He grinned. “What else was I to do? It was Tiffany’s twentieth birthday and they had this pact to meet in Volterra—”
“Because ofTwilight.” It wasn’t a question.
Jack’s expression was all,Duh, why else would anyone go to Volterra?Or something like that.
“Of course, Kaycee spoiled the trip by mentioning thatTwilighthad been filmed in Montepulciano, not Volterra, and Tiffany dissolved into tears because she was in her twenties now and how could they have gotten the location wrong? But then Mackenzie had to point out—bit of a harridan, Mackenzie—that being in her twenties meant Tiffany was so much closer to being thirty and ‘senior moments’ were to be expected as you got older. It was a fascinating insight into the workings of the modern American female mind. And byfascinating,I mean appalling.”
Yep. He was definitely lying.
I held up my palm. “I don’t need the play-by-play. Didn’t they find the whole—” I swirled my finger, indicating his person. “—lack of physicality a little unnerving?”
“You don’t believe me?” he deadpanned.
Tennyson opened the front door.
Jack grinned again. “Or maybe I just rode up with your brother.”
My eyes narrowed. See? Baiting me into reacting.
Ugh.
Why did he do this? Why did he undermine my attempts to be kind to him?
Fortunately, Tennyson intervened before I lost my cool.
“Hey, sis.” He gave me a bro nod and a pat on the head as he walked by. “Breakfast looks delish.” He proceeded to dive into my stash of Nutella.
I death-stared him down. Nutella was sacrosanct around here. Not to mention my general no-patting rule. Dogs and cats got pats. People were not for patting.
Tennysonknewthis.
He blithely ignored me.
Men.
I swallowed down my irritation.
Be the bigger person. You can do this.
“What brings you guys to Florence?” I asked Tennyson.
“We wanted to chat with Branwell, but he’s wrapping up with a client in the shop downstairs. We told him we’d wait with you.”
“That’s great. I have something to bring up with Branwell, too. We can go down together.” I took a deep breath. “Why do you guys want to talk with Branwell?”
“Weird stuff’s been going down,” was Tennyson’s cryptic reply.
Man, did he know me atall? Like that vague answer was gonna fly.
“Spill it.” I beckoned as Tennyson sat beside me with his plate of Nutella toast.
Both men said nothing.
Instead Jack stood up and walked out of the room.
Not like a normal person, of course.
He went straight through the wall into my bedroom.
