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"The best decision I ever made." She glanced around as if she'd forgotten something.
"If you're worried about the guests," I said, "it's taken care of. I made the food, while clothed, and Ollie helped me take it all to the guest house."
She froze mid-chew. "What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock."
Her eyes went wide. "Why did you let me sleep so late?"
"Because you needed the rest. You have a partner now, which means you don't need to work so hard."
Her lips curved into a sweet smile. "I love you, Val."
I kissed her cheek. "I love you too."
A fist banged on the door, rattling it, and a familiar voice shouted, "Eve! Open the door. It's an emergency."
The tone of Ollie's voice confirmed his statement.
Eve and I both ran to the door. She yanked it open.
Ollie was breathing hard like he'd been running. He was wearing clothes too.
"What on earth is wrong?" Eve asked, laying a hand on his arm.
"Just got a call from Sam Walsh at the hardware store."
Sam owned the hardware store, but I couldn't imagine what kind of emergency would compel him to call Ollie.
"He tried to call you, Eve," Ollie explained, "but you didn't answer your cell and he didn't have the landline number."
Eve shook her head. "I don't understand. What's the big emergency?"
"There's a passel of reporters heading this way." Ollie glanced toward the driveway. "Some of them already made it to the outer gate. I ran there to check. Since the gate doesn't have a lock, I'm guessing they'll be through it soon enough."
"Wha— I—" Eve looked to me, her mouth open, then looked at Ollie again. "Why would reporters be swarming this place?"
Ollie held up a cell phone. Its screen displayed a social media post that read, "The bad boy of international football is at it again. Val Silva is living in a sex commune where all the guests pose for erotic photos and engage in orgies."
The post included a photo of me and Eve.
Naked. Behind the guest house. Fucking.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eve
My vision blurred and drifted back into focus as my mind struggled to comprehend what I was seeing. Me and Val. That day we'd had sex behind the guest house. How could anyone have photographed us? How could anyone have known what we would be doing that day? They couldn't have known, but if a tabloid reporter had followed Val here, that person could've been spying on us since the day he arrived.
Why not? The naked truth about Val Silva, bad boy ex-athlete turned model, would make for a splashy headline.
And there it was. The headline. The splash. The lies.
Ollie stuffed the phone back into his jeans pocket. "What should we do? If those paparazzi or whatever they are want to get in, they can climb over the outer gate. The inner gate isn't shut, but even if we close it, they can climb over that too. Should we call the police?"
I couldn't speak. My thoughts whirled, and I couldn't grab on to any of them.
"This is private property," Val said. "They have no right to invade the privacy of our guests. Yes, we will call the police."
