takes a few seconds to focus. “What?” he slurs.
“I want a word with you,” Zeb says, enunciating his words very clearly. “Try to leave your bottle behind. If you can,” he finishes coldly.
Max stares at him. “What the fuck is your problem, Zeb?” he says. It’s too loud, and a couple of people look round. Luckily, most of the party is in the ballroom.
Zeb leans down. “Not here,” he says and grabs Max’s arm to haul him up.
Max falters for a second but then regains his balance, pushing Zeb’s hand away before following him. He doesn’t even give me a backward glance.
Someone settles into Max’s vacated chair, and I sigh when I turn and meet Patrick’s bright gaze. “Ooh, Zeb’s very cross,” he says far too happily.
“Hmm,” I say in a noncommittal voice, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“He’s going to give Max a mouthful. He’s been furious with him since he found out—” He pauses. “Oops, perhaps I shouldn’t say anything,” he says with blatant insincerity.
“So, why are you? Because that rather seems like the theme of your life,” I say wearily.
He sits back in his chair and stretches. “Because you deserve to know the truth, Felix.”
“Do I? And I need to hear it from you? What on earth have I done to deserve that? Maybe I was a mass murderer in a previous life,” I say sourly.
He smiles. It isn’t pleasant. “I think you should probably just plod along after them, Felix, and have a listen because you deserve to know the truth. I don’t like you, but I equally don’t like what Max has done.”
“What has he done?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Go and listen,” he urges me happily. He leaves the table and heads to the other room.
I watch him go and then huff and drain my drink. What a tool he is, I think. I’m not going to listen at doors like a snoop. I have more fucking self-respect than that.
Which is why, of course, I find myself wandering along the bottom floor of the house looking in doors and listening for the familiar tones of Max and Zeb. I can’t find them, and after five minutes I give up and turn to go back to the party. However, I quickly find myself in an unfamiliar corridor, and that’s when I hear raised voices. Max and Zeb.
“… don’t like involving myself in your business.” It’s Zeb’s voice.
“Well, the solution is very simple. Fucking don’t,” Max says.
My heart starts to pound so heavily it beats in my ears, and I know I should turn back and let Max talk to me when he’s ready. However, the desire to know more draws me like an iron filing to a magnet, and instead of walking away, I drift closer, feeling my heart rate increase because I know I’m not going to like what I hear.
“It’s not that easy.” Zeb’s voice is sad. “I care for Felix, and I hate that you haven’t told him the truth.”
“I care for him too.” Max’s voice is loud and impassioned. My heart speeds up and I smile. It drops off my face very quickly with Zeb’s next words.
“Do you, Max? Or do you just feel affection for someone you’re fucking? We both know there’s never going to be anything else on offer for him.”
“He doesn’t want that,” Max scoffs, and my stomach clenches at the utter denial in his voice.
There’s the sound of movement, and when Zeb speaks next, it’s low and intense. “Don't do that, Max. Don’t lead him on. He’s a lovely young man and he deserves so much fucking more than to come in a very lagging second place.”
“What the fuck are you on about?” Max says. “He’s not second place.”
I want to feel jubilation, but his tone belies the words. There’s no conviction there. Just a hopeless, sad sort of resignation and I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
I move away. I don’t need to hear anymore. Unfortunately, I don’t move quickly enough.
“Yes, he is.” Zeb’s voice is soft but implacable. “Because you’re still in love with Ivo and you are stringing Felix along.”
I smother my gasp and fall back against the opposite wall. My mind is racing, and suddenly everything makes sense. I feel no real surprise, so it’s likely that a part of me has suspected this all along. The silence about Ivo, the way Max has been this weekend, the constant drinking to drown out what I now realise is genuine