“You are acting really strange,” he murmured, and tugged the zipper open.
A bulging envelope fell out—a faded one, with a logo he instantly recognized. It was from a photo studio in Rio where he’d used to have his pictures developed long ago.
Where she had gone to have the pictures developed from the disposable cameras she and Eduardo had carried on that cruise.
She grabbed it and tucked her hand behind her jerkily.
He met her gaze, his chest incredibly tight. The last thing he wanted was to remember the pain he had felt when she had walked out. Not when they were finally starting over again, even if not with a clean slate.
The memory brushed his words with a harsh edge. “I’m surprised you didn’t burn them all a long time ago.”
Hurt flashed in her gaze. Still on her haunches, she moved away from him, as though she was shielding a precious commodity. “They’re catalogued under ‘Mistakes Never to Be Repeated.’”
“Why do you have them in your laptop case?”
Her answer was extremely reluctant. “When I packed my stuff to be moved I put them in there, to keep at work.”
So that he didn’t see them even by accident.
Anger burning through him, he made a quick move. The envelope fell from her arms, scattering pictures all around him. Every one of them showed Kim and him, happy, smiling, the world around them faded to nothing.
He grabbed a couple and crumpled them in his hand.
She gasped and plucked at his hand, her fingers digging into his bunched fist. “No... What are you doing?”
“I’m going to do what you should have done—tear them and trash them.”
She was trembling. “Don’t you dare.”
He grabbed another one, seething inside. He was about to rip it in half, when she clamped his wrist, her grip strong as a vise.
She shook her head, hot anger burning in her eyes. “Stop it, Diego.”
He let the picture go and pulled her toward him. “Why did you leave?”
“What?”
“It’s a question I should have asked years ago.”
“Believe me, the answer won’t make you happy.”
With a grunt, she tried to pry his fingers open. Her nails, even though blunt, dug into his knuckles. He didn’t care, and apparently neither did she.
“Let it go, Diego.”
“No. Not unless you answer my question. And truth this time.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“You’ve never told me the truth either. Like the fact that you never slept with Alexander.”
Her gaze flashed to him even while her fingers still jabbed at his. “Is that it? You want to know how many men I’ve slept with in my life? Two—you first, and then this other guy a year after I left you, because I couldn’t forget you. But it was horrible. There—are you happy?”
A red haze descended in front of his eyes. “What is supposed to make me happy? The fact that you would do anything to wipe me from your mind? Everything you give me—whether your word, or your promise, or even a damn kiss—I have to fight you for it. But you know what? I’ve fought for everything in my life and I fight dirty. So, unless you want me to rip up every picture I see here...”
Her efforts doubled. She scooted closer to him on her knees, stretched to her full height and then tilted her head to see the picture he was holding. “God, Diego, don’t you dare—”
He pulled away from her and raised his hand, looked at the picture, too.
His stomach churned with a vicious force.
This one had been taken the night after he’d had sex...no, had made love to her. However much he tried, it was a night he couldn’t cheapen. Not even in his thoughts.
Did she feel the same? Was that why the picture was so important to her? He was sick and tired of second-guessing.
He held it with both his hands. There was a small tear in the picture already.
She slammed into him as she tried to reach it. “Give it back, Diego...”
“No.”
“Fine.”
She didn’t shout. And yet her words vibrated with raw pain and utter desolation.
“I left because you turned me into a prize to parade before your father—into some trophy that was a victory over your childhood.”
“You said I treated you like a princess.”
“Yes—a princess dressed up in glittery clothes and exhibited for the status she provided. Anyone who asked, you recited my accomplishments as though it was my résumé. You were obsessed with taking over your father’s company. You spent every waking minute devising ways to get more access, more information. I...I loved you, and you broke my heart.”
“How is that possible? I was ready to move so that you could go to Harvard. I wanted to give you everything you had before I—”