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He snatches the first couple of glasses Cad fills and hands me one wordlessly before taking off.
“Cheers, I guess,” I grumble awkwardly before sipping.
“Cheers!” everyone says, even those who don’t yet have a glass.
Hawk lifts his, staring at me. “To lovely company.”
God, I forgot the taste of ridiculously expensive champagne. As a teenager, I took it for granted, but by myself in England, I’ve stuck to house wine.
I close my eyes and moan.
Less chuckles, bringing his arm around my neck. “Come on, trouble. Let’s get you upstairs.”
He’s finished his drink by the time we get to the narrow spiral staircase—likely a service stair—and he leaves it on the first step.
“Thank you for getting me out of there.”
“I’ll chew Osborn’s ass for cornering you like that later,” he says, surprising me.
“You heard?”
He dips his head. “There’s a cellar fridge right next to the hall. I wasn’t far.”
Well, that’s even more awkward, somehow.
“He didn’t know what he was talking about,” I mutter.
“He did, actually,” Less says lightly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, two steps up.
The movement only serves to emphasize his tight ass.
“Cad might be my closest friend, but talking to him about anything that bothers you is unwise. He files all information to use it to his advantage at a later date.”
That tracks with what I know of him—which isn’t much, but he had a ruthless reputation in school. “Even his friends?”
“Especially his friends.” Less laughs. “So, back when you left, I used to get drunk and rant to Basil most of the time.”
I can’t picture either thing.
Alessandro, drunk? Oh, he drinks, of course, but he stops south of tipsy, far too manipulative to cede that much control.
And ranting? Yeah, no.
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” he asks, glancing back at me.
I frown, taken aback.
Honestly, I can’t think of a single time when he might have. If anything, he’s far too honest, no matter how much the truth can hurt. But I don’t believe him incapable of lying in general. I know he lies to the press, at the very least.
But then again, who doesn’t? They’re vultures, circling around the lot of them since they were born—and me, since the day I became his fiancée. Even more so after I stopped being that.
“Just because you haven’t in the past doesn’t mean you wouldn’t now,” I argue.
“Fair enough.” He’s reached the last step, and he turns to face me completely, those gray eyes flashing in the darkness of the dimly lit staircase. “But I’m not lying, Ivy.”
My jaw tics.
