Pregnant by Morning(26)
So far, so good. The anchor of Matt’s presence went a long way.
Franco strolled over to take the other chair, appropriately slick in his Armani suit and practiced smile.
“Eva, I’m happy you changed your mind.”
Sure he was. The ratings boost would likely make his year.
An assistant clipped the small microphone inside Evangeline’s strappy top, which she’d specifically chosen because its design allowed for the microphone to be completely hidden.
“I enjoy watching Milano Sera so I’m happy to be here, as well.”
Franco nodded, though he surely didn’t believe either falsehood. Another assistant dashed over and frowned over Evangeline’s microphone as Franco murmured to the statuesque director.
“There’s a small difficulty, signorina.” The assistant unclipped the microphone and dashed away to return with another one. “Speak to Franco now.”
“Thank you for having me, Mr. Buonotti,” she said obediently.
Franco shook his head and tapped his earpiece. “It’s no good.”
The producer and another man whispered to each other furiously as assistants milled around.
“What’s the problem?” she asked Franco. Foreboding settled in her chest at his blank expression.
“Your voice, cara. It’s not working well with this remote equipment,” he explained, not the least bit apologetic, as if the equipment wasn’t to blame, but she was. “Too low. They can’t get it to register.”
Her cheeks heated. Rejected by the taping equipment.
“Try again. Speak directly into the microphone.” Franco cleared his throat. “Tell me, Eva. What is your life like now that your voice has been so tragically altered?”
A cold, clammy sweat broke out across her neck. Slicked her palms. Eva. He was talking about Eva’s voice. Not hers.
“Um.” She shook her head as her brain shut down.
Matt was wrong. The interview hadn’t even started yet, and already Franco was probing her wounds with inflammatory phrasing. Fashion tips, she could handle. Why had she naively believed Matt that shopping would be Franco’s focus?
Armadillo.
Her throat clamped closed and she couldn’t get the word out. Couldn’t make any sound at all.
This wasn’t happening to Eva, it was happening to her.
But then Matt was there, leading her from the chair and tersely informing the producer that Eva did not deign to give interviews to second-rate talk shows without proper equipment.
“Nice,” she said when she could speak again, which happened right around the time she crossed the threshold of Matt’s house. “You’re the best manager I’ve ever had.”
“I’m sorry I suggested that.”
He was still bristling, his expression hard and unyielding. And maybe a little frightening.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I had no idea he’d be so insensitive.”
He muttered a particularly inventive slur on Franco’s paternity and heritage simultaneously.
Amazing how Matt could still make her smile in the midst of emotional uproar.
“If it makes you feel better, you made up for it, like by quadruple.”
It hadn’t been merely a rescue, but an expert extraction completed without letting on to her distress and giving Milano Sera’s team the impression they’d upset her diva personality. A miraculous feat in her opinion.
“It does not make me feel better.” He flipped on the lights to dispel the February gloom. Instantly, she cheered. This was still a haven. “You told me exactly what would happen. But I was so sure I knew what would help.”
Clearly frustrated, he heaved a sigh.
She tucked herself into his embrace and laid her head on his shoulder, right at the hollow she’d first discovered while they were dancing. “You’ve given me exactly what I needed. A place to block all that out.”
His arms tightened, drawing her into his body deliciously. “I’m glad, sweetheart. Palazzo D’Inverno is available to you as long as you want it.”
Not the house. You.
He helped, in so many intangible ways. In his arms, nothing seemed as bad.
She didn’t say it.
If nothing else, Franco had shown her the protection Eva had provided in the past had all but vanished. She had nothing left to be rejected but the deepest part of herself, and that was something she refused to risk.
No matter how much she wished Matt held some sort of magic key to her future, he couldn’t be anything more than a brief distraction. There was no question their Venice affair was going to be hot, fantastic...and short-lived.
She refused to become dependent on a man—not just a man, but one with his own demons—to fill the gap music had left behind, and she could see it happening as if Matt’s beautiful eyes had turned into a crystal ball. Worse, it would be all take and no give, because her store of trust was in short supply. That was totally unfair.