36. Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mialina
Argh!
I pick up the book I was reading before this arrogant ass stormed in here and throw it against the door.
Unfortunately, it does nothing to settle the hornets buzzing inside me.
“Controlling, pompous, overbearing lunatic,” I yell after him, even though he probably can’t hear me anymore.
The man steals my property, interrogates me like I’ve committed a crime, announces he’s locking my book in a safe, and somehow leaves acting as though I’m the unreasonable one.
How? How is that possible?
What kind of twisted mental gymnastics does one have to perform to arrive at that conclusion?
I’m going to need a new word for infuriating because Maximo has officially exhausted the existing vocabulary. Maybe obnoxiferous or…
I stomp along the length of the room, tapping my chin.
Exasperidiotic. Yes, that sounds right.
Actually, at this point, his name should qualify as a verb.
Stop maximoting me.
No, that sounds encouraging.
Stop maximoting all over my life.
Much better. Yes, that seems accurate.
Though he’d probably see it as a compliment having even part of his name in the new verb.
Still fuming, I spin on my heel and storm up the stairs. Sienna sticks her head out of her bedroom.
“Are you okay, Mia?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. It’s obvious I’m not.
“Go back to bed,” I tell her, not breaking my stride.
She frowns. “It’s only six o’clock.”
I continue marching down the hallway.
“Um, yeah. Okay. Don’t then.”
“Mia?”
“Ignore me. I’m having a moment.”
I push my bedroom door open with enough force that it crashes against the wall.
Unfortunately, self-awareness and self-control are not the same thing, because a second later I swing it shut just as hard, the bang echoing through the hallway.
My fingers itch to throw something. Ideally against Maximo’s obnoxiferous head.
My eyes dart around the room in search of a suitable projectile and land on the piece of chocolate cake I’d smuggled up earlier.
I’d happily smash that in his face.
Then again, it would be a waste of perfectly good cake. Maximo isn’t worth sacrificing chocolate for.
I sit down at my vanity and pick up the fork, spearing a generous piece before popping it into my mouth.
Ahh.
I sigh. For one glorious moment, the rich chocolate melts on my tongue, and the world rights itself a tiny bit. Just enough to remind me that there are still a few good things left in life. Cake being chief among them.
I take another bite. Then another. Unfortunately, chocolate is no match for a six-foot-something Chicago tyrant with boundary issues.
He saw the pictures.
I grimace, rubbing the back of my neck.
He saw me in lingerie… posing… suggestively.
Dammit. That book was supposed to be for my eyes only. And now I don’t even know what the photographs look like, while Maximo has seen every single page.
I squeeze my eyes shut in fresh mortification, as though that might somehow undo the last twenty minutes and make everything unseen again.
If only.
Heat floods my face all over again. With a groan, I push away from the vanity and veer into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.
The relief lasts all of five seconds.
God, I’m ready to explode.
I need to talk to Isa. When is she going to check her phone already? There’s still been no peep from her.
Going to the bedside table, I pull my phone out and check yet again for a message from my sister. Nothing.
My eyes land on Rory’s name. She kept insisting I was going to love the pictures, that they turned out even better than she thought. I hope she can make me another album.
I open a new message to her.
Me: Kill me now. I’m going to die of mortification.
Rory replies almost immediately.
Rory: What happened?
I flop backward onto my bed.
Me: Maximo found the book. I have no idea how.
Three dots appear.
Rory: Fuck, I’m so sorry. I left it at the gatehouse because I was running late to help Dad with planting more trees in your greenhouse. It didn’t even occur to me they’d inspect it for anything suspicious.
I frown at the screen and slowly sit upright as a terrible realization creeps in.
Me: What do you mean, inspect it for anything suspicious?
The three dots appear, indicating Rory is typing. Then they stop and don’t resume.
Me: Rory?
The message changes to “Read”, but my new friend still isn’t responding. Oh God, this is bad, isn’t it?
Me: Are you trying to tell me some guards saw the book too?
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Appears again.
Rory: Umm…
I drop my forehead into my hand.
Suddenly Maximo finding the photographs isn’t the worst part anymore. Some complete strangers standing around in a gatehouse flipping through pictures of me in lingerie might actually kill me.
I should book a flight back to Sicily tonight. But the tales of my adventures would travel there too. Soldiers are the worst gossipers. Maybe moving to Antarctica would be safer.
Me: I can never leave the house again.
Rory: You’re being dramatic.
A second message follows.
Rory: You have nothing to be ashamed of. You look amazing in those photos. Be proud of them.
I stare at that for a moment.
Me: I wish I could comment on that, but I haven’t seen them yet.
