Chapter 32 Evelyn
Evelyn
“I’ve got you,” Massimo promises, his big hands grasping both of mine as he leads me forward. “I won’t let you fall.”
I consider telling him that the blindfold isn’t necessary, but he’s so intent on surprising me that I decide not to argue.
Besides, I trust him completely; I know he won’t let me fall.
And whatever he wants to offer me, I’ll accept it without protest. With Massimo, I don’t have to fear that gifts will come with strings attached. He wants to spoil me, and I’ll let him. Because it makes him happy.
I’ll do almost anything to earn his proud, stunning smile. In the aftermath of our intense sex yesterday, I’m desperate for him. I need his touch, his protection, his happiness.
A door opens, and humid air kisses my skin. A gentle, warm breeze ruffles my hair, carrying the sweet scent of flowers. My brow furrows.
Before I ask where we are, the blindfold falls away, revealing a lush rooftop garden. Beautiful flowers bloom in a riot of color, from soft pink to rich royal blue.
“Carmen told me that her friend maintains this garden for her,” he explains. “I thought we might have some privacy here.”
I remember the first time I saw him: when he watched me in the market. Our eyes locked across the flower stall, and his stunning silver gaze took my breath away.
“I thought you might like to photograph them,” he rumbles, drawing my attention from the beautiful blooms to his perfect face.
My heart leaps. He’s holding a camera, a Canon EOS DSLR.
I’ve never dreamed that I’d be able to afford such an expensive model. For a moment, I can’t speak. I can barely breathe.
I haven’t held a camera in weeks.
Even before the nightmare with the cartels began, George restricted my art.
He didn’t let me venture out to take photographs, and on the rare occasions when he accompanied me to do so, he complained about boredom.
He always made my art seem like a waste of time, an imposition.
He minimized my passion and repeated the cruel words my parents always inflicted upon me: that I’ll never be a successful artist, and I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.
Now, Massimo offers me a camera and encourages me to pursue my art.
You’re an artist. I remember what he said when I told him about the impracticalities of a career as a photographer.
He won’t allow me to dismiss my dream.
His eyes cloud with uncertainty when I don’t take the gift immediately. “Do you like it? I can get you a different one.”
“It’s perfect.” I accept the camera with reverent fingers. It feels familiar and comforting in my hands. “Thank you.”
He studies my pinched expression, trying to read the meaning behind my shining eyes.
“If the flowers don’t inspire you, tell me what does. Once we’re in Italy, we can go anywhere you want. Name a place, and I’ll take you there.”
“Italy?” I ask.
He nods, his jaw firming with determination—as though he anticipates an argument.
“I’m returning home to Naples soon, and you’re coming with me.”
My heart squeezes. I’d thought I wanted to go home to Albuquerque, but maybe that isn’t my home, after all.
The house I grew up in with my uncaring family wasn’t a home.
The apartment I shared with George seemed like home for a while, but now that I understand what he truly is, I can see the emotional abuse: the years of neglect and gaslighting.
He lured me in with a promise of love when I was young and vulnerable, and then he parsed it out like a miser. I twisted myself in knots to keep it, making myself small to try to earn crumbs of his affection.
Massimo offers me affection freely and often, doting on me almost more than I can bear. Deep in my heart, I still don’t feel worthy of such treatment, but it feels so good to be cherished.
Emotion swells, flooding my chest. I can’t find the words to respond to his intense declaration, so I simply lift the camera and frame the shot.
With the first click of the shutter, I capture his shining eyes. Then his lush, sensual lips; the masculine perfection of his stubble-shaded jaw; the way the sunlight plays over his black curls as the wind stirs them.
“What are you doing?” he asks, staring at me with confusion.
“Photographing what inspires me,” I reply, catching the moment his eyes flash with hunger.
He steps toward me and places his hand on the camera, gently urging me to lower it.
“Do you mind being photographed?”
“No. But I don’t want to damage your new camera. I could buy you another one, but I think it would upset you to see it destroyed.”
“Why would it be damaged?”
I allow him to pluck it from my hands and place it on a glass table that’s set up in the heart of the garden.
“Because I’m going to fuck you hard enough to make you scream, and I would probably smash the lens.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
His lips are still tilted in an arrogant smirk when his mouth lowers to mine. Massimo promised me that he would fuck me hard enough to make me scream, and he always keeps his promises.