The Master (The Game Maker #2)(26)

“Lovers? I’ve never had one.” His voice turned chilly as he said, “My previous relationship was with a blond escort and lasted one hour. I wish her all the best.” Dipping even chillier, he added, “I’d ask when your last relationship was, but I have no doubt you’re currently in one.”

“What? I’m not.”

“A couple of times tonight I caught you staring off at nothing. I’ve found that usually means a woman is thinking about a man.”

I had been. About Edward. What if I’d been mistaken about seeing him in Miami? What if I gave up more nights like this, fleeing for nothing?

Or, what if he was here to make good on his last vow to me?

“I’m not in a relationship, Máxim.” How could I ever trust another man? I’d always think he was using me. I jokingly thought, Unless he’s a billionaire. Then I chastised myself. Jets. Cooled. NOW. “What about you? Do you want one?”

“It would depend on whether I found the right woman.” He turned on his side to face me. “What’s your earliest memory?”

I had vague impressions of my father. He’d been an attaché to Cuba, with a ready laugh. Sometimes I could remember hazel eyes that crinkled at the sides and the smell of cigars. “My most fully formed one? Helping my mother and grandmother make paella. I got to toss a handful of spices in, and I was beaming. My mother warned me to watch my pride.”

If she hadn’t been able to extinguish it, a year of Edward’s inexplicable disdain couldn’t have. My pride had merely lain dormant for a short while, bouncing back with a vengeance, roaring to life.

And yet I’d chosen to disappear—instead of fighting back, a decision I still struggled with. Was I being shrewd?

Or cowardly?

Máxim asked, “Are you close to your mother and father?”

“My father died a while ago.” He’d been in a car accident in the Cuban countryside, far from any hospitals. “I wish my mother and I could have been closer before she passed away.”

She didn’t “pass away,” Cat.

I’d never forget the way my stomach had plummeted when I’d learned for certain that she’d been murdered. The rage I’d felt. . . .

“You’re so sure that Ana-Lucía will keep quiet?” Julia asked Edward. “She’s an impulsive troublemaker.”

“What could she say to the police?” he asked. “That she suspected I had something to do with the old bat’s death? I’ve been a model husband for over a year, and I’ve snowed everyone she’s ever come into contact with. I play tennis with her lawyer. Who would believe her? And even if her mother was exhumed, the case is in Ana-Lucía’s safety-deposit box, the one she obtained by herself, in her name.”

He’d asked me to secure it for a coin collection, giving me a locked case to store. Mierda, he had the key! What was actually in it? What was his ace?

Edward continued, “No one but her has ever accessed it, and her fingerprints are the only ones on the case. She fought constantly with her mother and was the sole heir to a fortune. Means, motive, opportunity, and a murder weapon. One word to the police, and Ana-Lucía’s done.”

They’d killed my mother; they’d framed me for it.

When they’d stopped talking and started kissing, I’d decided to get answers, one way or another—

“Katya?” Máxim was studying my face, as if trying to read my thoughts.

I forced a smile. “Just thinking.” It happened, it hurt. . . . I shook away my memories and said, “My mother was very strict.”

“So you rebelled? Is that how you got into escorting?”

No, that was how I’d let a monster into our lives. I cleared my throat. “A story for another time. Are you close to your parents?”

His gaze slid away. “Both died when I was a boy.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What’s your earliest memory?”

“My mother singing. She rarely did, but she had a lovely voice.” Changing the subject, he said, “Did you do well in school?”

“Straight A’s. I couldn’t get enough math, used to do puzzles for fun. What about you? What was your favorite subject?”

“Debate.”

“Already a politician?” I turned on my side, facing him. Now our conversation seemed even more intimate.

“But no longer. Maybe I’ll go into business with my older brother, if he’ll have me.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“We were estranged. He left home when I was young, and I resented him. For years, he’s suspected that I had malicious intentions against him. I can’t say that I didn’t at the time.”

“That’s sad. But no longer?”

“We’re speaking, which is an improvement. I’m close to my younger brother,” he said. “Do you have any siblings?”

I hesitated. Sometimes I imagined tidbits of my information being fed into a search engine. It would spit out my name if given enough variables.

Sevastyan already had several: Spanish-speaking female, approximately twenty-six, no college degree, deceased parents.

Would I now add only child? “I’m sure my family is boring compared to yours. Let’s talk about something more exciting.” I raised my flute again. Downed so soon?