“So you and Izzy know each other, right?” It’s Sean speaking this time, though he’s distracted by the baby. “Mark said something about you working with the royal family?”
I dare a glance at Mark, whose expression is masked behind the big beard. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning, and his eyes hold no clues. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Austin run a background check on Dante, though I’m doubtful they’d find much.
This time when Dante looks up, he holds my gaze for a few beats before answering Sean. “That’s right.”
“Okay, give us some dirt on Izzy.” Jon throws me a wink. “She’s always so proper, but I know she’s got a badass streak buried in there. Ask her about the time she dragged me into a public bathroom to read me the riot act.”
“I did no such thing.” I draw myself up straighter. “I simply saw you were floundering in your conversation with Blanka and wanted to make certain you didn’t lose sight of the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“And I’m grateful.” Jon grins at Dante. “Seriously, man—I’m guessing you’ve seen her in action.”
Dante holds my brother’s gaze for an uncomfortably long stretch of time. Even James starts shifting in his seat, his brow furrowed as the men await a response. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t say something horrid. That he doesn’t ruin everything with a few careless words. Maybe I should take the baby and just—
“Yeah.” Dante clears his throat and it sounds like gunfire. “There’s this one time Isabella got angry. She was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and some boy wouldn’t leave her alone. A damn viscount or something. At least five years older than her and an entitled piece of shit.”
My gaze flicks to Mark, who is too engrossed in the story to mention the cursing. I glance at the other men—James, Austin, Jon, Sean, Brandon—and see they’re hanging on Dante’s every word.
I’m listening as well, though I’m not sure where this story’s going. I remember the viscount, but not this particular tale.
“Duchess Francesca,” he continues. “That’s Isabella’s mother. She instructed her to ignore it. That the boy came from a prominent family. You know how it is.”
I’m not sure they do, though it’s possible. Some of these men grew up attending elite boarding schools. Perhaps it’s similar.
“Law school was full of douchebags like that.” James flicks a glance at Mark. “D-bags like that.”
Mark gives a grudging nod, but doesn’t take his eyes off Dante. I dare a glance at Bradley and see he’s watching me instead. Heat rushes down my arms, and I fight back memories of his hands on my breasts, his tongue moving between my—
“Anyway,” Dante continues, “the little prick cornered her in the rose garden. I was close by, but not too close. Don’t think she knew I was there.”
I shake my head mutely, dumbfounded to realize where he’s going with this story. “He grabbed me,” I say. “The viscount. If he hadn’t, I never would have pushed him into my mother’s rose bush.”
Dante nods, and I could swear there’s a glint of respect in his cold blue eyes. He holds my gaze a few seconds before continuing. “By the time I got there, Her Ladyship was long gone. Took an hour to pull the little asshole out of the thorns.”
Sean laughs. “I’m guessing you weren’t in any hurry to make it happen.”
One edge of Dante’s mouth twitches. “He may have fallen in a few more times.”
He also may have vanished from the royal court not long afterward. Another memory hits me, a conversation I overheard between my father and the young viscount’s father.
“We think it would be best if you refrained from visiting the palace again in the future,” the Duke said stiffly from within his study. “If you return again with Viscount Archibald, I will not be held accountable for what my man might do.”
My man.
As I study the side of Dante’s face, I wonder for the first time how that felt. Was it just part of the job, or did it bother him being addressed as property?
I know how I felt being treated that way. Like a cocker spaniel or a floor lamp instead of an actual person. Maybe we’re more alike than I thought, Dante and I.
Bradley stands up and gestures to the fridge. “Can I get anyone a beer? I grabbed a half-rack of Black Butte Porter.”
“I’ll take one.” Sean coos at the baby once more before handing him off to Jonathan. “Which of us is next to make one of these?”
Jon grins as Brian gurgles up at him and bats his chin with one chubby hand. “Breeding, you mean? Let me get through the wedding first.”
The conversation flows to a discussion of family planning, and I stand there wondering if this is what all American men talk about at poker night. Maybe it’s just my brothers. Bradley chimes in with a statistic about male fertility declining after age forty and I catch myself wondering if there’s a message in there for me.
Not everything’s about you, Izzy.
But I’m nearly thirty and childless and maybe a little in love with the man I can’t bring myself to look at as he returns to the table with three bottles of beer. He hands one off to Sean and another to James before reclaiming his seat. I feel him watching me, and I wonder if that’s my cue to grab the baby and leave.
“Hey,” Bradley murmurs softly enough the others don’t seem to hear. When I look at him, he’s smiling. “I kinda want to high-five you for pushing that viscount kid.”
I keep my eyes off Dante, though my peripheral vision tells me he’s slipped fully into the room, claiming the seat beside Jonathan. “Yes, well, there’s more to the story.”
“Oh?” Bradley pries the cap off his beer, and I force myself not to stare at his hands.
I press my lips together, hesitating. “My mother was displeased.”
“At the jerk who grabbed you?”
I swallow hard and shake my head. “A little.” But the bulk of her anger was directed at me, at my inability to play nice with the viscount to keep his interest in me piqued.
“Isabella,” she scolded, shutting the parlor door behind us. “You know what’s at stake here. If you develop a reputation for being difficult—”
“He never came back,” I say now, interrupting my own dark turn of thoughts. “The viscount. Last I heard, he married a baroness from London. Or maybe Luxembourg, I forget.”
At least it wasn’t me. That’s all I cared about, though I see now I was short-sighted. The things I know at thirty that I didn’t know at fifteen could fill the entire Ponderosa Resort lodge.
Bradley’s watching me like he knows there’s more I’d like to say. Like he realizes there’s something I’m not telling him, which is absolutely true. I square my shoulders and turn to face my brothers.
“All right, gentlemen.” I hold out my arms and try not to notice my hands are shaking. “This baby’s mother tasked me with keeping the young man entertained. Time for me to do that.”
There’s some grumbling as the baby gets passed between uncles, his cherubic face creasing into laughter as Mark grabs him for one last bounce on his knee. Then I’m wrapping my arms around the sweet, fragrant bundle and pulling him to my chest. He feels wonderful in my arms, all warm and snuggly and full of sweet baby sighs. For an instant I get lost looking down at that darling little face.