Page 19 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

FABIO

Another day to suffer.

“You and Eva, huh?” Vittoria swings out of the main building, strutting confidently on pointed heels beside me.

“Yeah,” I nod, for lack of words to describe my predicament and also because I don’t trust Vittoria. She is too close to Eva. How am I sure she has not been informed and is only rubbing my bruises?

“You can take her to dinner after that,” she steps in front of me as we get to the car. “Do something nice for her,” she shrugs, a small smile on her face. She is hardly one to smile, but it’s getting better with time.

“Yeah,” another nod, and I’m rifling for the car key in the pocket of my dress pants.

“You don’t want my Eva?” She tucks her arms across her chest, her face slipping into a stern frown.

I don’t know what she is on about this afternoon, but the last thing I want is Vittoria trying to get into my business. She analyzes me with her eyes, doing that thing of deciphering me without needing to use words, and it’s uncomfortable.

I slam my walls in her face, denying her access. She is not Eva. Eva always somehow knows how to slip through a crack, and if I ever find out how she does it, I’ll be patching that up too.

“For your sake, I hope there is some excitement tucked in there somewhere,” she snorts. “You are as boring as they come,” she chuckles. “And you better take her to dinner, a fancy one,” she looks around as if something in the distance is taking her keen attention. “I will see that she wears the appropriate dress for such an occasion…”

“Please, no,” I grunt. “I will take her to dinner but just make sure she wears something comfortable to go around taking pictures in,” I swallow. I know what she’s capable of when she messes with Eva’s appearance.

Having Eva wear anything distracting will make today even more difficult. I am a jealous, pained man who would kick myself in the balls seeing her in a dress like any of the ones Vittoria would whisk up, taking a leisure stroll with another man.

When I woke up this morning, I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, thinking about lots of stuff, making a conscious but draining effort not to think about the kiss from yesterday.

“Is something going on?” She squints her eyes. “Is there someone else?”

“Why would there be?” I fish out the car key and turn the car on.

“You better keep her hidden,” she scoffs. “I am not promising she will be fine if I find her.” She steps forward, a little woman with a vicious persona—a little meddling woman. But it makes me want to smile, knowing she would do anything to protect Eva.

“Focus on the baby,” I try to use a warmer tone, the construction of a smile getting lost in my brain and unable to find a way to manifest on my face. “Nothing is wrong; there is no other person, and I will take her to dinner. Send me a recommendation of the places you know.”

She flutters her lashes at me, puckers her lips to scrutinize me, but then it works because she nods and smiles fully. She steps back and adjusts her crimson silk shirt.

“I will make a reservation,” she seems a little giddy about that one. Get flowers; roses are beautiful,” she struts past me. “Up your game, Fabio. I am rooting for you,” she says, walking to a car in the corner.

I don’t have any fucking clue what that is supposed to mean, but I will not add that to the many things that haunt my mind in my alone time. I am not doing anything to complicate things for myself. Eva has made her decision, and I will stick to it. It was what I wanted. I wanted her to decide, and I hadn’t been forthright about whether I wanted her to choose me or someone else.

With the way I feel chopped into pieces anytime I see her with that kid, I know I was hoping she would fucking choose me. But why would she? I haven’t given her much reason to choose me. I actually haven’t given her any reason at all to choose me. If there is anything I have successfully done, it is to place myself at a disadvantage.

I open the driver’s seat as I catch a side view of Eva stepping out of the main building in a jaw-dropping, holy mother of God, delectable simple white high-fashion dress with her camera bag slung on her shoulder. It has long sleeves and stretches to her ankles, but there is nothing about Eva that isn’t provocative where I am concerned.

The dress accentuates her curves and every color on her. It makes the black of her hair darker as it sprawls down her shoulders. It adds an exclamation mark to the electrifying blue of her eyes encased by lengthy lashes. It trumpets the lushness of her crushed pomegranate lips, the creaminess of her flawless skin, the plump of her chest, and that snappy waist that defines her curves.

I clear my throat and look away, climbing too fast into the car to save face.

Did she wear this for him?

I grind my teeth, the talons of jealousy digging into my neck once again and scrambling to rip my lungs out. She is flawless. My little innocent devil. How is she giving all of this to that kid? What has he done to deserve her in this way?

As the question swims in my head, the answer gnaws at my gut. He chose her. He didn’t push her away. He didn’t kiss her and pretend it never existed. He didn’t go on to make a mistake and mount baggage that would jeopardize his chances with her. The kid is everything I am not. I fucking hate the idiot.

She stops at the backseat door, and I unlock it so she can hop in.

“Hello, Fabio,” her voice is a string of bubbliness. The only thing that has ever come close to making me feel the way her voice makes me is the sound of–

“Should I have carried a mattress?”

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