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I arched a brow. "What question is that?"
"Did you miss me."
"Of course I missed you.Penso em você o tempo todo." I brushed stray hairs away from her face. "That means I think about you all the time. Missed you so much I want to drag you down to the floor and fuck you with the door wide open."
She laughed. "Same old Val."
The words she'd spoken a moment ago replayed in my mind. "Where did you learn Portuguese? You pronounced that phrase perfectly."
"I talked to your sister Maria. She suggested I ought to tell you in Portuguese how much you'd hurt me by taking off like that." Eve hunched her shoulders. "I figured what the hell. My voicemails and texts in English weren't getting through to you."
Yes, I'd done that. I'd taken off, then I had ignored her attempts to contact me. How could I explain the reasons for my behavior? I'd convinced myself I was protecting her.
We both fell silent for a moment, our gazes bound to each other, neither of us knowing quite what to say.
At last, I broke the silence. "You know I'm glad you're here, but why are you here?"
"Did you really think a crappy eleven-word note was enough?" She tapped a finger on my chest. "You ought to know better. Wait and I'll come for you? Please."
"Hmm." I grasped her bottom with both hands. "I suppose you're right. The Eve I know would never sit still for that."
"Damn right." She pulled out of my grasp. "What the hell were you thinking? Running away without even saying goodbye? I get a deafening silence for weeks, then legal papers and a half-assed note. I deserve better than that, Val."
"Yes, you do." I noticed my neighbors across the street staring at us and clearly whispering to each other about the scandalous sight at the home of the infamous footballer. "Come inside, Eve. Public nudity is still illegal in California."
A slight smile tightened her lips as she scanned me up and down. "I had thought you were exaggerating when you said you always go naked at home. But here you are, answering the door in your birthday suit."
I stepped back, and she walked inside. As I shut the door, I asked, "How angry are you?"
She ambled down the hallway toward the living room, visible at the hall's end. Glancing back at me, she gave me a sarcastically sweet smile. "Angry? Why would I be angry? Just because I fantasized about castrating you, that doesn't mean I'm mad."
I followed her into the living room, wondering how I was going to make this right. My plan had sounded reasonable and even noble at the time. Looking back, I realized how stupid I'd been.
Eve sat down at one end of the sofa.
After a brief hesitation, I settled onto the opposite end.
She watched me, her mood unreadable.
It was a challenge for me to explain, but I forged ahead. "I'm sorry, Eve. I did what I thought was necessary to protect you from the paparazzi, but I realize now it was a stupid idea. I'd intended to lure them away from your home for long enough that they would get bored and move on to the next pop star who goes into rehab. Did it at least work? Have the paparazzi left you alone?"
"Yeah, they're gone."
"This was all my fault."
She snorted. "No, it was all Quentin's fault. He blabbed to the cashier at the hardware store, and he took that photo of us. The cashier sold it all to a tabloid."
"Christ, I can't believe it. After all of that, and considering what I've done since I left you, I'll understand if you never want to see me again."
Her steady gaze remained fixated on me. "What have you done?"
"You must've seen the photos and videos."
"What photos? What videos?"
"On the internet."
She flapped a hand, dismissing the suggestion. "Oh, I don't look at stuff like that online. I don't even use social media."
