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“I didn’t want to do it,” Nate says after a pause, “but I had to, and you’re right. I asked her to help with my work, but that had nothing to do with the photo. That was just… I just find history so hard.”
Does this puppy-dog routine work on everyone? I want to bellow. Is the rest of the world that goddamn gullible?
“Where is the photo now?” Elio says.
“I deleted it,” he replies.
“Did you show anyone else?” I snap.
Nate looks at me. He’s got the same judgmental glint in his eyes as his dad. “No. Why would I?”
It’s subtle, but there’s a mocking note in his voice when he asks the question. It’s like he’s saying, What possible reason could I have for showing anybody a photo of HER?
“How can we be sure you’ve deleted it?” Elio says.
“I’ve got no reason to keep it,” he replies. “Ruby isn’t really my type.”
That’s almost enough to make me completely lose it. He’s not even trying to hide that arrogant, belittling twist in his voice now.
“What do you mean by that?” I lean over the desk, staring down at him. If we were out in the wild, if these walls and all this civilization wasn’t here, if this were primal, nothing would stop me from tearing his limbs from his body.
He laughs. Laughs.
I slam my fist against the table so hard several items leap into the air. “What’s so fucking funny?” I roar.
“Now, wait a second.” Maverick’s tone is just as infuriating as his son’s. “We didn’t come here to be shouted at by you, Luca.”
“Then maybe your brave little boy can find his balls and tell me what he meant.”
That triggers something in Nate, the real him, the douchebag. He can’t fight his insinuating little smirk now. “I don’t go for women like her. That’s all. Think of her, then imagine the opposite. That’s my kind of girl. I’m an athletic guy. I expect the same from?—”
Suddenly, the world turns red. My vision bleeds. I hear Elio and Maverick yelling. It’s like I black out. When I “wake up,” I’ve got Nate pinned against the floor, one hand wrapped around his throat, and an object—the telephone, I realize—in my hand, ready to crush his face. Ready to shatter his nose and paint him in a picture of gore.
“Say one more word about her,” I growl. “One more goddamn word, you little worm. Go on. Do it. Do it.”
He’s opening and closing his mouth stupidly. Elio’s got his hand on my shoulder, his voice sounding impossibly small, as though his words are coming from far away. “Luca, you have to stop. You have to calm down.”
“Well?” I snap.
“Please,” Nate whispers. “I deleted the photo. I swuh-swear. I did. Dad made me.”
I look up at Maverick. A sick thrill of satisfaction grips me when I see his expression has turned from arrogant to terrified. “Is that true?”
“My son knows that the press will look for any reason to slander a politician’s family, even if it means stealing and hacking phones. That photo is gone.”
I turn back to Nate, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, but is pretty sure good enough when my woman’s honor is at stake? “She won’t be helping you with your college work,” I tell him. “In fact, you’re never going to speak to her again. Or look at her.”
“Fine by me.”
I tighten my hold on his shirt, giving him a shake and letting him feel how weak he really is. When I stand, Maverick huffs, glaring at Elio. “Are we done here?”
Elio nods. “I’d say so.”
I put the phone on the desk, waiting as Nate climbs to his feet. He looks at me like he might want to make something of it, but he backs down when he sees I’m not scared but ready.
Elio shuts the door behind them and spins on me when they’re gone. His eyes are bulging with rage. “Jesus Christ, Luca. Jesus Christ.”
“We’ve got enough money to fund orphanages ourselves,” I tell him. “We don’t need them.”
“It wasn’t about that,” he snaps. “I was trying to protect you!”
“Protect me? What are you talking about?”
Elio runs a hand through his hair. Suddenly, he reminds me of the man he was before he met Scarlet—dark and pissed. “You’ve found somebody you care about—somebody worth fighting for. What if fighting for her means ruining it?”
“Stop with the goddamn riddles.”
He pushes the door open. “You should’ve listened to me. You should’ve let me handle it my way. Goddamn it.”
He leaves, storming down the hallway. I want to go after him, find out what he meant, but my phone buzzes again. Despite everything, the urge to check it is overwhelming.
I don’t want to be scared of you either, her first message reads.
I imagine her waiting near her phone for a reply, biting her lip, her bangs a shield across her eyes. But this is moving so fast. I know it’s my fault. I asked YOU for help, but it’s scaring me.
