We were both right, and we knew it, but that didn’t break the tension.
“I called you my brother the other day,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the water bottle between his hands. He’d picked the label off completely. “It just kind of came out. But I guess we can’t really help the fact that biologically, that’s what we are. Brothers.”
The word hung between us, equal parts explosive and white flag.
Mom was right. We had both been kids, and neither of us had a say in what we’d been born into. And yeah, he was an ass, but maybe I would have been, too, if I’d grown up in that house.
I turned around and grabbed two plates from the cabinet, then dished out a thick slice of cheesy lasagna onto each. Then I put a fork on each plate and slid one over the granite to him.
He caught it and looked at me with raised brows.
“My mom made it yesterday. It’ll change your life.” I brought my plate and water around the island and took the stool two seats down from his, forking the first bite into my mouth.
“Damn. It’s good,” Maxim muttered a few bites later. “You said loved.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When you talked about London, you said loved. Not love. Do you still love her?” He glanced my way but quickly looked back to his plate.
Maybe it was the lasagna or the weird, landmine-laced, tentative peace between us, but there really wasn’t a point lying to him, was there? “I will love London Foster until the day I die. She’s the one. She’s it, whether or not she ever believes that I didn’t go after her because of your jackass bet comment. Even if we’re never together again, my soul belongs to that woman.” My heart fucking ached with how much I loved her.
“Then take some big brother advice and go after her.”
“Big brother.” I snort-laughed.
“I’m four months older than you.” He shrugged. “And if it were me, and I was that far gone for a girl, and it was just a misunderstanding and some wounded pride in the way, I’d fix it.”
“Well, you’re not me. We’re nothing alike.” It wasn’t just wounded pride. It was…shit. Fine, it was slayed pride if I was being honest.
“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” He motioned to my water bottle.
I’d picked the label off just like he had.
“She believed you.”
“Yeah. Well, I thought I was right at the time, and I’m very convincing.” He chugged down his water. “Was there any part of you that did it—went after her—just to spite me?”
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t want you with her. I was afraid you’d hurt her—emotionally. But I just wanted her. Right from the first moment I saw her.”
“I’d never hurt London.” He bristled. “Not that I’d be good for her, either. Mostly I just wanted to fuck with you. But I believe you, and if I can sit here and say I was wrong, then I think you can probably put on a tux and make her believe she was wrong, too. I’d say go over tonight and beg her to listen to you, but we both know she won’t open the door. She’s stubborn like that. Besides, a tuxedo is a damn fine weapon against the fairer sex.” He smirked.
The New Year’s Eve party. It was this weekend.
“Again, just some brotherly advice.” For the first time since we’d met on the ice when we were twenty-two, there was no hatred in his eyes.
“She kept me a secret. Just like our father.” There it was, the real heart of the matter.
“Yeah. Well, you’re just going to have to forgive her for that,” he said softly.
“We’re not having a moment.” I forked in another bite.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He went back to his lasagna, but he was smiling.
He was right. London wasn’t going to listen to me unless I caught her in public. She would slam the door in my face before I got a word out.
And even I could admit, I looked pretty damned good in a tux, but what was I going to do if she wanted to take our relationship under whatever was left of the radar?
All or nothing. That had to be the line.
I was done being anyone’s dirty little secret.
18
London
I checked myself in the bathroom mirror once again, my stomach fluttering with nerves. The dress I wore was glittering black with an A-line and thin black straps. A