“Mr. Elliot. What do you have to say about the allegations that Ms. Blair was duping you all along?”
The question felt like being stabbed with a knife.
As I’d done, Christian reared back, but before he could take a swing, suddenly another man stepped in front of him.
“That’s enough. If you have any questions of my clients, you will direct them to me.”
“And who are you?” a female reporter asked.
“Michael Jeffries, attorney at law.” I remembered seeing him in the bar the night Christian and I had first kissed.
“Come on,” Christian said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Ms. Blair. Can you please comment on your brother’s condition? Where is he being held?”
Christian shook his head, placing his finger over his mouth.
I pushed him way just enough to face the reporter. “As I said before. No comment.”
“That’s it,” Michael told the crowd. “All questions are to be directed to my office.” He turned to face us. “Go. I’ll follow you in a minute.”
“Keep them the fuck away from me,” Christian growled.
“I’m trying, buddy. I’m trying.”
As Christian held me, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, I remained stunned. I had no idea what to think, but one thing I knew with certainty. Christian wasn’t responsible.
“Where are we going?” he asked gently.
I could still hear the roar of the reporters. “Apartment three twenty-two.”
We didn’t make it to the steps before we were approached by another reporter, a cameraman trailing behind.
“Mr. Elliot. Are you still going to marry Ms. Blair even though she lied to and used you? Ms. Blair, I understand your father intervened, preventing your brother from going to prison and getting him in a decent facility while you played house. Is there any truth to that statement?”
What? Was my father behind this? I clung to Christian, unable to form any words.
There was no way to stop Christian from reacting, the man moving quickly.
He threw not one but two brutal punches, the second pitching the reporter into the cameraman, tossing both to the concrete with a savage thud.
The gasps turned into dead silence while the cameras continued to roll. The quiet didn’t stop Christian, who strode to the twofallen men, glaring down at them. “Get it through your worthless brains that this beautiful, talented, intelligent woman never lied or used me. Just the opposite. I was the one who blackmailed her into marriage. Something I will regret for the rest of my life.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do, Christian. I can try talking to Lopez.”
Michael had followed us to the house, insisting on trying to help the situation. Both their phones had rung off the hook. I didn’t know about mine since I’d turned my phone off. I don’t how I managed to drive back to the house. I remembered nothing except that I was following Christian.
My heart ached, my stomach in knots and I only prayed no one had found out where Donovan was staying.
Psychiatric hospital. Only one person could be so cruel. My father. Yet he’d made himself out to be the hero. A real family man. All glow and show for Lopez, the Spaniard buying the bullshit.
The only call I’d made was to Amelia, warning her to leave the office, but by then, it had already been too late. She’d been hounded both on the phone and by people stopping by.
What struck me as funny was from what she’d said was that the comments had been half and half. Some calling me a gold-digger while others saying it was obvious from what they’d seen we were in love.
Amelia had handled it like a champ, but I couldn’t stand it for her. Something had to be done. I’d gone from being shocked to being enraged.
Neither Christian nor I had been able to stomach watching the videos posted on every social media outlet and every network. What was the point? To rub it in? Thankfully, Donovan wasn’t allowed outside interference including televisions or radios while on probation. Thank God for small favors.
