For a moment, there is total silence, then Reginald turnsaway and starts a conversation with Tom. Mason internalizes his anger, which is never a good thing.
“Please, don’t,” I beg him to calm down as he twirls his fork in his food as if it had personally wronged him. “It doesn’t matter what he says. I’m yours,” I whisper in his ear.
Mason’s eyes meet mine.
“Did you say that to yourItalian ex-boyfriend, too?” He cocks an eyebrow. I giggle, which only makes his face grow sterner. “Is that funny?”
“A little.” I shrug. “My Italianex-boyfriendwas my nanna. She lived in Naples for five years.”
“You made that up to piss me off?”
“You deserved it.” I point my fork at him. “You lied.”
“Wasn’t a lie.” He shrugs. “I was only late because you took so long to come on my face.”
Charlotte bursts, coughing up her wine next to Mason.
My lips part, heat rushing to my cheeks. I can’t believe he just said that, with everyone in earshot? Thankfully, only Charlotte heard. Even that is mortifying enough. Mason smirks as I scowl at him, my nails digging into his palm.
“Finish your food,” he whispers. “You’ll be punished soon.”
I chuckle, taking another bite and drink, as Alessia keeps topping up my glass.
When I look up, Kane Berkeley is staring at me across the table.
The expression on his face, the same as in the photo: haunted.
33
MASON
“Are you leaving?”Hugo trails after us as I lead Eva toward James’s car.
“If I stay any longer, Ma will be looking for the shotgun again.” I snort. Or I might, if my old man tries to take away what’s mine so he can clean up his fucked-up mess.
“Stay for one drink.” Kane appears behind Hugo, drifting into the group quietly with a pointed stare.
My gaze moves between the two of them, smelling the potent scent of trouble radiating off them in thick waves.
“I’d better get her back before she steals the dog.” I’m not interested in whatever mess they have waiting for me. Eva rolls her blues, which have a new shine today. This girl has done the impossible. She’s made me jealous of a bloody dog.
“I’ll take her back,” James offers.
Great, they are all fucking in on it. But I’m in no mood. I hit my limit for bullshit an hour ago.
“Stay,” Eva murmurs, her voice pleading as she strokes my bicep with her index finger. “I have a few calls to make, anyway.”
Calls—which is code for she needs to FaceTime hergodmother or Elton. Which is code for I’m not allowed in my own bedroom.
“Maybe it’s an intervention,” she whispers in an attempt to convince me, slightly tipsy from all the wine Ma made her drink. She feels guilty about getting these two fuckers kicked out. Like I give a fuck.
“The fuck do I need an intervention for, princess?” I snort.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Psychosis, anger management, chain smoking. Take your pick.”
“You have a problem with me smoking now?”
“Only because those cigarettes sit on your lips more than I do,” she whispers so low, her voice is barely audible. Then she bites her lip, blushing like a rose, yet determined to get back at me for what I said at lunch.
