I hold my hand out and jig a little with excitement. I'll blow this whole gender segregation out of the window. "Yes, please."
He glances at Max. "I was asking Max, but okay."
Max shakes his head at me and then at Bronson. "No."
I pout. "Please? I just want to try one."
His eyes never swaying from mine, Max's arm suddenly shoots out and grabs a guy as he walks past. "Cassidy, mancasti di rispetto?"
With a quick twist of his hand, Max forces the man to his knees. The guy winces in pain, his fingers getting crushed in Max's vice-like grip. I cover my mouth on a gasp as I stare at Salvatore bowed in front of us, his hand twisted the wrong way.
Bronson lights his cigar as if nothing is happening and looks at Salvatore as though he's waiting for the answer to whatever Max just asked.
Salvatore shoots Max a look of disbelief. "You're at a wedding, Max. You're not on the job." He tries to stand, but it's an attempt to no avail. Max uses little exertion to keep him grounded. "I'll tell my uncle you're starting shit," he warns.
"Jimmy fucking hates you, Salvatore." Unconcernedly, Max applies more pressure to Salvatore's hand. "What did you say?"
At Salvatore's baffled look, Bronson puffs on his cigarand says, "Max asked if you'd disrespected Cassidy. How about you answer him."
I stroke Max's neck. "It's fine."
He twitches beneath my touch, but ignores my words. "Felicity has already told me what you said, but I want to hear it from your fucking mouth."
Salvatore laughs uneasily. "I just made a joke."
"A joke about what?" Max leans closer to his ear. "Something special up my girl's dress? Enjoying ruffling my feathers? Consider my feathers fucking ruffled!"
"Ma scusari!I'm sorry, Max," he whimpers, the whites of his eyes big on his face.
"Lèviti re peri!"Max thrusts him away, and Salvatore scampers off.
Bronson draws his cigar in slowly and coughs a, "Don't come back now, ya hear?"
Max grinds his teeth. "Fucking weasel." He closes his eyes for a few seconds before slowly opening them to my stunned expression. "Did that upset you?" He watches me closely as I sigh. Cupping my cheeks, he kisses my thin lips. "I didn’t hurt him. He needs to learn some manners."
I don't disagree.
"That'll get their attention," Bronson says casually.
"Good." Max presses his teeth together. "This is what he wanted. This is what he gets."
The discussion with Stacey on the way here suddenly sits heavily in my stomach. I stare at the charismatic, unaffected Bronson Butcher and my possessive, pensive Max Butcher and wonder how it came to be thatI'msitting here—the crux of these beautiful men's conversation.
I look at Max, his face tight with defiance. I want to smooth his frown with my fingertips. I want to kiss his tension away.
Thedark sky outside the marquee suddenly lights up. I hear a popping sound and then a whirling and a bang. It's fireworks. Everyone floods out onto the grass and I bounce up too, but Max grabs my wrist.
"I wanna see the fireworks," I plead. "Come with me, Menace."
He stifles a grin, but for a split second I see his cheeky dimple. "Okay."
Flick and Stacey appear hand-in-hand and it makes me warm to see them happy again.
"Come with us!" Flick says, beaming widely.
They disappear outside. Max lets go of my wrist and I rush after Flick. We find a space on the grass. The humidity outside the marquee is thick and tangible. Hearing the pop and fizz, I crane my neck and watch as the sky explodes in colour. I feel Max's warm chest pressing behind me. His arms band around my shoulders, resting above my breasts. Relaxing against him, I drop my head back and watch the dome above me being painted with fire.
Bronson stops a few steps ahead of us, looking up at the sky. He rolls his sleeves up, intricate ink work being slowly revealed across every inch of his forearm. I wonder in this moment why he is alone tonight. I wonder why he's always alone. He's beautiful, just as beautiful as my Max, but in a different way—he's a bit wilder.
