Page 71 of Filthy Rich

I switch to lunges, stretching my exhausted muscles to the point of pain. Anything to help clear my head.

What is it that makes Tamsyn so different from the other women I fuck? Her youth, obviously. Her bright innocence. Her hopefulness. Her moral code. Her quiet strength. Her intelligence and humor. Her purity of heart.

She’s a singularity. Bottom line.

I could flash a diamond-encrusted Rolex and catch the next ten women passing by if I wanted to, married women included. Trust me, I’ve done the math.

But I couldn’t catch Ms. Tamsyn Scott that way, could I?

No, I could not.

Why not?

Because she sees me. All the way to my rotten, manipulative and secretive core. And she’s decided that my lemon is not worth the squeeze. Not if she’s smart, which she is.

In short, everything I am and everything about the way I operate is useless to me now. Worse than that, it’s all a liability. Hell, I’m driving her away. And I lack the tools to figure out how to stop doing it.

Fuck my life.

And the worst thing…

The absolute worst fucking thing is that I let Tamsyn see me behave like a man who’s had too many magic mushrooms when I thought I saw Ravenna in the mask shop yesterday. Now she thinks I’m nuts on top of everything else.

I probably am.

I don’t know what happened to me in that wild moment. Even now, I can’t figure it out.

I saw the woman. I saw her height, body shape and that gleaming black hair. It stirred something inside me. Some dark, lizard-brained section of my head kicked in and took over. It woke up feelings. It made me remember things I thought I’d gotten over.

Everything flashed to the surface in that one misguided second when I lost my mind in front of Tamsyn.

But I had to see if it was Ravenna. Had to.

And when it wasn’t…

I don’t know how I felt. Other than foolish.

See? There’s that word again.

Ravenna is dead, I remind myself. Dead. Which means she’s not coming back. Ever.

Except that part of me doesn’t believe it. Can’t believe it. Won’t believe it.

Proof positive that the Venetian sun is beating down a little too hard on my bare head.

Time for me to rehydrate and hopefully begin to think straight again before the day really gets going. I need to figure out how to bridge the gap between me and Tamsyn before it’s too late. So I go down the stairs to the pool deck and over to a long table off to one side, where they keep the coffee and juice bar.

I’m standing in line waiting for my turn with the cranberry juice when it dawns on me that there’s a buzz in the air. A lot of people standing around talking in small groups. That’s unusual for this early in the morning.

“It’s a real shame, mate,” the guy in front of me says to his companion, his Australian accent loud and clear. “Poor thing. Carried off on her vacation, eh?”

“Was she hurt bad?” asks his friend.

I stiffen, my juice glass half poured and my heart making a sudden and unexpected appearance in my throat. “What’s that? What’s happened?”

The Australians look around at me and sadly shake their heads.

“Didn’t you hear? Some poor woman got carried out on a stretcher earlier— Mate, you’re about to spill your juice.”

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