Page 139 of Golden Eagle

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“I’m getting the impression that you’re nervous,” Dante said. “Hey, careful with the silk, that’s Gucci.”

Alexei parted the clothes in the closet with more force than necessary, hangars screeching along the rod. “Oh, really? You’re getting that impression?” he bit out, and swiped past a half-dozen shirts he wouldn’t have been caught dead in.

Ha ha.

With a huff, Dante came to stand beside him, gently batting his hands away and sliding the shirts along more gracefully. “The question is: why are you nervous? It’s only brunch.”

Alexei had come home with Dante again, and Jamie had tagged along like a lost puppy. Though he was loath to admit it, Alexei hadn’t had the heart to give him the boot, so he’d slept on one sofa, and Jamie on another. Dante had padded softly into the living room a few hours ago, pushed back the drapes, and awakened them, his slender, dressing gown-clad silhouette parting the light of mid-morning, waking them both.

“If we’re going to brunch, we’d best ready ourselves,” he’d said, and Alexei could smell that he’d already showered and shaved; his hair was slicked back in its usual severe style.

He’d also, Alexei noticed, put a clear coat of polish on his nails and traced his eyes with the faintest, most tasteful amount of black liner, but Alexei hadn’t mentioned it.

He himself was sorting through colorful silk shirts and skin-tight pants, kicking himself for not going home to get his own things, nerves churning in his gut.

He glanced sideways at Dante and couldn’t help but sneer. “You’re one to talk. You going to kneel down like a supplicant again when you see him today?”

Dante’s jaw clenched, and his cheeks colored. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That startled a harsh laugh out of Alexei. “Oh, please. You went down like you were being paid for it.”

Dante’s blush deepened. He looked stubbornly at the contents of his closet, his voice prim. “I was only showing the proper obeisance. He’s a prince.”

“I’ma prince.”

Dante flicked him a hooded look, gaze sweeping down his rumpled, slept-in clothes and back up again. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat and turned back to the clothes. “He’s an infamous one.”

“And I’m not?” He was starting to feel indignant. Offended, even.

“He’s a legend. Also, he’s not currently pawing through my wardrobe like a savage. Here.” He ignored Alexei’s protests and pulled out a shirt that he presented over one arm with a flourish, like a salesman. It was black, with jet buttons, and the thinnest, faintest gold pinstriping. “A bit much, but we’ll pair it with jeans and you can wear your regular jacket over it. Do something with your hair.”

The shirt wasn’t terrible, if a little dressy. “What’s wrong with my hair?” Alexei ran a hand through it.

“Only everything.”

Jamie appeared in the threshold and rapped at the doorjamb. “Um.” When Alexei turned, he found him chewing nervously at his lower lip. “Am I…invited?”

Oh, for the love of…

“If I say ‘no,’ won’t you just chase us down and tag along anyway?”

It was a shitty thing to say, and he knew it, but still didn’t appreciate the kick Dante delivered to his shin.

“Of course you’re invited,” Dante said. “Ignore him, he’s just nervous.”

“Says the idiot who dumped all our drinks on the floor in his haste tobend the fucking knee,” Alexei muttered.

Jamie nodded. “Thanks. But – I don’t know. Val makes me kinda…” He waved a hand in a see-saw gesture. “Maybe I’ll just go home.”

“What an excellent idea,” Alexei said.

At the same time, Dante said, “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, frowning. “I don’t know. I think I’ll just…” He motioned over his shoulder. “Thanks, though.” The last he said to Dante, with a faint, hitching smile that faded immediately after.

“Are you sure?” Dante asked.

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