This game of avoidance grows boring. I’m not accustomed to having to chase after people’s attention.

I could catch her when she’s alone, bend down and whisper against the shell of her ear, remind her that she kissed me back, that she came to me last night, but it would do no good. She seems to have made up her mind. Our kiss was the final nail in my coffin, and it’s for the best.

I shouldn’t have toyed with her. She’s meant for someone else, and that’s made perfectly clear to me when Royce takes the open seat beside me at the poker table.

“What are we playing?” he asks, looking across at Moretti, one of Victor’s butlers, who’s acting as our dealer.

“Five-card draw.”

“Good. Deal me in for the next round.” He raps his knuckles on the table then looks at me. “I haven’t talked to you much this week, Emmett. How’s your visit been?”

I can’t be sure if his voice holds a slight edge or if I’m only imagining it.

“Fine. And yours?”

“Oh, nothing to complain about. Italy is Italy.”

Will breaks off into a conversation with the man on his right and Royce seizes the moment, clearing his throat before angling slightly toward me.

“I’ve seen you with Elaine throughout the week. I didn’t realize you two were such good friends.”

Moretti starts dealing cards clockwise to each of the four players, keeping them face down. I watch him intently, ignoring Royce so that he’s forced to shift in his seat and try again, this time more directly.

“I’d like to know the nature of your relationship with her.”

“You’ve just said it. We’re friends.”

He leans in, either to try to intimidate me or to keep our conversation private. “Don’t play me for a fool.”

Unfortunately, it’s rather easy to do.

I peer down the bridge of my nose at him. “What would you like to ask me, Royce? And be clear.”

Moretti finishes dealing, and after the first round of bets are placed, he begins the draw phase. We all pick up our hands, and I only discard two cards before I stand pat.

Royce was waiting patiently for me to finish and now hurries to tell me, “I had hopes that Elaine and I would wed.”

“So then…wed.” By now, my tone is acerbic.

“I would like to. She’s well-behaved and kind. Dutiful, too. I like that about her. She’ll make a very good wife.”

Or a very good German Shepherd.

It’s hard to tell the difference from his description.

“I’m trying to ascertain where this conversation will lead…”

He scoffs and leans away. “It’s an advantageous match for the both of us.”

He sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself of something, and if he’s hoping I’ll thump him on the back and congratulate him on his wonderful idea to follow through on this betrothal, he’s sorely mistaken.

“Is it? I find the entire concept archaic.”

He clearly takes offense. “I won’t be dragging her to the altar if that’s what you’re worried about.” His gaze lifts over my shoulder as he looks toward Lainey sitting across the room. His brows tug together in indecision. “At least…I hope not.”