Angelo strolls in. He pauses. He glances from me, to Max, then to our hands entwined between us. Max squeaks something inaudible and drops my hand like it’s burning him, but it’s too late. Panting with the weight of my outburst, I hold Angelo’s gaze as it grows as dark as an incoming storm. It’s not what it looks like, I want to scream. I can’t have him tell Alberto what he just saw, or have him voice his suspicion that I’m sleeping with Max. Because hell, this man has enough over my head already.
