Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Baby.
I jerk my hand from Trevor’s, turning wide eyes on him.
“You have to go. Bishop, right now, you have to go.”
“What?” He sticks out an arm, fending off a reporter shoving a microphone in our faces. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not leaving you. We’re almost inside.”
But not close enough. God, so close, but not close enough.
The last person I expect or want to see shoves her way through the crowd, eyes livid and mouth distorted into a scarlet slash across her face.
“Seville.” I barely get the name out, the simple math of them asking me about a baby and Esteban’s wife showing up here equaling disaster for me. And Trevor right here to witness it.
“You bitch!” Seville screeches, lunging for me, fingers extended like talons toward my face. Her nails rake over my cheek, leaving a trail of fire across my skin. Trevor grabs her around the waist, dragging her back. Panic tears at me, pulling at my seams, ripping any façade of calm away. Even as reporters block the door, hurl questions at me, I still try my best to calm her down.
“Seville, wait. I can explain, but not here. Come inside.”
“Explain?” Her heavily accented English sags beneath outrage and pain. “Si, please explain to me that you had my husband’s baby. That you killed my husband’s baby! Explain that, puta!”
“Baby?” Trevor’s eyes snap to my face. “Sofie, what’s she talking about?”
“Sofie, can you address these new reports that you were pregnant with Esteban Ruiz’s baby?” A reporter yells at me. “Is it true you had an abortion in Milan?”
I close my eyes and draw a shaky breath, hoping against hope that this is an old nightmare about long-buried secrets, and I’ll wake up any minute. But when I open my eyes, it’s still pandemonium, with reporters hurling questions and accusations at me. Seville is still straining against Trevor’s strong arms, trying her best to maul me. Trevor’s eyes still question me. I’m still a twig in a tornado, tossed madly to and fro.
“Do you know how long I have tried to give him a son?” Seville yells, tears streaming over her hollowed cheeks. “Fifteen years. Fifteen years I have tried, and you were with him what? Months? And you get my husband’s child? You took that from me.”
Her tortured cries grip and twist my heart. I had no idea.
“Seville, I’m so sorry, but I—”
“Now you have apologies?” Tears ravage her face, her hatred contracting and expanding with every labored breath. “You are poison in a man’s blood. A man is never rid of you. You spit on everything that should have been mine. I spit on you, puta!”
She spits in my face, and cameras flash. I can’t even flee the glare of what feels like a million lights. I’m stunned; a living, breathing affront trapped in this spectacle. I wipe her spit from my face, humiliation wrapping around my whole body, a vine winding from the ground and anchoring me to the spot.
“Sofie!” That voice penetrates the miasma of shame and horror enveloping me.
“Sofie,” Stil says again, her eyes set on me, waiting for me to respond. “Let’s get you inside, hon.”
Details filter in like light through a dark cloud. Stil isn’t alone. Geena, my publicist, and Karen are right behind her. All urging me toward my building. Stil grabs my arm and pushes through the wall of flesh and flashing bulbs. I look over my shoulder, seeking out Trevor. He stands in the middle of the mess I’ve made, Seville slumped against him, limp, weeping, distraught. I did that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know my Latin lover was her husband. I didn’t know an ill-fated pregnancy would break her heart this way. I didn’t know the man I love would end up holding the bag of my folly.
The man I love. Our eyes connect for what feels like the last time. I stop moving forward, turn back to him before I realize it.
“Sofie, go!” Trevor shouts, pulling one arm from Seville to wave me inside, ahead. “I’m right behind you. I’m coming. Just go.”
“He’s right,” Geena says, speeding us toward the door of my lobby. “This is a disaster. Get inside.”
I’m galvanized into action, rushing to the entrance, my team insulating me from the questions, surrounding me, protecting me.
Clive holds the door open for us, his eyes anxious.
“Ms. Baston, I’m sorry,” he says. “If the underground parking lot had been done, none of this would have happened.”
“It’s not your fault, Clive,” I manage to assure him.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he calls from behind us as they rush toward my private elevator.
I stop and turn, catching his eyes, resisting Stil tugging on my arm to pull me inside the elevator car.
“There is something you can do for me, Clive.” The words queued up in my throat will hurt me like I’m cutting off my own arm, but they have to be said. If I love Trevor, they have to be said. “Take Mr. Bishop off my list, effective immediately. He’s not to be let up.”