“I am,” she said. “I always will.”
“Ms. Fausti.” The photographer held up his camera. “We will be doing the official interview after the shoot, but out of curiosity, do you have a partner?”
Her eyes slammed into mine, narrowing. Daring me to open my mouth.
“Ms. Fausti?”
Our stare down was intense. She opened her mouth to respond as a teardrop slid down her cheek, but a male voice came out instead.
“Mia Fausti is my fiancé.”
The photographer whirled around at the same time we looked away from each other.
Elio Ascari strolled into the room, taking her by the other arm. “Tesoro,” he said.
She slid out of both of our holds. She was afraid he’d try to kiss her cheek and I’d throw him through the attic window.
She was right.
And herdeer in the headlights expressionearlier made sense. She felt uneasy because she knew this pompous prick was coming. Or maybe it was something else. It was hard to tell with her sometimes.
I started laughing and then stopped abruptly. “I’m her fiancé.”
Mia’s mouth popped open before her eyes narrowed into daggers and she crossed her arms over her chest. Elio went to take a step forward, so did I, and it was the photographer who got in the middle.
“I know his name.” He stuck a thumb at Elio’s hair. “What is your name?”
“Saverio,” I said. “Saverio Macchiavello.”
“This is interesting,” the photographer said.
“I’m on a tight deadline,” Mia said politely, even though, if it could happen, steam would have been coming out of her ears. “Can we please get back to business?”
Elio took a spot on one side of the room, and I took the other, where I’d been before, while the shoot continued. We mostly watched each other. I was thinking of all the ways to kill this motherfucker. He thought he had balls of steel. Steel wasn’t going to help him. He’d need wings. He was about to fly out the window.
After the session was done, everyone filed out ahead of us. Elio went before Mia, Mia followed him, but I stopped her by grabbing her arm. She tried to fling me off, but I held steady.
“That earlier look,” I said. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s something—off. I feel a little—off.”
“Sick?”
“No,” she said. “Not exactly.”
“Are you feeling what you did when the prop tried to kill me?”
She shook her head. “Same vein, but…different.”
“Mia—”
“I don’t know!” she hissed at me. “I’m anxious, all right?”
“You’re sick,” I said. “That’s what we’ll tell them. You’re not performing tonight if something feels off.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not the show. My heart, Rio.” She shrugged. “I think it’s my heart.”
She looked forward to where Elio was waiting for her on the steps. His eyes were narrowed, trying to see what we were doing.
