Ugh, okay… stop gawking. What’s wrong with me?
As we walk up to Pri and Jules, I greet them with, “Well well well, if it isn’t—”
I’m about to throw out one of my usual mocking nicknames for my brother likeDildo McFuckuporUseless von Loserton, but when he turns around, his face is beat to hell and the snark evaporates on my tongue. I jerk to a stop and my arm in Alexander’s goes rigid. He slides a hand over mine in a quick caress of support.
“What the fuck happened to you?” I ask Jules.
The chagrined look he gives me is lopsided from the damage. His left eye is swelled almost shut, there are cuts and scrapes on his left cheek, and his lower lip is split badly enough that there are stitches poking out like little whiskers.
Priya glares at Alexander, then me. “Can we not do this here? And withthat guysitting in?” Her voice drops. “Didn’t you read my texts?” she whisper-yells.
I fish the phone from my pocket and turn it on, and three messages come though.
Priya:NO! not downstairs. we shd come up to the room or u come here. julian looks rough
Priya:ffs is ur phone turned off ???
Priya:this is not the time to be stubborn. your brother needs u
Jules slips an arm around Priya and this is when I notice that his right hand is in a partial cast, two fingers encased in plaster that rings his wrist to stabilize it.
“Hey, sis,” he says to me. His jaw is stiff from injury, and his wreckage of a face frames a pair of melancholy green eyes, one of which has a bloodshot firework burst at the outside corner.
I scan the lobby, checking if any fans or journalists have caught sight of us. My heart is pounding hard and my throat is tight. “Hi, yourself. Meet me upstairs, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, I pivot and stride toward the elevators, towing Alexander by the hand.
An old couple tries to board with us and I ask them, “Hey, could you guys wait for the next one? We’re gonna have sex in here.”
They’re shocked silent, taking a step back as I drag Alexander aboard. His reflexive laughter dies away as the doors close and he takes a thorough look at me. He plants his feet in a solid, tree-trunk-like stance before me and cups my face. “Salvi, pet…”
I have to pretend my teary eyes are purely from anger, because no way am I admitting I’m sad and scared for that fuckwit brother of mine—not mere minutes after I gave Alexander a whole song and dance about how Julian shouldn’t receive sympathy or friendship from anyone.
“I’m fine.” I push his hands away. “Just annoyed that now I’m gonna look like a bitch if I don’t feel sorry for the fuckin’ prodigal son.”
Alexander retreats, leaning against the opposite wall. For a minute, an awkward silence reigns. “I suspect it’s more than that,” he remarks in a tone of studied casualness.
“Stay in your lane, Sandy,” I fire back. “Christ on a fish stick, you’re the least qualified therapist on the planet.”
My nose is prickling again with the threat of tears, and I feign a sneeze to hide it, giving myself an excuse to sniffle. I straighten and rub my face. The elevator opens at our floor, and Alexander holds out an arm, waving me through.
As I pass into the hallway, he says, “It’s a good thing you refuse to fake orgasms, because you’d be terrible at it. That was the worst phony sneeze I’ve ever witnessed.”
Back in the suite, Alexander heads for the little bar/kitchenette area, instinctively giving me space.
“Mind if I make tea?” he asks. “Do you want any, or a coffee?”
I cram the askew sofa cushions back into place and pluck some clothes off the floor, tossing them through the bedroom door. “Nah, I’m good.”
My suite is more wrecked than usual due to Priya’s absence. She keeps things in order, because she knows what to touch and what to leave alone. I generally don’t allow housekeeping into my room midstay because they’ve been known to take souvenirs, and that creeps me out even if it’s nothing valuable, like used makeup sponges.
I hear the mini-fridge open. “Only oat milk? Ah, sod it,” Alexander mutters. With a sigh he sits on one of the sofas. “Are you certain you want me to stay? I was going to quietly take my leave, but you were holding my hand with the ferocity of a tornado victim.”
I can’t help a weak laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”
“I can go,” he assures me, pointing toward the door. “This is obviously a family matter.”
“Maybe? Fuck, I don’t know.” I pace toward the window, then back. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but… like, if you stay, you’ll keep it under your hat, right?”
“The soul of discretion.” His brow crumples and he fusses with one cuff of his shirt. “I’d like to prove that I can be a good friend to you, if you’ll allow it.”
