Page 39 of Ruined By Protection
Fuck. I'm going to kill her.
"Actually," Evelyn cuts in, leaning forward with a tight smile, "I already promised to show Hazel around after dinner. I've been looking forward to it all day."
The tension at the table shifts. Evelyn's eyes flit between Lucrezia and me, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. She knows something's off, even if she doesn't know exactly what.
I take another sip of wine, grateful for the interruption. The last thing I need is Lucrezia playing matchmaker when I'm trying to figure out whether Hazel is a threat.
Ginerva brings out the main course—carbonara. The creamy rich aroma fills the air, but I barely notice. My mind is too busy cataloging the possibilities.
Maybe this is just a coincidence. The world is full of them.
This isn't about wanting to fuck her again, though my body clearly disagrees. This is about determining if she's a threat. I've had plenty of women since her. None of them left me stillthinking about them years later but that's beside the point. The physical attraction is just muscle memory—my body recognizing something it enjoyed before.
What matters now is whether she's here on purpose. Is she working for someone?
But if that's the case, why pretend not to recognize me? Unless she's playing a longer game. And why does she need protection? From whom?
I need to get her alone, away from Evelyn's watchful eye. I need to figure out what her angle is before she can do any damage.
Hazel
I stare at my plate, pushing the perfectly al dente pasta around with my fork. Everyone at this table is watching me—some with curiosity, others with suspicion. Especially Matteo. Every time I feel his gaze on me, my skin heats and my stomach tightens with memories I should have buried years ago.
"Would you like more wine, Hazel?" Zoe asks, already reaching for the bottle.
"Just a little, thank you." I need something to steady my nerves.
Now Matteo's going to be my security detail. The universe has a sick sense of humor.
I take a sip of wine, hoping it will calm the storm inside me. Instead, it just reminds me of that night in Austin. The taste of alcohol on his lips as he kissed me. The way his hands felt on my skin. How he looked at me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.
What I need to be doing is figuring out what to do about Elliott. He's probably already discovered I'm gone. He'll betracking my credit cards, calling everyone I know. I need to contact a lawyer, file for divorce, make sure my family is protected.
Instead, my traitorous mind keeps replaying moments from three years ago. Matteo feeding me lobster in that hotel kitchen. His mouth on my neck. The way he whispered in my ear as he moved inside me.
I glance up and catch him watching me again. His eyes are dark, unreadable.
"Matteo," Damiano says, "you were in Austin for that meeting with the Rodriguez family, weren't you?"
My heart stops. I focus intently on my plate, afraid my face will give everything away.
"Three years ago," Matteo corrects, his voice smooth and controlled. "Just passing through."
Three years ago. So he does remember. The exact timing. Just passing through. This is how he sees what happened between us. A convenient stop along the way.
"Small world," Noah comments, glancing between us.
You have no idea, I think.
I force a smile as conversation flows around me. Damiano and Enzo are discussing some business matter I don't bother trying to understand while Zoe and Lucrezia debate the merits of a new restaurant downtown. I'm grateful for the momentary shift of attention away from me.
"The tiramisu here is incredible," Evelyn says, leaning toward me. "Trust me, save room."
I nod, though food is the last thing on my mind. My thoughts keep circling between my current predicament with Elliott and the man sitting across from me who's pretending we've never met.
Elliott will be furious by now. I imagine him pacing our bedroom, making calls. The cameras throughout our house willhave recorded my departure, the moment I walked out with just one small bag. He'll have reviewed the footage a dozen times, scrutinizing my every move.
My hand trembles slightly as I reach for my water glass. Elliott was always so particular about sex. He approached it like he did everything else in his life—methodical, controlling, focused on his own pleasure. In the beginning I'd tried to guide him, to show him what I liked. He didn't take the suggestion well.
