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“Are you listening?”
At the impatient question, I grunt. “I’m here.”
“So, this little weasel is one of the best this tabloid has, usually brings genuine pictures. Even magazines sometimes run his stories. He’s the real deal. He’s up to his neck in trespassing lawsuits, libel lawsuits; you name it, he’s been to court for it.”
“How did he know about Eve and Mila?” My eyes focus on the coffee table where my clothes lay folded.
Eve.
Agatha is still talking. “He doesn’t know who they are. But he’s been following you around because of the grand opening of your new club. And since you’ve been so suspiciously quiet in terms of your lifestyle, he was probably sniffing around for some dirt, and he must have seen you with your family.”
Your family.
The term is thrown out so casually and it reaches to every crevice of my soul, making me close my eyes.
I open them again when Agatha hisses in dismay and anger. “Fuck. No, fuck. Fucking hell.”
My tone is sharp. “What is it?”
When Agatha curses again, I grit my teeth. “Agatha.”
“You’re not going to like this,” fury coats her tone. “You’re going to hate this.”
I am about to say something particularly nasty when she continues. “That bastard was at the crime scene yesterday. He got plenty of shots of Eve’s friend and you holding Eve. He’s even managed to get images of the hallway where the girl was dragged. This is bad, Zayn. Eve’s full name, the dance studio, he’s got everything, maybe except your actual association with Eve. He’s still calling her a money hungry whore.”
Anger burning in her voice at the term.
“She can’t see this, Zayn.”
I recall the way Eve gave herself to me, offered me her trust.
My eyes are grim. “Yes, she does. And it’s better that she hears it from me.”
Agatha pauses for a few moments. “Give me an hour. I’ll be there.” Before I could tell her no, she says, shortly, “She’ll want to know her options, Zayn. This is what I do.”
“All right.”
All the warmth from last night is now curled up in a small ball inside my chest, surrounded by ice. After a few minutes, I get out of bed and throw on some clothes, a part of me dreading the upcoming confrontation.
Eve is in the kitchen when I find her.
Mila sits on one of the seats near the counter, her feet bare, her tiny legs kicking back and forth. She is eating a bowl of Froot Loops cereal, which I usually keep as a snack to munch on when I am bored.
Eve is wearing my shirt, freshly showered, and the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs permeates the air. Barefoot, she is talking to Mila and Mila is not paying attention, more concentrated on not spilling her breakfast on herself.
I stand in the threshold of the kitchen, taking in the small, homey scene.
This is what I want every day of his life.
This feeling.
Taking this memory, I close it into a box along with the other precious moments of my life that I treasure beyond anything, to be taken out and viewed, occasionally.
Eve turns around and makes a small surprised sound at
seeing me standing there.
Her face turns red for a few moments as we soundlessly stare at each other.
