Was she imagining it, or did his snappy retort seem a little performative? “You should actually do the research into that Eldovian woman you told me about. That was a fascinating story, and that’s without even knowing how it ends.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “To what end, though? I’m done with school.”

“You could write a book.”

“Oh good god, no. That’s your department.”

She wasn’t sure what her point was. So what if Max drifted around his posh cottage purposeless and waited upon? Just that sometimes he seemed to turn wistful—sad, almost. But then it would be gone before she could really examine it. “When do you go home?” she asked. “Any more New York bashes?”

“Tomorrow, and no. Just the one.”

“I know my commonness is probably showing, but I’m still amazed that you would come all the way here for a party.”

“Well, to be honest, it wasn’t the party so much as it was a certain person at the party I needed to meet.” He smirked. “A certain female person.”

Ah. “Is that your way of saying you came to New York for a hookup?”

“Lavinia von Bachenheim is an intelligent and accomplished young lady, and I would never refer to any of my interactions with her—or anyone—with as vulgar a term as ‘hookup.’” He sniffed, but in a way that telegraphed that he was teasing. “But no, Lavinia and I did not hook up. We merely chatted.”

“I thought it was Lucrecia?”

“Lavinia is Lucrecia’s younger sister. The party was at Lucrecia’s apartment, but Lavinia is at Yale.”

“Well, don’t you have good taste?” she shot back—and whoa, why so snappish? What did she care what—or who—Max did while he was in town?

He speared her with a look she could not decode and didn’t speak for an uncomfortably long time. When he did, he had lost his teasing tone. “My parents want me to marry Lavinia. I have no intention of doing so, but making the trip will placate them for a while.”

She was embarrassed that he’d felt the need to justify himself. Time to change the subject. “Tell me the Karina Klein story again.”

“Why, so you can tell me I’m wasting my life?”

“No.” She thought about saying something flippant, to get them back to their usual bantering mode, but there had been an edge in his question, so she went with the truth instead. “I just like that story, and we have a long ride.” She closed her eyes. She was tired, still, from her hangover, and jumping around in the snow had only made her more so. “Tell it to me like a bedtime story.” When he didn’t speak for a few beats, she opened her eyes. “Or not.”