When she was out of sight, Matt kept his gaze on Nonna Louise, although she appeared determined to ignore them now.
“Matthew,” Santi said, voice low.
“You think I’d ditch you to harass the staff?” Matt asked tightly. He thought Nicky might be able to hear him, but it was likely Nicky had gotten bored once the waitress had gone and was talking to someone else.
“She seems… more than amenable to you harassing her.” Santi’s words were cool and even. “Icould see that, and I am a stranger to the ways of straight flirting. Matt,” Santi went on when Matt didn’t respond, “are you angry?”
“Is there something I should be angry about?” Matt swung around to look at him and smiled widely.
Santi blinked as if the force of Matt’s smile had taken him aback. Then he scowled. “So youaremad.”
“Passion is essential to everything,” Matt blithely quoted his father. His father had been talking about possible careers for Matt. He used to do that. He hadn’t realized yet that Matt had no ambitions.
“Matthew.” Santi said Matt’s full name for the second time in only a few minutes. That might be a record. “You can’t be angry with me for assuming you’d have a better evening with someone else. You’ve done it before.”
Matt stared at him, a startling, almost scary, rush of words rising in his throat. He swallowed them, then pushed his chair back and stood up, and went to the kitchen to make his tea.
Matt didn’t stay in the kitchen for long. The catering staff popped in and out, and it felt awkward to be where they were working. He also didn’t want to linger around the waitress “amenable to him harassing her” because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.
Miss Cathy took one look at him and sent him out to the patio and brought him his tea a couple of minutes later, along with some butter cookies.
“I love you,” Matt told her, quite seriously, as he sat down on one of the cold metal chairs.
Miss Cathy bent down to kiss the top of his head, instructed him in her faded German accent to sit outside until he felt better, then went back inside.
Miss Cathy was the best person in the house, and Matt included himself in that list. He included Santi too. Santi was a good person, if not a nice person all the time. Matt had known that, had whined about Santi going easy on him instead of saying the things Matt’s family liked to say about Matt. But this was something else.
Matt was angry and he wasn’t used to being angry. There was no use in getting angry with his family—they would do what they wanted whether Matt was mad about it or not.
Santi could say Matt was stupid or imply he was lazy. He could insult Matt for living off his parents’ generosity and a trust fund. But Matt had never expected Santi to believe he was that shallow. He’d neverleftSanti anywhere. Santi was the one who got bitter and less and less sober and insisted Matt go. But Matt always came back at the end of the night to see to him. It was nice, in a way, ending his evenings with Santi, even if Santi was half-asleep or watching him with an unreadable expression.
It might be nicer to finish a night with Santi in a happy mood, but Matt doubted that would happen tonight.
He huffed out an annoyed breath and drank his tea fast before the night air could make it cold. It normally calmed him to hold the hot cup and slowly enjoy the flavor. Not this time. He was probably under discussion at that very moment, so he stayed stubbornly on the patio, in the metal chair, even though it was freezing his ass. He sat there until people were most likely finishing up whatever the entrée was. Then he crept into the kitchen to leave his cup by the sink.
Going back outside after that was childish, but Matt was a spoiled child with no ambition, so he walked slowly all the way around the house to the front door and let himself in.
Inside was warm enough to make him shiver for a few minutes as his body adjusted. The living room was mostly empty. The person tending bar was cleaning up and looked over at him questioningly, but Matt was not in the mood for alcohol. He sat on the bench seat in front of the piano that Camille never played anymore and wondered vaguely if his parents still had his clarinet from high school somewhere.
“It must be bad, to have sent you out here.” A mellow voice broke his reverie, and Matt raised his head to see Bea approach.
Santi’s mother’s hair was in dark, flowing waves to her shoulders, and she wore pale gray slacks and a small, thin jacket with a sparklingly white blouse. She gave the appearance of being softer than Matt’s mother, but that was appearance only.
Matt liked her despite that. He’d never once heard her say anything disparaging to or about Santi. She was nothing but supportive, even though the art in her house could have hung on the walls of any hospital waiting room which meant she probably didn’t understand Santi’s work at all.
“What do you mean?” Matt asked, although he knew.
“He won’t tell me why he’s not drinking tonight.” Bea dropped elegantly down beside him. “I don’t mean to insist that he must drink. But if he had a problem, he won’t say. He just tells me it’s only for nights like these.” She made a noise that was the equivalent of throwing her hands up in the air. “What’s wrong with nights like these? I like to see everyone together.”
Matt had nothing to say to that. Luckily, she didn’t seem to expect him to. She patted his knee. “I like seeing the two of you close again too,” she continued, leaving Matt to wonder if he and Santi had looked especially close to all of the adults around them when they were children. They were close, had been close, but everyone seemed to feel they had been best friends.
Though, sad as it was, Matt had never had a best friend. Maybe thatwaswhat Santi was to him, even if he didn’t know what he was to Santi.
“Thank you for talking to him and taking care of him,” Bea added, with a small exhale.
Matt turned to her, frowning a little. “Of course, I’ll take care of him. He’s…” Matt faltered, closing his mouth and swallowing what he’d been going to say. Nothing better came to mind except… “Family.”
“No. Not family. Not blood.” Bea’s quiet assertion shocked Matt into total silence. If she noticed, she gave no sign. “Domenic loves you all, but you, Matt, are not a brother to him. That—family—is something you can’t choose. He’s always chosen you—to like you best. That’s why I thought he might talk to you.”
