Page 13 of Best In Class
I don’t like it.
As long as I can piss her off, she’s mine. If she starts to treat me like an acquaintance, it will break me in ways I don’t know.
“Except Camy.”
Predictably, she rolls her eyes. “Does your girlfriend need to be part of this?”
“She isn’t my girlfriend,” I say.
Damn it, woman, I haven’t touched anyone else in nearly two years. Not since I realized I couldn’t live without you. Not since I started trying to find the courage to come back to Savannah—to you.
“All evidence to the contrary,” she snaps.
“Moonbeam, is every boy you’re with a boyfriend?” I challenge.
She glares now. “I don’t date boys.”
“Please, what was his name? Jeremy?—”
“Oh, and Camy is the epitome of a woman?” she scoffs.
Stella gives me a look that says, ‘Stopriling her up.’
I can’t do that. As long as I can get a reaction from Luna, she’s mine.
“Camy is a beautiful woman,” I say softly.
“And what the fuck does that have to?—”
“Dom, heard you turned down the Frescobaldi museum project in Florence?” Gabe interrupts Luna’s overheated response.
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my drink and hope he’ll leave it at that.
“You turned it down?” Luna demands, incredulous.
I shrug.
“Why?” she asks.
The Frescobaldi family is one of the most well-known names in the wine industry worldwide, and particularly in Tuscany. However, a project like theirs would require me to live in Florence for a year, and as much as I love Italy, there’s no way I can live there and get Luna back in my lifehere.
“It’s the wrong time,” I murmur.
“Maybe if you’d said yes to that, then you wouldn’t be making a nuisance of yourself on my hospital project,” she throws at me.
Lev lets out a loud and long sigh. “Luna, give it a rest, will ya? For a moment?”
Before Luna can rip her brother a new one, I slide an arm around her and pull her into me. It’s a friendly gesture, one designed to divert her and make me feel like I’m home.
“Stop it.” She pushes me away.
“I’m just trying to avert World War III here,” I joke.
I used to do this when we were kids. I’d hug her, or kissher, or hold her, or hold her hand, depending upon how old we were, to stop her from flying off the handle. An intimate gesture to calm her.
It works. Like it always did.
Gabe pulls me aside as the evening winds down, his expression flat and unimpressed.
