“Oh.” Max patted his empty pocket. “I didn’t.” He’d left his phone charging at the cottage. He had to stop ignoring his phone. Just because he was with his favorite texting partner in person didn’t mean there weren’t other people trying to reach him.

“Max,” Seb said urgently. “Father has—”

“Max, darling, is that you?”

Seb shot him a vaguely ominous look as Mother came to the door and beckoned them inside.

And there were the von Bachenheims. Lavinia and her parents.

“Let me introduce everyone,” Mother said gaily.

Goddammit.

Well. It wasn’t like Dani had thought Max was lying about his father. She’d wondered, though, if Max’s experience of his present-day family dynamic was overly influenced by his childhood. Sometimes patterns endured in one’s mind in a more entrenched way than in reality. She’d seen a little of that with Leo and Gabby after their parents died.

But no. Max’s dad, aka the Duke of Aquilla, was a complete dick.

It didn’t start so badly. Max’s mother introduced Dani as Max’s “American friend,” in a way that felt snotty even though you couldn’t actually pinpoint anything wrong with it.

As they were seated, things started to unravel. During the first course, everyone conversed separately, and she continued to speak mostly to Sebastien, who was on one side of her, and if she suspected he was monopolizing her attention so she didn’t have to deal with Mr. von Bachenheim on her other side, she appreciated it. But when the plates were cleared and the next course laid down, the conversation shifted to encompass the whole group.

“Miss Martinez,” the duke said, drawing everyone’s attention but then making them wait while he took a slow sip of his wine, the ruby liquid made sparkling by the enormous chandelier overhead glinting off the crystal goblet. “Where are you from in New York?”

“It’s Dr. Martinez,” Max interjected from across the table where he was seated next to Lavinia.

Bless Max and his relentless championing of her, but now was not the time. She appreciated the intervention in theory, but this was only going to fan the flames of his father’s . . . what? He wasn’t angry, at least not outwardly. But there was something going on, and it wasn’t good.

“Oh, it is, is it?” the duke said in a way that suggested he was humoring someone—either Max or Dani herself, she wasn’t sure which.

“I grew up in Queens, but I live in the Bronx now,” Dani said, returning to the duke’s initial question.

“Mmmmm.” He drew out the single syllable, almost as if he didn’t believe her, which was maddening, and Max’s mother and Mrs. von Bachenheim said something to each other in murmured German.

“What kind of medicine do you practice?” the duke asked after another drawn-out sip of wine.