“They think of you as a hungry-eyed beast,” Rocco said, wearing a shit-eating grin. “It is your eyes.”
Eat me!
How does she stay in one piece?
I’d be more inclined to get into cars if you’d take your shirt off while working on that motor.
Hot damn. Hat turned backwards, shirtless, I’m covered in sweat just looking.
Brando Piero Fausti. His name is just sooooo sexy.
A bunch of shit came after the comment that it seemed like nothing but a fancy trick of the computer’s. Some of the comments were in Italian.
“Scarlett’s seen this,” I said.
Violet nodded. “She doesn’t mind.”
My eyes challenged the statement. Violet took Guido by the arm, hauling him off to another area of the house, already halfway through with setting up his account. She was about to weave him further into her sticky web. He raced toward it.
“Ciao,” Guido said, looking down at his phone. “I have one follower!”
“Violet,” I called, feeling the blood rush straight to my head. She stopped, keeping a hand on Guido’s arm. “I want off. Now.”
“Talk to Scarlett about it!”
“Adesso,” I snapped.
She pretended not to hear me as she raced out, Guido close on her heels.
* * *
Internet Cadet was the perfect way to describe me. Once the first floor had cleared, I went back to Scarlett’s page, going through each of the pictures. I had to stop myself from going to retrieve her from practice and causing a scene when I found pictures of her and Bacchi.
One picture in particular struck me as too intimate—rage started to creep its way from the depths of a dark place.
She was lifted in his arms, his big hands cradling her small waist and hips. His bare hands touched her skin, close to the ass that belonged to me. Her stomach fell against his face, the top portion of her body stuck in the perfect pose, head down, arms up. It was his expression that stabbed me.Ecstasy.It was taken during one of their rehearsals.
Another.
Them kissing during rehearsal, then another, during a performance in Verona. It was taken during our first trip back to Italy, when they had performedRomeo and Julietat the coliseum there.
Scarlett had danced on that stage, the same place where Gladiators had set one foot in front of the other to meet uncertain fates. She stood there with Bacchi, hugging him after the last performance.
I was purposelessly finding them, overlooking other posts—book signings (reposts, where the title claimed that she made the room breathless), jewelry she had promoted, practices, pictures of her that were taken around the city for an art gallery—too angered to stop.
Violet’s voice pulled me from my quick decent into madness. I looked at the watch on my wrist. Three hours had gone by. Fucking sorcery. I shoved the computer away, going toward the door.
The gifts I had bought for Scarlett for our anniversary were being delivered. Violet offered to direct traffic.
“The frames go over the mantle in our bedroom,” I told her. “Have the men leave them by the window. I’ll set them up.”
“Are you sure?” She frowned at me. She lifted her hands. “All right, all right. But you know how she is about her things being moved!”
No sooner had she directed the men toward our room than the door opened again, Peter and three young girls laughing through it.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, my tone sharp.
He sobered up. “Brando, my man,” he said, putting a cold arm around my neck. “These girls are fans of Scarlett’s. I wanted to see if she was home.”
