Gianna lowered her last finger. She opened her mouth to retort, then realized she had nothing left. Her face curdled like sour milk.Before she could raise her glass in forfeit, Marco stopped her. “I’ll drink for her.”He tossed it back in one gulp, then stalked over to me, face dark, and pulled me out of the ballroom by the elbow.“Why did you say all that?” he hissed. “Were you trying to play the victim?”“I know your past was hard, but this wasn't the time for a pity party.”My heart sank. Maybe it was the absinthe, or maybe it was the years of resentment finally cracking through the surface.“So when Gianna brags about her yachts and properties, it’s charming,” I said, my voice shaking, “but when I tell my own truth, I’m ‘playing the victim’? Can you hear yourself, brother? Can you be any more biased?”Marco’s expression turned to stone. “She’s immature. You’re supposed to be the sensible one. I was literally about to tell you I’d help you move tomorrow—and then you pull this stunt
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