I drop my hands and look at him. “What happened between us can’t happen again. We can’t do this to Audrey. Or to our parents. It’s…”
“Wrong,” Marshall finishes for me. “Yeah, I know.”
He says it so simply that for a second I can’t respond. I was expecting… I don’t know what I was expecting. An argument, maybe. A plea. Not this calm acceptance.
“Good,” I say finally. “Then we’re agreed.”
He nods. “We’re agreed.”
There. It’s settled. We’re on the same page. Whatever madness took hold of us, it’s over. We can go back to avoiding each other as much as possible.
It’s the right call. The only call. I grab my phone off his bed and go before either of us can say anything else.
13
Marshall
The headlights cut through the darkness ahead, illuminating narrow stretches of road that wind along the lake. Gabriel’s hands rest on the steering wheel at ten and two, his knuckles pale in the dashboard light. He hasn’t said much since we left the villa, just the occasional comment about the route.
We’ve been good about keeping our agreement. No touching. No lingering looks. No mention of what happened yesterday or the night we went out in Como. We’re back to being stepbrothers who happen to be sharing a house for a few weeks, nothing more.
I shift in the passenger seat, the leather creaking under my weight. Gabriel’s car is nice, some sleek German thing that smells like his cologne, that smoked vanilla mixed with black pepper, and I try not to think about how that scent has been embedded in my brain since the night he kissed me in the rain.
“You okay?” I ask, breaking the silence.
He glances at me, a quick flick of his eyes before returning to the road. “Yeah. Fine.”
He’s not fine. I can tell by the way his fingers tighten on the wheel and the slight crease between his brows. But I don’t push.
The Ashford villa comes into view a few minutes later, lit up like a small palace against the dark hillside. Gabriel slowsas we approach the gate, which swings open automatically. The driveway is lined with cypress trees, their dark silhouettes standing like sentinels. We pull up in front of the house, and Gabriel kills the engine.
Neither of us moves immediately.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say. “We could turn around right now and leave.”
Gabriel exhales, his breath fogging the windshield slightly. “If we don’t show up, Blaine will complain to Dad. Then we’ll have to explain why we bailed.”
“Fair point.”
He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door, and I follow suit. The villa is bigger than ours, more modern, with clean lines and expensive landscaping. Lights glow from the windows, and I can hear music playing softly from somewhere inside.
Blaine and Vanessa are waiting on the porch, framed in the doorway. Blaine stands with the easy entitlement of a man who owns the place, and Vanessa’s dress is too tight and too short for a casual dinner, her lips stretched in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Gabriel! Marshall!” Blaine’s voice booms across the driveway. “So glad you could make it.”
Gabriel goes still beside me, but his voice is smooth when he responds. “Couldn’t keep us away.”
We climb the steps to the porch, and Vanessa air-kisses both our cheeks, leaving a trace of her perfume that makes my nose itch. Blaine claps me on the shoulder as if we’re old friends, his grip just a little too firm.
“Come in, come in,” he says, gesturing us through the door. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
We follow them through the house. I’ve been here before with Mom and Philip, years ago, so the layout is familiar. Marble floors, high ceilings, modern art on the walls that probably cost a fortune and looks like something a toddler could’ve made. Everything is white and chrome and glass, so sterile I already miss the warmth of our villa.
The back terrace is more inviting. String lights hang overhead, casting a warm glow over a long table set for five. The lake stretches out beyond the railing, dark and endless, and the air smells like grilled fish and lemon.
A woman stands near the table, holding a glass of wine. She’s tall, blonde, wearing a dress that shows off long tan legs. When she sees us, she smiles.
“Felicity,” Blaine says, gesturing toward her. “I’d like you to meet Marshall and Gabriel, Philip’s boys.”
