All This Time

26 ⦿ in which i get caught

As he stalks off rancorously, I spare a minute to mentally lambast both Levi and his brother. Why couldn't Levi just keep his mouth shut? Why did he have to provoke the beast?

In this scenario, would that make me beauty? a little voice pipes up, and I scowl. This is no fairytale. And even if it was, Wolfram would never be the prince.

"Levi," I try again as I catch up to him, but he shakes my hand off his arm and continues walking towards the entrance. The hostess, seeing the mutinous look on his face, opens her mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. "Levi," I plead, digging my heels into the tile floor, pinching his sleeve with my fingers.

Finally, he stops, but he doesn't look happy about it. "This was a mistake." His voice is low, pained. "I'm just going to get a cab and go home."

Before he can wrestle out of my grip, I yank him to the side and haul him against the wall next to the men's restroom. If I'd manhandled Wolf like that, I would probably be subject to a caustic comment about how expensive his suit is, but Levi's eyes just widen with alarm.

"Wolf's a dick," I say in a patient voice. "But you don't have to ruin Graeme's engagement dinner."

"Like she's been such a swell sister to me," he retaliates churlishly.

Feeling very much like I'm mediating in a tantrum between two small children, I sigh. "Maybe not," I allow, "but you've gotta be the bigger person, here."

"I've been hearing that all my life," Levi says, lips twisting into a wry smile. "In kindergarten, when someone took my crayons and I tried to get them back. In middle school, when someone called me a bastard for the first time and I hit them. Everyone always tells you to be the bigger person, but what they don't tell you is that it means setting yourself up to be a doormat for the rest of your life by letting people get away with shit."

I bit my lip. Some part of what he said resonated with me; hadn't I been the bigger person five years ago when I let bygones be bygones? I could have told Xander everything and walked away victorious, but instead, I forestalled the drama and anguish it would have undoubtedly caused him by keeping silent and never telling him what I had overheard.

The same memory must flit through Levi's memory, because his voice lowers even deeper. "You know I'm right."

"I don't know that," I respond promptly, but the fight has gone out of my voice.

"Let's face it," he continues, face glum and resigned, "being the bigger people has gotten us nowhere."

"Except a great view from the high road," I say with mock cheerfulness, achieving my aim of coaxing a grin out of him.

"If I wasn't so pissed right now, I'd congratulate you on a good joke."

"It was a fantastic joke," I deadpan. Then, pressing my advantage, "Let's go back."

"Or you can join me in a self-loathing pub crawl on Fifth Avenue?" he hopefully asks.

"I can't." I offer him a small, apologetic smile.

"Because of Xander," he says, sighing.

"Even if," I say, "Graeme and Wolf don't care whether you're here or not, Xander does. I do."

I'm so close to him, I can count the flecks in his eyes, see the pores and lines of his face, and the faint lines on his lower lip as it curls into a smile.

"You do?" he asks, putting his hands on my shoulders.

Mutely, I nod. It's easy to get lost in the sincere expression on his face, the hopeful widening of his eyes, and the gratefulness that lurks within them. Levi has a lot of friends, but none that he can talk to about things like this. To them, he's Levi the artist, mellow, laid-back, and suave. Like the Owen Wilson of the art world.