“Marry Elise?”
“Yeah. She’s. . .” I trail off, not sure how to finish and simultaneously hoping he will fill in the blank with something other thanperfect.
He is no help, waiting quietly for me to go on, and when I sigh, I swear he’s smirking.
“Well she’s beautiful, good at cooking, and single. Plus, I think she likes you.Max.”
I wasn’t wrong, he reallyissmiling, mirth dancing in his eyes, and it kind of makes mewant to die, so I scoff and look out the passenger window.
“Forget it.”
We’re pulling up to Willa’s house anyway, and I’m about to flee from the car when Maxim locks the doors and grabs myforearm. I stop but don’t look at him. I’m being childish, but it was a fine, reasonable question and he laughed at me.
“Are you jealous of Elise?” Maxim asks.
I sputter and offer my most indignant stare. “Should I be?”
Maxim leans across the center console and there’s nowhere for me to escape when one of his huge hands slides over the side of my neck and jaw, keeping my face pointed toward his.
“Elise is very nice and very pretty, is that what you want to hear?” he asks.
“I’m just saying, if you knew her for so long why didn’t you marry her? She’d have a baby with you, I’m sure of it.”
“She didn’t ask.”
Before I can think through what I’m saying, I demand, “So you would have if she did?”
Very chill. Very not jealous sounding.
Maxim laughs again, the fucker islaughingat me, and it makes me want to hit him or maybe break one of his toes.
“I didn’t marry Elise because I never considered her. I don’t think we’re compatible, even if I had. She’s too. . .” Maxim’s fingers trail through the hair around my ear, “blonde.”
His eyes flicker to my mouth, and mine to his, not because I want to kiss him again, but because his face is close to mine and really the only other place to look is his eyes, which make me uncomfortable with their intensity.
“Are you done worrying about the chef?” he asks, voice low. He’s brought his mouth even closer to mine.
I’m about to close the distance, not because I want to kiss him, just to remind him that even if he had considered the chef, we have a deal, but a string of three knocks on the passenger window startles us away from each other.
Maxim curses something in Russian and I try to calm my heart rate as I see Angel and Artie standing outside thecar, giggling in their coats. Behind them, Willa stands in the doorway, holding the baby, eyebrows raised at us.
Maxim unlocks the car doors with a click and I wave at them to get in, only slightly mortified about the whole thing.
If they were younger they’d be singing about us sitting in a tree, but since they’re almost fourteen, they just snicker while they settle into the car.
“Were you kissing?” Artie asks, because he likes to be a shit sometimes.
“Oh my gosh this car is fancy,” Angel says.
“I know right?” I say, and point at her brother. “And no, we weren’t kissing, I was checking his teeth for spinach. Now put your seatbelt on.”
“You said you’re our new uncle so do we get to call you Uncle Maxim now?” Angel asks. “I didn’t think we’d get another uncle.”
“What do you call Nate?” I ask.
“Well we used to call him Mr. G., but now we call him Nate,” Artie says.
“Then you can call him Maxim.” I shrug. “Or Uncle Maxim if you really wanted.”
