"Where is Zane?" Athena whispered, nudging Sandro softly. Her voice barely carried, but the question hung heavily in the air.
They were sitting in the smaller living room—the gang—joined by Antonio, who had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the subtle signals Aiden was giving him to excuse them.
Antonio crossed his legs, feigning ease, but his eyes betrayed his irritation. The former was rendered even more curious, especially with the bandage he could see nestled around Ewan’s thigh.
His rival sat in his combat shorts and a black t-shirt, looking utterly at home in the mansion. Too at home. Antonio wasn’t pleased about that.
He had a lot of questions—too many—including the one he had just overheard Athena ask Sandro. Where was his boss’ infamous son? The one who had refused friendship out of pride and arrogance. The one who was, in his opinion, highly incompetent with work. The one who shouldn’t be occupying such a high seat in a legacy, unworthy, except that he bore Whitman as a last name.
"That’s true," Antonio said now, his tone casual. He wasn’t pleased with Athena frowning at him then, however—or was it confusion flickering past her eyes when she met his gaze?
"Where is he? He is always around you."
Sandro furrowed his brows, exchanging a quick glance with Ewan, not sure what to do with this sudden interest. "He is fine," he finally answered simply, checking his wristwatch.
Old Mr. Thorne sat watching quietly. He was no stranger to the budding tension in the room; and as much as Antonio was his granddaughter’s fiancé, his presence here wasn’t needed.
The old man tried to meet Athena’s gaze, but she was rather besotted with her thoughts, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. She must be worrying for Zane, he guessed, sighing deeply.
It had taken a while—a lot of effort—to send everyone off to their beds after dinner. There had been too much catching up to do. Yet, this fellow here was proving stubborn. Should he just walk him out?
Old Mr. Thorne reclined deeper into his sofa. That would be disrespectful to his granddaughter. Only she had the authority to do that, and since she wasn’t in a hurry, he resigned himself to the fate that the recap might not be happening tonight.
His wife squeezed his hand, her silent gesture communicating that she felt the same way.
"Babe, aren’t you going yet?" Athena spoke then, her voice soft yet loud enough to pierce the quiet atmosphere.
The Thorne couple had to hold back a sigh of relief.
Antonio’s head snapped toward her, his face aggrieved. "Why?"
Athena frowned, her brows knitting. "You have work tomorrow. Did you forget?"
"And what about them?" he clapped back, gesturing sharply toward Ewan and Sandro. His hand cut through the air. "Or do they live here?"
Athena wasn’t in the mood for this, but she knew she had to be clear with her boyfriend. "Let’s meet outside... we are making the atmosphere uncomfortable."
As she spoke, she stood to her feet, and started toward the exit without waiting to see if he would follow.
Antonio hesitated for a moment, but then, noting the couple of blank eyes staring at him, he scoffed under his breath and rose stiffly. None of them would be on his side, after all.
Outside, under the dim light of the corridor, he barely contained his exasperation. "What is going on, Athena? Why are you always keeping me outside matters like this? Am I not family enough? Why is he in there, and I am out here? Why is he at home with your family? You both are divorced!"
Athena’s ears rang with the weight of her boyfriend’s decibels, but she clamped down the irritation and annoyance bubbling within her. Instead, she sought to understand his point of view.
"Are you done?" she asked evenly when his rant tapered off. "Do you have something else to add? Some grievances..."
"...is the CEO of the Giacometti Enterprise," Antonio snapped, cutting her off. "Busier than all of us. He should be the last person to consider for the task."
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