Page 61 of Break My Rules

He gives an imperceptible nod.

“So what’s next after this jaunt?” Saint asks Max casually, propping an ankle on his other knee, and lounging back, like he’s just taking in the view. “I heard rumors you’re doing time at theLondon Weeklynext, prepping for the big time.”

“Doing time is right,” Max cracks. “Endless editorial meetings, it’s enough to drive a man mad. But my father insists I need to spend time on the ground floor before taking my seat on the board at Lancaster.”

“He said as much, at the Blackthorn party,” Saint smiles. “Of course, he kept one eye on you all night, to make sure there wasn’t a repeat of last year. Hugh told me about the kerfuffle, with those girls showing up. I’d have loved to see your father’s face,” he adds, still casual. “Let me guess, he turned that shade of purple and started spraying saliva like when he gets really worked up?”

“Bingo,” Max gives a yawn, distracted by a hot model sauntering past.

“What girls?” Annabelle asks, and Max pats her thigh.

“Don’t worry, they were Hugh’s entertainment, not mine. You kept me on a tight leash, remember? And then that shrimp got me, and I puked my guts out all weekend. Don’t mix tequila and buffet seafood, people,” he adds with a grimace. “I still can’t look at a Casa Noble the same way. The doctors said they’d never seen someone vomit in such copious amounts.”

“You were in hospital after the party?” I ask, shocked. That doesn’t track with my timeline.

“All weekend,” Max confirms with a wince. “Getting my stomach pumped by St. Michael’s finest. We practically had to donate a wing to make up for the mess. Hey, Gino!” he suddenly calls, and leaps up. “Be right back. Just need to powder my nose,” he adds with a wink, and disappears into the crowd.

My heart sinks. An alibi like that would be easy to confirm—there would be patient records, admittance paperwork… If Max was lying, surely he wouldn’t pick a story that could be disproven so easily?

Could he be telling the truth? And if he is, where does that leave my investigation now?

“I’ll be right back,” I say, bobbing up from the couch. I need to clear my head. Saint is looking at me with concern—he must know that Max’s story tracks—but I don’t want to talk about it right now. “Bathroom?”

“Down the hall, to the right,” Annabelle beams, getting up as well. “I’ll come, too!”

She steers us through the party, gossiping about some of the guests, and what she and Max have been up to the past few days. “… And the shopping is great, sure, but you can’t move for TikTok stars filming their Hermes bag offers, it’s out of control.”

We step into the bathroom, and I take a deep breath, relieved by the momentary peace. It’s a spacious, white-tiled room, with its own balcony and expansive views of the ocean. “You alright, babe?” Annabelle asks, disappearing into the walled-off toilet cubicle.

“Fine. Just a bit queasy from the flight still,” I lie.

“Oh, was it terribly bumpy?” her voice drifts out. “That’s the worst. If you’re still feeling under the weather just say the word, and we’ll get you a banana bag ASAP. Max’s doctor in London can hook you up with someone here. Shit, do you have a tampon?”

“I think so, let me check.” I rummage in my purse, and then slide one under the door to her.

“Angel!”

A moment later, Annabelle flushes, and emerges to rinse her hands.

“This may be a stupid question, but what’s a banana bag?” I ask, perching by the open window, and taking a deep, calming breath of the sea breeze. My head is still spinning from Max’s alibi revelation, and I honestly don’t know where to go from here. I need distraction—or some of that tequila that sent Max to the emergency room.

“Oh, they’re absolute magic!” Annabelle explains. “It’s like a liquid IV bag they pump into you, all kinds of yummy vitamins, flushes a bad hangover right out of your system. Max practically has the guy on speed dial. Don’t believe a word of his theatrics about that food poisoning incident,” she adds, rolling her eyes as she applies lip gloss in the mirror. “I bet you a thousand pounds he just waltzed in, stuck an IV in his arm, and was good to go in an hour. He does itallthe time, he’s such a drama queen.”

I manage a laugh, but inside, my heart is pounding again. Because Annabelle might not know it, but she just took a sledgehammer to Max’s alibi. He could have easily found a way to drug Wren, stash her somewhere while he went to the hospital and returned in plenty of time to be the man she remembered attacking her.

The Blackthorn Society party was at the Lancaster estate, after all. Who knows what dusty wine cellars or disused basements are in that place? He could have been holding her there, out of sight the whole time, while everyone else partied on, oblivious to the horrors unfolding nearby.

“I better get back, before Max finds himself some trouble,” Annabelle says with a wry smirk.

“Good luck,” I manage, following her back to the party again. But while she makes a beeline through the crowd, I wander blindly around the outskirts of the room, trying to think of my next move. Max is smoothly lying through his teeth; simple questions won’t get me what I need.

I didn’t want to resort to this, but those little vials from Phillip are going to prove very useful.

IfI can play my cards right.

I watch Max, head bobbing by the DJ booth. He notices me looking, so I flutter a flirty little wave, and then walk away, being sure to swing my hips as I saunter down the hall, and into the kitchen. It’s busy with caterers, but I idle there, taking a bottle of water, and sipping it slowly, counting down to—

“I swear, you get lovelier every time I see you.” Max strolls in and gives me a charming smile. “That Saint better be treating you right. If he isn’t, just say the word.”

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