Page 118

I’m canceling your visit.

Most annoying sibling in the entire world

Too late. I already have my ticket. And nothing in the world will stop me from meeting Rory.

Max still wasn’t sure he one hundred percent believed in fate, but he believed Evie was right about that. Possibly there was nothing but fate that had led to Max sitting with his bonded mate at a gigantic dining room table in a huge house… with his D&D crew, because that was obviously how he rolled.

Plus, there was Peter Holcroft, who also looked a little thinner and paler since Mr. Jones’s passing. Trevelyan Abercrombie, the lawyer, rounded out the group. He gave off a distinct buzz of magic, strong enough that Max thought he was probably a witch. He looked like he was in his early thirties with slicked-back dark hair, cool gray eyes, and a supercilious sneer whenever he looked at Peter—who glared at him—or Max, who also had no problem glaring back, since he had no idea what the man’s problem was.

There’d been enough snide comments when they arrived to make clear that the man wasn’t impressed with needing to be here over Thanksgiving, but how was that Max’s fault? Maybe people who billed by the minute had a different relationship with reality.

That seemed likely.

Max was planning his life going forward with as few lawyers as possible. The food, at least, was incredibly delicious. Mrs. Finch and Mrs. Davenport had declined to eat dinner with them in the dining room but assured Max they would have their own lovely meal. Max had wondered if it was some sort of class/employee thing, but now he suspected that they’d just been done with the glaring and snark. Rory was eyeing Peter and Trevelyan like they were a show put on just for him, his eyes alight with interest.

“This is the best meal ever!” Rory whispered excitedly to Max, managing to stare at the two of them unblinkingly while unerringly directing food to his mouth.

His plate was covered with a small portion of every single menu item that had been provided on the buffet. Max would not have wanted to put all those food combinations together, but the hot sauce/bird seed incidents had made it plain that they didn’t have the same taste buds.

Everyone was complimentary about the food and took several helpings. Edward went back at least four times, and Stella and Sam traded things from plate to plate almost constantly as they encouraged one another to try another delicious morsel.

This lightness wove through the awkward silences, the catty comments between Peter and the lawyer, and the weird vibe going around otherwise.

David, unfortunately, mostly pushed food around on his plate, but Max noticed Tom dart glances at him now and again, which was an improvement from the last time he’d seen them together.

“Are we still playing D&D after dinner?” Alex asked at one point.

Trevelyan’s utensils clinked loudly as he put them down and began to protest, “Now, really—”

Peter rode over him like he hadn’t even spoken. “Of course! I imagine you don’t often get to play on a table like this.”

“I must insist—“ Trevelyan tried again.

Peter’s look was acid. “On a statutory holiday? Planning to bill the estate double time and a half?”

Gray eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who insisted—”

“—on a pleasant meal for our guests before all the dry paperwork that I’m sure there’s time for tomorrow,” Peter said smoothly.

“I’d hardly call them guests,” Trevelyan said dryly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max demanded.

The food was lovely, but he wasn’t going to sit here and have his friends be insulted just because they didn’t have the same sort of… of pedigree or whatever this guy’s problem was.

Peter practically snarled, “To. Mor. Row. We will talk about this tomorrow, after everyone’s had an enjoyable evening tonight. I insist.”

Now everyone’s eyes were ping-ponging back and forth between the two of them as the tension ratcheted up another notch.

One of Trevelyan’s perfectly groomed eyebrows rose. “Oh, you insist, do you?”

Peter’s gaze was stony as he bit out the word, “Yes.”

Max wasn’t sure if he needed to prepare a shield spell. He would have said the idea was ludicrous, but it felt more and more like they might be enacting a real battle in the dining room at any moment.

He really didn’t need reality to keep mimicking D&D. He was happy with a story, thank you very much.

All of a sudden, the lawyer’s face relaxed into a broad smile—that didn’t reach his eyes for so much as a second.