Laurent sighed. “Not anymore. This weekend saved my life.”
“You sent the last one packing with a ten-word email,” Max said. “This one was sticky.”
“Incollable,” Laurent muttered. “She brought her family crest on a business card. My father nearly proposed for me.”
Cassian bent over the table, sank two balls in quick succession. “At least someone’s making progress. Meanwhile, the only thing no one’s mentioning is Griffin’s wedding.”
Rafael took a sip of cognac, then set it carefully on the edge of the pool table. “It’s in seven weeks.”
“Uh-huh. And we’re here for a bridal weekend, supposedly. But the bride hasn’t said a word about flowers, colors, any of it.”
Max leaned on his cue. “Desperate to know what tie you’ll be wearing, Montenegro?”
Cassian snorted. “Fine. Keep pretending. Speaking of uncomfortable timelines, let’s ask Hunter why he’s not engaged yet.”
Hunter stilled.
Laurent glanced at Rafael, who shook his head, mouthingdon’t. Even Max winced.
Ever the diplomat, Charles cleared his throat. “It’s not always a linear path.”
“She’s not ready. That’s all there is,” Hunter said gruffly.
Rafael watched him. There was more. There always was.
For long moments, no one spoke.
“I don’t envy you all the pressure,” said Max, tapping the white with just enough force to bank a seven. “Low-tier heir is the way to live life.”
The tension broke.
“The only thing standing between you and being mid-tier is an extra zero at the end of your bank balance,” Hunter said.
“Miles apart, my friend,” Max said. He looked askance at Laurent. “My father isn’t setting me up with European duchesses.”
“Charming as it is to be auctioned off, I’d rather pick my own woman.”
“What’s on your list of requirements?” Charles asked.
“I’d settle for someone I actually like.”
“Just make sure she doesn’t walk into every room like she’s apologizing for it,” Cassian said, straightening after missing a four.
Hunter raised a brow. “Who are we talking about?”
“The Australian. She wouldn’t last a week as a society wife.”
Rafael caught movement by the archway; a quick shift of shadow. Someone stepping back too fast. Gone now.
He was almost certain he’d seen a braid.
Chapter Eight
The door opened without a sound.
Bea’s head came up. The book in her lap had been open for twenty minutes and she hadn’t turned a page.
“Were you waiting for me?” Rafael asked when he saw her on the bed.
