My brow puzzles. “Why does it matter?”
“Goddammit, Evie,” he mutters, his voice sharp. “Were you there or not?!”
“Roman, I’mallowedto go out!” I snap, jumping up. “I know everyone pretends I’m this delicate little fucking flower, but I’mtwenty-fucking-threeyears old!” My voice starts to climb. “I’mallowedto go to bars, I’mallowedto have a drink, I’mallowedto talk to anyone I want, and I’mallowedto do all that without being put under a fucking microscope!!”
The phone is utterly silent.
My chest heaves, my pulse thudding as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Sorry,” I say, looking down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to explode like that.”
Roman’s quiet for another second before he clears his throat. “It’s…fine,” he grunts. “And you’re right. I’m…” He sighs. “I forget sometimes that you’re more than just my kid sister.”
“I’ll always be your sister, Rome,” I smile wryly, “but I’m not a kid anymore.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But—look, I have to say this, and it’snotjust because you’re my sister…”
My brow furrows. “Okayyy?”
“From the gratuitous F-bombs just now, I can assume youwereat a party at the Moon Room the other night?”
I wince but don't answer.
“Evie—“
“Yes, okay?” I mutter. “I was.”
“With Gabriella De Luca.”
My jaw tenses. “So?” I snap.
Roman blows air into the phone. “Evie, you understand who was throwing that fucking party, right?”
“AND?” I hiss.
“AndI have a right to be worried about you hanging out with Val’s Bond-villain brother’s band of psychopaths!” he yells back. “Evie, The Syndicate is fuckingdangerous, okay?!”
“And we were raised in the freakingbratva!” I spit back. “Roman, I know you think of me as this little Disney princess, but I didn’tliterallygrow up surrounded by dancing woodland creatures! I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself!!”
“What the fuck you were doing at a Syndicate inner-circle party!” he roars.
“None of your fucking business!!!”
I stab the end call button and start to pace, seething.
I mean, I love my brother, but are youfucking kidding me?!
I draw in a deep breath and then exhale, trying to flush away the tension.
I should call him back.
But I also just want to get home. I can talk to him there later.
I heft my bag onto my shoulder and then walk to one of the side doors. Out in the hallway, I grumble to myself as I head toward the neon red exit sign.
“Don’t fucking move from this spot,” I sing-song to myself snippily. “My meeting is only an hour.”
Yeah, and then he just gets his little girlfriend Sabine to tell me he’s too busy to come back.
