Page 80 of Wicked Rivals

“It doesn't matter.”

“It absolutely matters,” he growled. “No one touches you but me. Your body belongs to me, and you will not allow another man to have what is mine.”

The liar. He did get jealous and a little angry.

And I liked it.

I had to brace myself against the counter to keep from melting into him. If I wasn’t careful, our desk session would repeat itself right there in the kitchen. Then I would probably have to explain to Enzo why I had powdered sugar in my hair.

“How does your fiancée feel about that?”

If my question wasn’t enough to douse us both with metaphorical ice water, I didn’t know what else could.

It seemed to work because he stepped back and tossed the yellow envelope around me onto the island.

A cloud of powdered sugar puffed into the air beneath the envelope’s weight slapping down onto the stone.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It's why I need to know everything.”

I opened the envelope and removed its contents. More pictures like those in the first envelope he’d shown me, but now there were even more. Many included similar shots of Enzo and me walking to school, spending the day at the park, shopping…

Bile rose in my throat as I stared at a new type of photo.

The pictures focused on Enzo and me together or just one of us alone, but they no longer remained purely in public places. No, now I saw images of my son and me on the couch reading or together in the back of the café. Someone had taken photos right outside our apartment.

Someone had been watching us in our home.

One showed Enzo in his bed, where he should have been safe and comfortable in the privacy of his own home. Several other photos had captured shots of me through my bedroom window while I undressed to get ready for bed.

These were intimate, private moments of our lives.

My heart raced.

I had never felt so violated.

“Not just your lovers,” Stefano said. “I need to know about friends, employees, vendors, the men who are regulars at the café. Anyone you interact with frequently.”

While trying my best to hold back the tears threatening to spill over, I looked up at him.

“Why?” I choked out.

How could I have failed so miserably and remained so clueless until now?

He pulled me against his body again, as if that might be the secret password to get me to tell him everything all at once.

“Just tell me, Val.”

He felt so warm, so safe. I wanted to close my eyes and indulge in the fantasy of this being my life, of this being my kitchen, my home, with my husband holding me and cherishing me while our son was safe and protected upstairs in his room.

Where some psycho with a camera and a rifle couldn't get to us.

I’d been so stupid.

I didn't understand how they observed us so closely and for so long. I should have run the first time I felt the eyes on me. This mess was all my fault, the product of my recklessness and complacency.

Whoever had taken the photos, they found it possible because of me. Because I’d gotten too comfortable in my cozy little life.

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