"Relax, Maxwell," Alistair waves a hand. "He didn't steal anything. He just rearranged the vintages to confuse the sommelier. It was hilarious. The man nearly cried when he found the Merlot in the Pinot section."
Alistair claps Preston on the shoulder.
"The boy shows promise. I’m thinking of letting him handle the hostile takeovers next quarter."
"Please don't," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. "One agent of chaos in the family is enough."
"Nonsense," Alistair says cheerfully. "Chaos is a ladder, Maxwell. Besides, we’re celebrating! I just won a bet with the Bishop."
"You’re betting with the clergy?" Jax asks.
"He bet that Catherine wouldn't let you two in the door," Alistair says. "I gave him three-to-one odds. I am now the proud owner of a very rare bottle of holy water. I plan to use it to make a martini. I shall call it 'The Absolution.'"
Jax laughs, a loud, genuine sound that makes several donors clutch their pearls.
"You’re terrible, Alistair," Jax says.
"I am liberated," Alistair corrects. He leans in, his eyes twinkling. "By the way, O'Connell, I saw the Betting Pool numbers in the faculty lounge."
"You were in the faculty lounge?" I ask, horrified.
"I own the building, Maxwell. I go where I please. Anyway," he turns back to Jax. "The spread on you two lastingsix months is tightening. I put ten thousand on 'Indefinitely.' Don't disappoint me. I hate losing money."
"No pressure," Jax says dryly.
"None at all," Alistair agrees. He checks his watch. "Now, if you’ll excuse us, Preston and I are going to go stand near the ice sculpture and make loud, disparaging comments about its structural integrity until it melts. It annoys your mother."
"Have fun," Preston says, sliding his sunglasses back up. "Dr. Dreamy."
Jax chokes on his champagne.
Alistair and Preston clink glasses—Preston is definitely drinking real champagne—and saunter off toward the ice sculpture, looking like the world’s most expensive partners in crime.
"Your family," Jax says, wiping his mouth, "is absolutely insane."
"They are acquiring character," I say weakly. "It is a terrifying process."
"I like them," Jax decides. "Especially Preston. The kid’s got potential. If the whole 'Spare Heir' thing doesn't work out, I could use a spotter in the field."
"You are not taking my brother into a combat zone."
"The Gala is a combat zone, Max. Look at those shrimp forks. They’re lethal."
The band starts to play. It’s a slow song. Jazz.
"Dance with me," I say, desperate to escape the sight of my father poking the ice swan with his cane.
Jax freezes. "Max. People are watching."
"Let them watch," I say. "I want to inspect the perimeter of the dance floor."
Jax grins. "You’re using my lines against me."
"Is it working?"
"Yeah. It’s working."
He puts his glass down. He takes my hand.
