I winced at that. If he knew what’d happened in Orlando, he probably thought I was just a flaky bitch who’d stood Marcus up. I mean, it wasn’t far from the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either.
“I—” the words died in my mouth as Marcus walked up behind him, his eyes laser-focused on me.
“Addy?” Then, looking at the Remy guy, he clipped, “Any reason why you’re holding her hand?”
Was he? Looking down, I noticed belatedly I was still shaking his hand—literally. Instead of doing the standard shake-shake and then dropping it, I’d continued shaking it the whole time. God, I was such a loser!
“No, but I’m certainly enjoying it.” Remy’s eyes twinkled as he looked between the two of us.
“Marcus,” the blonde, Marni, greeted, getting his attention on her briefly. “I was just telling her that you’re very busy and she should come back another day, but she wouldn’t—”
Forgetting about the fact my hand was still shaking Remy’s, I raised an eyebrow at her and interrupted her with zero qualms about doing so. “I’ll bet you’re about ready to float on out of here in a cloud of smoke.”
One of the men huffed out a laugh, but I was watching Marni, so I didn’t know which one.
“I’m not lying,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.
“Maybe not fully, but there’s always lying by omission.”
Her top lip lifted into a sneer, something which sadly still didn’t make her look ugly. Damn it, some women had all the luck.
“Marni, go back to walking Bluebell around. She’s fidgety and anxious, and that won’t help Mr. Bates’s plan for Fioranté siring the next generation of her line.”
Looking like she wanted to say so much—all of which likely involved me leaving—she finally spun on her heel and stormed away, slamming the door I’d been knocking on behind her for emphasis.
Turning his attention back to the guy shaking my hand—yes, still—Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let go of her damn hand, man.”
Winking at me and testing the strength in my legs as he did it, Remy finally let go of my hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Adrienne. I’ve heard a lot about you. Tell me, how are your family after yesterday?”
Marcus’s shoulders visibly stiffened at the question, and I had to bite my lip to stop the laughter bursting out of me at the memory.
“Dad’s finally calmed down, but Mom was still tearing into him at breakfast. Nonna thinks he’s overreacting—he’s Italian, it happens more than people realize—too, so she was backing Mom up.”
“Do they understand each other when they talk in different languages like that?” Marcus asked, taking a step closer. “I’m assuming your mom was yelling in Malaysian.”
I snorted. “They don’t understand each other at all. In the twenty-eight years they’ve been married for, they’ve only picked up enough of each other’s second languages to get by. It’s handy, though, because they can get a ton of shit off their chests in whatever way they want to say it, and there are no hard feelings afterward because the other one doesn’t even know what was said.”
“My mom’s half Brazilian and half Belarusian,” Remy told me, “I get that. She grew up in Brazil, and whenever she and Dad argue, she goes at him in Portuguese. He knows now that all he has to do is say yes and apologize, and it’s over. Then again, if he spoke a different language, he could do the same, but he speaks Spanish, and she’s fluent in that, too.”
“Damn,” I whistled. “That sucks. He should probably learn French.”
Remy shook his head. “Nah, she speaks enough of that to get by.”
“As interesting as this is,” Marcus began, nudging Remy out of the way, “can I have a minute alone with Addy?”
Saluting us, Remy began walking backwards towards the stable. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Addy.”
Would he?
Nodding, I gave him a half-hearted wave. “It was nice to meet you.”
Marcus waited for the door to close behind the guy, his eyes trained on me the whole time. Jesus, he had nice eyes. All eyes were nice, I guess, but the blue shade of his reminded me of when I was flying back from Italy once, and I’d looked out of the window and had seen how pretty and clear the blue sky was. I’d snapped a photo of it and kept it in my purse to this day.
I don’t know why it mattered so much to me, but it was a moment that resonated with me. Sometimes, when I was stressed and couldn’t focus on work, I’d take it out and stare at it for a moment before whatever was riding or blocking me quit.
What were the chances he’d have eyes that exact color and that they’d work in the same way, helping the tension fall away?