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“Hey,” now anger came to the fore, and Max pressed his fingers into Leo’s chest. “What the hell does that mean?” But there was concern etched in the lines around his eyes.
“It means you should go. Leave me alone.”
“Umm, guys?” A female voice cut through their argument. Andie, Max’s wife, stood in the doorway, a frown on her face. “You might want to keep it down a bit.”
Max glanced at her and offered an apologetic grimace, but Leandro’s temper had flared to life. He pushed Max in the chest, hard. “I told you, leave this alone.”
It was like they were boys again. Boys who, once upon a time, had played until their wrestling grew heated and then they’d fought, and fought hard. It wasn’t born from enmity, it was just how they’d been. And how they still were, apparently, because the next minute, Max’s arms were wrapped around Leandro’s waist and they were locked in a wrestling grip, each pushing and shoving the other with all their might, neither conscious of the way Andie gasped in shock. Leandro wasn’t sure afterwards if he punched first or if Max did, but suddenly fists were flying and it felt good in that moment, because Leandro was so angry. He was angry even with Max, when none of this was his fault. Angry and sad and hurt, and deep down, though he wasn’t ready to admit it, afraid. Afraid of what he would be to them when they learned the truth. Afraid of what he wasn’t: a brother.
“Stop this,” Andie, for all her slight frame, was suddenly between them, pushing her hands at their chests and it was enough for Max to step back immediately, rather than risk Andie being collateral damage.
Leandro too.
Both men dropped their hands to their sides, their breathing rough.
“What on earth has gotten into you guys?”
She looked from one to the other, appalled, but it was Max she moved to comfort, naturally, lifting a hand and touching a dark red bruise on his cheek. Max winced, and so did Leandro. He had no doubt sustained similar injuries but it brought him absolutely no pleasure to see that on his brother’s face.
“I told you to leave it,” Leandro said, ignoring Andie. He strode to his desk, picked up his cell phone and keys and then walked out of the office, aware of the way the remaining few staff members craned to catch sight of him.
“Oh my God.” Skye pressed a hand to her mouth. He should have cancelled tonight. He should have told her he was busy, working, made up an excuse. He didn’t want to have to explain the cut on his cheek from his brother’s wedding ring, nor the bruise beneath his eye.
“I’m fine.”
“Were you mugged?”
She thought he might smile at that, but instead, he kept staring straight ahead, then took another sip of scotch. “No.”
Frustration zipped through her, and sympathy too. His pain was palpable. Not physical pain, but wounds that he’d been carrying since she’d first met him. Instead of peppering him with questions she knew he wouldn’t answer, she moved to the fridge and pressed the button for ice, filling a cup with it before tipping it into a clean tea towel. She formed a makeshift icepack and carried it around to Leandro, standing between his legs as she applied it gently to his cheek.
His jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
“You said that already.”
“And it’s true.”
Her eyes blinked to his. “You’re not fine.”
“I’m not going to die from a punch to the face.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She pressed her flat palm to the middle of his chest. “You’re not fine in here,” she murmured, then lifted her hand to the side of his face. “Or in here. You’ve been carrying around the weight of the whole world since the night we met.”
A muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw. His eyes met hers. The world stopped spinning. Her lungs stopped working. She stared at him, silently telling him she was here, that she would listen if he wanted to talk.
He must have heard her, because a moment later, he spoke, and his voice was a deep, soulful husk, and his eyes couldn’t break their lock to hers.
“About a week before I met you, I found out I was adopted.”
Skye was very, very still. He was opening up to her, and whatever reaction she had to this, she knew that by being overt, she might silence him again. She didn’t want him to clam up, so she waited, just keeping the ice pack pressed to his cheek.
“It was an accident. I needed some family documents from our lawyers—to do with Max’s wedding, and some trusts we were restructuring for him and Andie.” His voice was robotic now, and his eyes had a faraway look in them, as though he was seeing the events replay in his mind’s eye. “They sent over the files but something else was included. My adoption certificate.” He said the last three words so softly she almost didn’t hear, but then his eyes cleared, and he was looking right at her, burning her with the intensity in his gaze. “I was raised a Valentino. It’s who I have been taught to be. My whole identity is bound up in this family, in my siblings, my work. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be a part of our family businesses, that this legacy wasn’t entirely mine. But it’s not. None of my life is real, it’s all a lie. My parents lied to me, Skye.”
Her heart was shattering now. She placed the ice pack on the bench behind her and moved deeper into the triangle of his legs, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him tight, keeping her head in the crook of his shoulder and neck.
“They are not my parents, my brother is not my brother, my sister is not my sister. And they don’t know,” he groaned. “I have to tell them, but I can’t yet. I can’t. I can’t even face my parents. I am so angry with them for keeping this from me…”
“I suppose they consider you to be their child.”
