Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 1(134)

A sharp crack and flash of light just by his face made Eliot spin to the side. A photographer stood just by them. Eliot raised his hand as the flash went off again, and the world spun under him. He could hear blood rushing through his ears, and he saw himself turn, felt his fist pull back, unable to stop it. His first blow landed on the camera, shattering the lens and sending it flying to the floor with a loud crash.

“Eliot!” Brynn’s voice sounded distant, and Eliot shoved the photographer hard, sending him over the edge and into the river with a loud splash. The music stopped, and someone pulled Eliot back from the river’s edge.

Red. Somewhere in the crowd a woman was screaming, and cameras flashed from all sides, dozens of them. Eliot shook off the arms restraining him and covered his eyes, but still the lights flashed through the cracks in his fingers. So much red. A security guard pulled the photographer out of the river and out of Eliot’s sight. The roaring in Eliot’s ears stopped as soon as he looked up.

Brynn stood speechless, staring at him as though he were a monster. He turned toward the exit and ran.





CHAPTER TWELVE



Eliot shoved well-dressed businessmen aside on his way out the door of the restaurant. A plate clattered to the floor as he bumped a waiter hard, but he did not even turn to see what had happened. He knew what had happened. It was the reason he didn’t want to be in Hungary.

Clare.

His feet took him down the street, away from watchful eyes, until he turned onto the bridge and stopped there, the icy floes of the Danube some thirty meters under his feet. He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing away the memory, but still it came over him as it always had, a furious, immutable wave of emotion that rolled him into its current and back into the past, a decade back, when Clare was still his wife and he thought fate was on his side.

They had been driving back from one of Otto’s parties, and the roads glistened with the treacherous dark patches of ice. Clare looked beautiful, dressed in an ivory sheath with pearls wreathing her neck, her hair done up by the stylist Marta had recommended. Eliot couldn’t help but look over every once in a while to take glimpses of his angel, as he called her. A soft fall of snow was swept away quietly by the windshield wipers. Eliot had maneuvered his way around the dark curves of the mountain well enough until the paparazzi showed up. Two photographers on motorcycles shot up until they were just behind the car.

“Get away from them, can you?” Clare said.

“I’m trying,” Eliot said. One of the photographers rode his motorcycle up alongside their car, then in front, and began to shoot pictures from through the windshield. The light from the camera was blinding, and Eliot didn’t know how he could be taking any usable pictures anyway.#p#分页标题#e#

“I don’t understand it,” Eliot said. “You would think they would be satisfied with the photos of us outside of the party. Wasn’t that enough?”

“I can’t stand it. I can’t.” Clare’s voice strained.

“Aren’t there usually more?” Eliot thought the paparazzi normally traveled in packs.

“I hate these damned men,” Clare said, shielding her face with her hand as the camera flashed bright white. “Leave us alone!” She began to roll down the window.

“Clare, don’t—”

“Leave us alone!” she shouted through the half-opened window, both her hands. Cold wind howled through the car, and snowflakes flurried inside of the car. Eliot reached over to pull her back, and the camera flashed, and then the road slid underneath them sideways although Eliot had kept the wheel straight, or tried.

From then on the world existed only in flashes of light and sound and terror. He heard the tires squeal, and the motorcycle slammed into the hood, the ear-splitting sound of metal on metal and shattering glass. Eliot slammed on the brakes and tried to pull the steering wheel straight, but the rear end of the car swung back and then they were flying off of the road and there was a tree in front and god, oh god. The crash of branches through the windows came only a second before the jarring shock of impact. The world stopped and Eliot saw the blackness rush over him as he hit the airbag, the force knocking him unconscious for a brief second. He felt something sharp tear across his chest and slice his face as he blacked out. Then his eyes opened. Fir branches covered the interior of the car.

Clare. A soft whimper made him turn his head, although his neck hurt terribly. Clare.

The tree branch had come through the windshield and pierced her through the chest at a sharp angle. Her hands touched the bark of the branch over and over again, as though she was unsure how it had gotten there. Blood seeped through her dress, soaking into the ivory fabric and turning it dark red.