and the good parts of it were very long ago. It’s not something you need to worry about–”
“And you don’t need to worry about me!” I shake my head, frustrated. “You’re ready to jump on Art every time he speaks to me–it’s like you’re jealous or something, and that doesn’t make any sense–”
“I’m not jealous.” Max arches an eyebrow. “I have no reason to be jealous, Sasha. We’re–”
“Friends. Yes, you made that abundantly clear.”
“Sasha–”
“If you’re worried about me being hypnotized by a pair of green eyes and a charming smile, then I’d say that I thought you knew me better than that.” I can hear the sharpness in my words, flung towards Max like knives, but it’s hard to hold it back. “You know what I want, Max, and we both know that I can’t have it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for the next handsome man who walks past, and–” I break off, suddenly very aware that I’m on the verge of tears, and the last thing that I want to do is to break down crying.
“So you do think he’s handsome.”
“For fuck’s sake, Max!” I glare at him, hoping that he thinks the shine in my eyes is from anger and not threatening tears. “I think you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and he’s your brother, so of course he’s good-looking. That doesn’tmeananything–and this is what I mean when I say you’re acting jealous. Why would it matter?”
Max lets out a breath. “It’s been a long day,” he says finally. “And I have more talking to do with Art–alone.”
It’s a clear dismissal, and that stings more than anything else so far. “Fine,” I snap, tossing my napkin onto the table. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Max says nothing as I stalk out, and that hurts, too. I’m halfway up the stairs when I see Art coming down, his green eyes immediately landing on me with a wicked gleam in them that makes me feel unsettled all over again.
“Max is waiting to talk to you,” I tell him coolly as I pass him on the stairs.
“I expected as much.” Art pauses just below me on the staircase. “And where are you off to for the rest of the evening, Sasha?”
Something about how he says my name is like a hand rubbing over velvet, smooth and catlike. I don’t dare say I’m going to my room; I can only imagine how he’d respond to that.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I tell him instead, forcing myself not to look back. However, I can’t help but wonder what expression he has on his face as I stalk the rest of the way upstairs, putting Arturo Agosti behind me.
If only I could do the same with how much I desire his brother, so easily.
15
MAX
I’m waiting in the study, glasses of port poured, when Art walks in. He didn’t bother to knock, which doesn’t surprise me, and a grin curls his lips as he sees me sink down into one of the chairs by the fireplace.
“Father’s study suits you,” he says, looking around the room. “You haven’t made any changes, though.”
“I haven’t been here long. And I don’t see any need to, frankly.”
Art glances at me. “Aren’t you staying?” He crosses to the chair that I gesture at, again, and takes the glass of port, wrinkling his nose at it. “You really drink this stuff?”
I shrug. “I like it.”