Page 19 of Maximum Dare
“I suppose you’ll do,” she chided. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.” She took my hand. “Lucia is lovely. Her father owns a newspaper.”
“Oh, God,” I muttered.
“Sorry?” she asked, glancing over at me.
I smiled. “Oh, good.”
She winked. “Help your mother help you, Maximus.” She was the only one who called me that. “Dating a debutant will win you points.”
Turning, I offered the envelope back to Nick along with a look that begged for him to save me. Like arranging for a helicopter to arrive and throw down a rope, hoisting me to freedom—our private joke during these kinds of events.
“Keep it,” said Nick, refusing the envelope. “You should accept the invite. Might meet someone nice.” He mimicked our mother by winking at me.
My face twisted in misery, but I hid my frustration when I turned away from him.
Mum and I merged into a crowd of flowery perfume-drenched debutants who were all pretty in their own way…a reflection of horsey parents and good living.
“This is my son,” announced Gillian to the aristocratic circle, as they munched on hors d’oeuvres. “He’s the highest paid lawyer in Brazil. He defends rascals.”
I cringed and stared at the well-manicured lawn beneath my feet. There came the expected coo of admiration, ironically followed by my internal screaming.
“I’ve been boasting about how big you are,” announced Mum.
With my best poker face, I hid my embarrassment and went with my tried and tested expression of friendly with a dash of nonchalance. Leaning back, I snagged another glass of champagne off a tray and raised it high. “To the British empire!”
Everyone took me seriously and raised their glasses, too.
The thought crossed my mind that if Daisy were here, she’d be the one I’d gravitate to…someone who came across as authentic, genuine. A woman I could approve of my brother dating.
But Daisy was gone from our lives. A rare beauty in a sea of uncertainty, lost to our history—a victim of my brother’s upbringing, growing up in the shadow of icons. He’d not seen Daisy’s worth because he’d been blinded by superficiality. It made me sad for him. Sad for them both, really.
From behind me, I heard someone faking the sound of spinning chopper blades. I turned to see Nick, who walked by us with a grin, totally enjoying my torment.
Yesterday, I’d gotten a text from Nick. It was the message I’d been holding out for. He was coming home to help me move. I’d get to see him. Maybe, if he was willing, he’d talk about what went wrong.
Maybe he’ll change his mind.
I’d have the chance to share my concerns, which now burned ever brighter. Last night, Morgan had posted an image of them doing shots at a party. With a football match coming up, Nick shouldn’t be drinking.
Shivering on the couch, I realized having the electricity turned off the morning before I was to move out was stupid. Not that I’d been thinking clearly lately. Even with my coat on the chill was unbearable.
Six weeks ago, Nick had returned to collect his things. The memory of watching him walk out the door still hurt like hell. Having to leave our home was going to destroy me all over again. My throat tightened at the thought of locking that door and never coming back.
Be brave.
Let him see how calm you are. How strong.
I still couldn’t believe that Morgan wasn’t just a fling. I loved him with all my heart, and he’d loved me right back—or so I’d believed. He’d certainly made me feel that what we’d had was real.
All our “firsts” had been here. Our first time cooking together. The first time we’d taken a bubble bath together. The first time I’d felt comfortable peeing in front of someone else. Those were just the highlights. We’d experienced more laughter than I’d believed possible.
We’d been happy.
Even with all the grief that wove itself between us—me grieving for my brother and Nick for his dad—we’d fought for days when that crushing sense of loss wasn’t so stifling.
I pushed those thoughts away, trying not to make myself feel worse, and rubbed my stomach to soothe the ache.
Looking around, I couldn’t fight off the memories. We’d decorated our place with carefully chosen pieces we’d bought from antique stores. A few remained scattered around the house. They reminded me of another time when laughter had rippled through this home.
