Page 94

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, wiping my forehead with the hem of my shirt.

She held out her tablet without a word.

I took it and narrowed my eyes at the display, open to a news app with a headline from an international gossip magazine.

I furrowed my brow, trying to make sense of the page.

‘Damn it,’ I muttered, zooming in on a series of paparazzi photographs.

The digital images showed a couple cavorting on a speedboat, entering a private villa, and locking lips at a restaurant table.

‘Massimo? The hell?’

The tabloids went on to give the full, graphic details of Massimo Canelli’s affair with his 22-year-old co-star, Francesca Olivetti.

The article included anonymous hearsay from a crew member describing their ‘flaming hot’ chemistry on set.

The story came with a blurry video of Ana’s husband trying to chase the photographers away from a mansion on Lake Como where he’d holed up with his mistress.

Worse, the journalists dragged Ana’s name into the mud, predicting she’d be devastated, analyzing their marriage, and making wild forecasts about a messy, expensive divorce.

‘The hell?’ I repeated. ‘Massimo is a cad, but this is top-tier betrayal. Which makes him a vulgar little maggot, a freakin’ worthless bag of filth.’

‘Agreed, Deacon. What are we going to do?’ Christine whispered. ‘It’s the number one trending topic all over the news.’

I thought for a moment.

There was nothing else to do.

‘I have to tell her now. Hell, she doesn’t deserve any of this public humiliation.’

Fuck Massimo, the paparazzi, and trashy gossip rags.

Granted, negative press came with the territory when a famous name got caught in a scandal, but seeing them drag Ana into her husband’s mess made my blood boil.

Christine nodded while I took a breath and jerked my chin at her.

‘Thanks for the alert. Wish me luck.’

I prowled down the quiet hallway, my chest tight with fury.

I knocked on Ana’s door, but when she didn’t answer, I turned the knob and slipped inside, spotting her in bed.

Ana was deep asleep, her face soft and unaware of the storm to come, her dark hair tumbling over the white pillow.

Her phone was buzzing on her nightstand, and I glanced at it.

The screen flashed with unread texts and missed-call notifications, no doubt from friends and family checking in.

My heart twisted at the thought of what she was about to go through.

With a sigh, I went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Ana,’ I said, shaking her gently. ‘Wake up, mama.’

She jolted awake and blinked.

Her eyes focused on me, and she smiled with such tender warmth that it sent an arc of emotion through me.