A few moments after Fitzgerald's call, Maximilian's phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
Timothy Rathbourne.
He answered.
"Will I be invited to the wedding?" Timothy's voice came, smooth, almost amused. "I did get the permit for your future wife. I should at least be allowed a dance with my future wife too, Max."
Maximilian's expression hardened almost instantly.
"Is your brother not near you?" he asked, his tone sharp, cutting through the pleasantry.
There was a pause.
Timothy's brows must have drawn together on the other end, because when he spoke again, his voice had lowered, the humor gone. "What did he do?"
Maximilian didn't soften.
"You keep forgetting something, Rathbourne," he said, each word deliberate. "I don't have time to play games with your family."
And then he ended the call.
Silence settled in the room.
Maximilian lowered his phone, his jaw still tight.
"Timothy doesn't know," he said.
