“I’m out.”
“Out where?”
There’s another pause.
Then a man’s voice drifts through the line.
“Here’s your iced tea,” he says lightly. “Just the way you like it.”
My brain stalls.
No. It can’t be.
No fucking way.
That voice doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t belong anywhere near her.
Not in New York. And sure as hell not here in Italy.
I straighten, pulse slamming into a hard, bruising rhythm.
Chad.
That’s Chad.
He followed her here. On ourhoneymoon?
For a second, I don’t breathe. I don’t fucking move.
A soft thank-you leaves Isla’s lips, and the sound slices straight through the shock, igniting something violent inside my chest.
My hand tightens around the phone until my knuckles burn. “Isla, is that Chad?”
“Yes, Knox. It is.”
Dorian goes still again, leveling me with a hard stare, eyes wide with the same disbelief crashing through me.
“What the fuck is he doing there?” I try to keep my voice down, but it tears out anyway.
“He’s here on business.”
“Like fuck he is. That’s one hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
She sighs, loud enough that it punches through the speaker. “These things do happen.”
“I want you to leave.”
“No. I’m not leaving. But I am ending this call.”
“Isla, don’t you dare hang up that phone.” My free hand balls into a fist.
“I’m going, Knox.”
“Love… just get up and leave that asshole. Who follows someone on their honeymoon?”
“Knox, I’m fine. Please get back to yourwork. If that’s where you really are.”
Damn it. “Isla?—”