The typing bubble immediately reappears.
Rory: What do you mean?
I let out an exasperated laugh.
Me: Maximo kept the book.
There’s a noticeably longer pause this time before her response arrives.
Rory: Fuck.
Me: Exactly.
I toss my phone onto the bed. The more distance I get from the conversation downstairs, the angrier I become all over again.
Embarrassment is one thing. Humiliation is another. But the sheer arrogance of confiscating something that belongs to me and then acting as though I’m the one who needs explaining?
I grab my phone again.
Me: He was livid. He thought Lee Roberts was a man.
Letting him suffer under that assumption was so satisfying. Too bad it won’t last. A quick Google search will show him Rory Palma and Lee Roberts are one and the same.
Rory: ???? Hmm, I’m not surprised. He considers you his already.
He can stick his claim somewhere deeply uncomfortable.
Me: I let him believe it. He deserved every second of his ridiculous possessiveness.
Rory: Evil. I like it. ????
I hesitate a moment, not sure if I should warn her. Dammit, I’d better. I can’t have her unprepared.
Me: I fear he might pay you a visit.
The typing bubble appears, and a second later a new message pops up.
Rory: There’s a knock on my door.
I blink. My stomach drops. That was fast. Surely it can’t be Maximo already, can it?
Me: Merda.
There’s no answer for five straight minutes. My message doesn’t even change to “Read.”
Oh God, what’s happening at Rory’s studio?
I keep staring at the screen, willing the three dots to move. Nothing. I wait another two minutes before texting again.
Me: Rory???
I chew on the tip of my finger, my foot bouncing.
Is she in trouble because of me? What is Maximo going to do to her?
Me: Rory? What’s happening?
Another ten minutes tick by and, against all reason, I’ve started pacing again. If anybody was watching me, they might assume I’ve developed a sudden passion for exercise.
My phone starts ringing, and I lunge for it, nearly dropping the thing.
Rory.
“Finally. Please tell me you’re okay,” I say the second I answer.
Her laugh crackles through the speaker, and I relax a little. She wouldn’t laugh if she was hurt in any way, would she?
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What happened?” I ask.
There’s a brief pause. “Your future husband happened.”
I let out a loud groan.
“Don’t even joke about that.” I’ve had enough of that man. “What did he do?”
“Honestly? He was surprisingly polite.”
I sit upright. “That’s not reassuring.”
“No, it really isn’t.”
The amusement in her voice vanishes.
“He took the memory cards.”
For a second I just stare at the wall.
“He what?”
“The memory cards. The backups. Every digital copy.”
My jaw drops. “He can’t do that.”
“Well, he did.”
Of course, because Maximo’s solution to every problem is to confiscate things until the problem ceases to exist.
I drop backward onto the mattress. “That man is unbelievable.”
“You say that like it’s new information.”
Good point.
“I haven’t even seen the photographs.” Even to my own ears I sound whiny as hell, but I can’t help it.
I genuinely loved the session because, for the first time, I got to be whoever I wanted to be. Now I don’t even know what that version of me looked like.
“You could steal the album back,” Rory suggests.
I consider it for half a second. “If I knew his safe combination, I totally would.”
“Or…” I can hear the grin in her voice. “We could do another shoot.”
I bite my lip and start laughing. Of course that would be Rory’s solution.
“I bet he told you we can’t do another session.”
“Actually, I don’t think that occurred to him.” She sounds far too pleased by that fact. “I got the impression that, in his mind, it’s obvious to both of us that he disapproves. And given he’s Don, that’s normally enough.”
“Normally,” I laugh. “That doesn’t apply to me. Plus, he’s not my Don.”
“Well, he’s mine,” Rory points out. “But seeing as he never specifically forbade it, I believe we’re operating in a delightful gray area.”
I chuckle. “That’s not how mafia rules work.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Then I choose to believe the slate is clean.”
“But make sure I get the book this time.” I pause, considering the problem. “Actually, better make two copies.”
“Why two?”
“Because Maximo nearly had a coronary over the first one. Of course I’m going to use the second one to annoy him. And knowing him, he’ll confiscate that book too.” I grin. “But I’ll be prepared this time.”
Rory lets out a bark of laughter.
“Can you make sure there are cameras around to record it? Because that would be entertaining.”
I giggle, my bad mood finally lifting. I’m enjoying this scheming far more than I should.
“You are a terrible influence,” I tell her.
“Thank you.” I hear the smile in her voice. “But you’re just as evil.”
I am.
And if Maximo thinks confiscating one album is enough to stop me, he’s about to be very disappointed.
The worrying part is that I’m already looking forward to seeing his reaction.