Adonis Vivaldi.
What was that?
I couldn't believe I hesitated to ask her for her number. I had done this countless times in my head without a second thought, yet now, the words were lodged in my throat.
Sighing in frustration, I leaned against the far end of the corridor, the door to her room still visible.
Feeling a bit constricted, I reached up to loosen my tie, eventually pulling it off completely and stuffing the flimsy material into my pocket.
I hoped her knee wasn't hurting too much.
Sighing for what felt like the hundredth time that day, I turned and began to walk away from the passage.
"Adonis!" Yaskier's voice sliced through the air, drawing my attention as I emerged from the corridor. He was slouched at the dining table, regarding me with suspicion.
"Do you have a crush on my sister?" he bellowed, leaving me momentarily speechless.
I did, indeed.
Sandro sauntered in, clad in an apron and rubber gloves, prompting me to scoff in disbelief. He had abandoned the dishes just to witness this conversation.
"He does!" he chimed in, causing Yaskier to gasp in surprise.
I refused to stand there and let them interrogate me.
"Do you think she's beautiful?" Sandro asked, tilting his head to the side. I answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
Yaskier snorted in disgust, and I shot him a glare. "What do you like about her?" he asked, rising from the table. "She looks like a carrot top," he added, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"You look like a carrot top," I retorted dryly, which elicited a chuckle from him.
"What about mystery girl?" he continued, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion.
Sandro sighed in exasperation and retreated back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with this foolish redhead. It seemed being very intelligent made you slow in processing information.
Not the case for me though
"Wait," Yaskier said, walking around the table, attempting to piece together whatever convoluted thoughts were forming in his mind. "Is Yavannah the mystery girl?" he yelled in disbelief, making me want to stuff a glistening apple from the fruit bowl into his mouth.
"She is," he muttered in realization, nodding vigorously. "You met mystery girl in New York, and Anna studied in NY until last month."
Annoyance radiated from me as he clapped his hands joyfully.
"I'm going to tell her how much you like her," he declared, bounding toward the passage.
I grabbed him by the scruff of his T-shirt before he could move, and he struggled against my grip.
"If you let even a single word about me slip from your mouth," I bellowed in a hushed whisper, "I will tell her about the drug incident."
His eyes widened, and he paused in his attempts to break free. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered in horror.
"Try me," I replied through gritted teeth.
Sandro emerged from the kitchen again, this time dressed in a crisp dress shirt and slacks.
He scanned the room, his gaze landing on us, shaking his head in disbelief before heading toward the door.
"Fine, I won't say a word about you," Yaskier mumbled, finally tiring of the struggle, and I released him.
He adjusted his collar begrudgingly as I turned toward the door, reaching down to slip on my shoes.
We both waited for Sandro as he took his sweet time arranging his collar before bounding toward us.
"Adios, amigos," he said, and I turned toward the door, reaching out to unlatch the lock.
"Wait," he muttered, and we both turned to look at him, wondering what absurd act he had planned now.
To my surprise, all hint of unseriousness vanished from his features, giving his boyish appearance a more mature edge.
He stepped closer to me, his eyes now serious. "My sister is not a plaything," he stated, his tone demanding.
An awkward silence hung between us for a few moments before I replied softly, "I know."
"Whipped," Sandro mocked, making Yaskier nod in satisfaction.
"Like ice cream."
Leaving them both behind, I pulled the door open and stepped outside, Yaskier's obnoxious laughter trailing off behind me.
A bunch of fools.
The cold air hit me as I glanced around the driveway, searching for my car. The sleek outline of my black Porsche glinted in the distance.
The gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I stepped off the porch onto the driveway. The sound of gravel shifting behind me alerted me to Sandro's presence.
We walked in silence toward the car.
Once settled comfortably into the passenger seat, I fastened my seatbelt and slammed the door, earning a wary glance from Sandro as he settled into the driver's seat.
The gentle hum of the engine soon filled the driveway as we set out onto the tarred road.
The drive back was quiet without Yaskier—not that I was complaining.
However, Sandro kept glancing at me and chuckling to himself. At first, I found it ignorable, but it soon became irritating.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice strained with annoyance.
He shrugged, and I scoffed.
Well then, forever hold your peace. I leaned back, focusing once more on my cluttered thoughts.
"You know," he began almost immediately, prompting me to roll my eyes in disbelief. "You're so obvious." He paused to glance at me before turning back to the road.
"How?" I asked, trying to mask the curiosity in my voice as I turned to face him.
"You were staring at her throughout dinner," he blurted out incredulously. "Even when she got hurt, you acted as if you were the one in pain."
"I was just concerned," I retorted, my voice rising slightly.
"Getting defensive, are we?" he replied knowingly.
When did he start talking so much?
"I prefer you when your mouth is shut," I muttered, turning away from him.
"I prefer you when you're staring at Yavannah," he shot back comically. "Distracted and lost."
"Shut up," I bellowed in aggravation.
He cackled as the car fell into silence.
Between Yaskier and him, I couldn't decide who was worse.