Page 30 of Ireland

He blocked the door, shielding her from the paparazzi who made it a habit to linger at Tableau One for the many celebrity sightings. They camped out on the other side of the street, but with Cary in fine form, it was likely one or more had taken the opportunity to meld with the crowd.

“What are my chances of running in without being photographed?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “You’re one of the most recognizable women in the world. What do you think?”

Eva sighed and steeled herself, gathering her purse and shifting to make as quick a getaway from the Bentayga as possible. She’d long ago accepted that her marriage weirdly fascinated the world, and people couldn’t seem to stop talking about it. She understood why Gideon was so phenomenally popular—she wasn’t alone in recognizing that he was the handsomest and sexiest man on the planet. And she put up with the intrusive attention because it came with him, and he washers. All things considered, it was a small price to pay to share her life with him.

But fuck, if it wasn’t a terrible burden some days.

“Ready?” Victor asked, a tremendously supportive presence for her as always.

“As I’ll ever be.” She slid onto her feet into the small space between the shield of the door and her father’s body. That she struggled with him protecting her with his life was something she’d learned to keep to herself because it angered him when she mentioned it.

I go first, he’d once told her bitingly.And if I go keeping you alive, I go happy. Got it?

Tucking her under one arm, her father pushed his way to the entrance with the other, ushering her inside.

He paused in the vestibule, holding the inner door open for her. “Text me when you’re ready.”

“You should be home sleeping in with Shelley!” she shot back, unable to resist.

The level look he gave her before exiting to the street said a dozen things at once. He used to take the weekends off, working as a team with the other members of their security detail. That he hadn’t yet returned to that schedule was probably the most significant indicator that her security was still elevated.

“Your table’s ready,” the hostess said with a bright smile, gesturing for Eva to follow her. The restaurant was co-owned by Gideon and the flagship for one of his oldest and closest friends, celebrity chef Arnoldo Ricci. The brightly lit interior was a haven, and Eva breathed a sigh of relief.

It was probably too much to hope she hadn’t been captured in a salable photograph. Even if a paparazzo hadn’t been lucky enough to snap one, someone waiting for a picture with Cary might have. When they saw him in public, it was expected thatshe wouldn’t be too far away. Cary could go unnoticed when he wished to. When he was seen, it was because he was with her.

She could write the ledes and comments that would accompany that photo because she’d seen them regurgitated countless times.

Is that a baby bump?

She’s getting fat because her marriage is over. She doesn’t want a baby, so Gideon Cross is ready to move on.

She’s had some work done. Look how swollen her face is.

She’s definitely putting on weight.

Whoa! Someone went overboard on fillers.

She’s finally pregnant!

Eva had read it all, and it never stopped. The fascination with whether she was pregnant, whether childlessness was negatively impacting her marriage, whether Gideon was cheating on her or unhappy, whether she had an overreliance on cosmetic procedures… The surgeons who weighed in on what work she’d had done were so ridiculous she couldn’t believe the press amplified their bullshit. Gossip sites and tabloids posted lies constantly. And photographs of her and Gideon graced covers on every magazine rack everywhere all the time. Not every cover, but at least a couple. All. The. Time.

Sliding into her usual booth in the back, Eva released her breath in a rush, relaxing the stomach muscles she’d pulled in, which had only aggravated the cramping of her uterus. She wished she genuinely didn’t care what people said about her, but of course, it affected her. And she felt a responsibility asGideon’s wife to do him proud, not that he ever held her to any standard. He genuinely found no flaws in her. Still, she knew he hated how the public picked her apart, that he couldn’t understand it, and felt helpless to stop it.

It was another ten minutes or so before Cary extricated himself from his fans and made his way to their booth. Eva took advantage of the time to order a bottle of crisp white wine and their favorite brunch dishes. Then she texted her husband.

What are you cooking Ireland for breakfast?

She was surprised when he didn’t reply with his usual alacrity, her brows pinching together. Hopefully, he was too busy with his sister and not something unexpected with work. Gideon managed his conglomerate with a chess master’s acumen, always dozens of moves ahead of everyone else with the endgame already in mind. When something caught him off guard, it was trouble on an unforeseeable and significant scale.

“Hey, baby girl!” Cary leaned into her side of the booth and pressed a quick kiss to her temple before taking the seat across from her. He was an exceptionally handsome man, his glossy sable hair precisely cut in his preferred style: trimmed on the sides and nape, longer and artfully mussed on top. He was carelessly elegant in a simple black crew neck T-shirt, tailored slacks in tan, and cognac loafers.

He studied her for a heartbeat before his megawatt smile twisted into sympathetic ruefulness. “You plugging?”

“My god, Cary!” she protested. Groaning her frustration, Eva shoved her phone back into her purse. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I just know what it means when your chin breaks out, and you wear a shift dress. Your face is a little puffy, too.”

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