Pregnant by Morning(39)
She hadn’t put on a mask—but taken one off. Eva was an extension of her essence.
Finally, the teenagers drifted out the door, leaving a tense silence draped over them both.
“My fans mean a lot to me.” She flicked her nail across the tines of her fork without looking at him. “The ones I still have anyway. But it can be a bit much for someone not used to it. I knew better. I shouldn’t have asked you to take me out.”
“It’s okay.” Her biggest concern had been inconveniencing him or upsetting him, but he got that her celebrity went part and parcel with the rest. He reached out to cover her hand. “It’s a small price to pay. You’re worth it.”
Her eyes grew shiny. “Thanks. We’re lucky they weren’t reporters.”
They ate dinner without any more interruptions. When they left the restaurant, bright flashes halted them in their tracks, and he got a glimpse of the reason for her earlier concerns.
Two media-hounds lounged a few feet away, easily identifiable by their professional cameras and lack of interest in capturing the Venetian splendor all around them. Their sharp gazes were on Evangeline as she stepped into Matthew’s side, snugging up against his ribs closely. Too closely. Seeking what? Protection?
A prickle of warning went down his spine.
The men blocked their path, crowding them with their solid builds and flat eyes. Not guys who looked eager to be reasonable.
“Eva,” the shorter one on the left—American—called out. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Matthew was about to calmly suggest it would be in their best interests to let them pass. But Evangeline’s sharp intake of breath tripped something in his blood.
“I mind,” Matthew said, and stepped in front of Evangeline, shielding her from the men.
“Who are you?” The one on the right zeroed in on Matthew. “You got time for a few questions? I’ll be sure to spell your name right.”
“No comment,” Evangeline said and earned both men’s pointed attention.
“Is that what your voice sounds like now?” The short one whistled. Nastily. “Like a cement mixer with boulders inside. Can I tape it?”
She was trembling against Matthew’s back as she pulled on his arm. “We’ll go the long way home.”
Home. Not to a show, which she’d chattered about endlessly during dinner. If the reporter had latched onto anything else except her voice, Matthew would have let it slide.
These two idiots weren’t ruining their night out. “Back off. We’re of no interest to you.”
“You’re with Eva, you’re news, buddy.” The taller one snapped off a few photographs, blinding Matthew with the flash.
“You want to get that camera out of our faces before I do it for you?” Matthew blinked hard in an attempt to clear the white starburst from his retinas.
“Are you threatening me, pretty boy?”
“Obviously not well enough if you have to ask. So I’ll be clearer.” Matthew nodded to both men curtly, tamping down his fury. “Stop harassing us or you’ll be examining the ceiling of an Italian jail cell shortly. Or the ceiling of a hospital room. Your choice.”
The men glanced at each other, smiling cruelly. “You gonna take on both of us? Over her?”
Her. As if she was worthless because she’d lost her voice. The fury welled up again, traveling through his veins, curling his hands into fists.
Walk away. Now. Before you do something you’ll regret.
He pivoted and grabbed Evangeline’s hand to escape in the opposite direction. They’d only taken a couple of steps when the men skirted them, blocking their path again.
“Hey, what’s your hurry?” the short one asked and leered at Evangeline, his gaze on her legs. “We’re just doing our job.”
If the smarmy little rat didn’t get his dirty mind out of the gutter, Matthew would remove it from his skull. Through his nose. “Insulting people who are trying to walk down the street is not your job.”
“No, satisfying the public’s curiosity is. And we’re all curious. What’s Eva up to now? Who’s the mysterious man escorting her around Venice?” The taller one shoved a small recorder at Matthew, nearly chipping a tooth. “You tell us. We leave. Easy.”
“We already said—” Matthew backhanded the recorder away “—no comment.”
He shrugged. “Then we’ll write our own story. Eva does Venice with an American schoolteacher on holiday. Eva’s new beau—disinherited playboy after her money? Eva sleeps her way into a modeling contra—”
Matthew’s fist connected with the reporter’s smug mouth. He reeled backward, smashing into the other reporter.