"Gustave, what the hell are you thinking?" I scolded myself internally.
"Don't play the saint," my conscience replied with a dirty laugh. "It's written all over your pants."
Shame lashed out. I backed away from her as if her skin burned me. I forced my voice to sound measured, polite, cold.
"Julian, we're not like you. Don't misunderstand us."
"Bianca," my brother said, ignoring me, "and yet this morning you criticized me for the noise... when you two, who knows what you're up to."
Bianca looked at me. Her lips formed an inaudible whisper:
"He saw me leaving your room this morning."
I clenched my fists. Now it all made sense. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable anymore. I approached Julian and placed a hand on his shoulder with an unfriendly pressure.
"Come on, brother.
