I parked outside Matilda’s apartment complex in a short-stay bay, not bothering to go to the underground parking lot. It was close to midnight, so I wasn’t staying long.
“I’ll walk you up,” I said, climbing out of the car to meet her at her side. The door slammed shut at the same time I heard the sharp, incessant click of camera shutters. To my right, a horde of paparazzi swarmed from behind the bushes. There must have been at least twenty-five of the vultures.
“Luca, can you tell us what happened tonight?”
“Are you two dating?”
“Matilda, how do you feel about rumors of Luca still dating other women?”
Voices shouted over each other from every direction, paparazzi pressing around thecar.
“Move,” I bellowed, pushing a camera lens from my face as I searched for Matilda. She stumbled back against the car door, her chest heaving as she held her bandaged wrist to her body protectively. Her head whipped around, looking for an escape from the circle of paparazzi that was tightening around her. I didn’t think—my body moved on instinct, shoving people out of theway.
“Luca.” My name on her lips as her panicked gaze squintedagainst the flashing lights flipped something in me I hadn’t even known was there. “Stop. Please,” she begged, and I snapped.
“Out. Of. My. Way.” Blood roared in my ears, a hot surge of anger pulsing through every vein. I pushed through the people, not caring who was in myway.
“Matilda!” I called. Her wide, frantic eyes immediately found mine. She shouldered her way through the throng. I held out my hand. She reached forward.
Her small palm gripped my wrist, and I pulled her toward me, using my body to create a barrier between her and the horde.
“Back up!” I shouted, hoping to spook them out of theway.
“Matilda, is it true Luca isn’t the first celebrity you’ve dated?” a voice shouted.
“Luca, look over here!” another called from the back of the crowd.
I pulled Matilda from the throng, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. We just had to get inside. They couldn’t trespass, so once we were inside, we were safe.
They followed us, their shouts getting louder and more desperate as we neared the door.
“Hey!” someone shouted, and Matilda was yanked out from under myarm.
Everything unraveled in a blur.
Matilda let out a shriek as a paparazzo grabbed her arm—the one clutched against her chest. She tried to wrench it free, but his grip slid down, tugging at her bandaged wrist.
My heart cracked at the muffled sob that escaped her lips. The pained sound was worse than if she’d cried out. It wasn’t loud; it didn’t need tobe.
“Get your fucking hands off her right this second.” I pushed forward, gripping his wrist. If I hadn’t been so intent on getting Matilda inside, I’d have made sure he was never able to use thathand again. He cried out, the sound music to my ears, and dropped her wrist. I barged him out of the way and wrapped my arm back around Matilda, ushering her toward the door.
“Do you have your keys, sweetheart?” I kept my voice gentle, despite the tight clench of my jaw. She reached a hand into her hoodie pocket and tossed me her keys. I buzzed us into the building and slammed the door shut behind us, locking the paparazziout.
I spun, needing to see her face—check that she wasOK.
She wasn’t.
Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she didn’t make a sound. She’d gone back to cradling her wrist against her chest, but now it trembled. No—it wasn’t just her wrist trembling, her whole body was.
“Come here,” I whispered, and opened my arms. She fell into them, heaved a deep breath in and out as her face pressed against my chest.
I was used to the media’s bullshit—but Matilda wasnot.
“I’m so sorry. Is your wrist OK? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No—no hospital. It’s fine. I just need some ice and bed, I think.”
I pulled back and gently cupped her face, my thumb brushing away a stray tear as I searched her eyes, looking for the truth. She gave the slightest reassuring nod, and I swallowed, my throat tightening painfully.
