Page 45 of Irreplaceable
“It’s not just about the camera. The SD card had all my photos for the studio as well as images I’d planned to sell to a stock photo website.”
“Wait.” Confusion and regret swirled through me, and I wondered if I’d misheard. “A stock photo website? Not the tabloids?”
She frowned. “Why would the tabloids want images of the market in Bali?” She paused, and I watched her dawning realization. “Oh. Of you? You thought I’d sell the images of you to the tabloids?” Her expression clouded. “I don’t even know who you are, but I would never ever do that.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Cazzo. I had gotten this all wrong. Despite how badly I’d treated Harper, she still hadn’t sold me out to the tabloids. Literally. And it seemed as if she’d never intended to.
“I’ll give the SD card back,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I will. I have it in the safe in my room upstairs.”
“Really?” she scoffed, and I was relieved everyone else had gone back inside.
“Yes, really. And I’ll replace your camera.”
“It’s fine. I don’t need it anymore,” she said, but it felt as if she’d told me she didn’t need me anymore.
“Uccellina, per favore.” I reached out for her, covering her hand with mine. Couldn’t she see I was trying?
“Don’t call me that,” she seethed, flicking away my hand. “Not after how you treated me. What happened to quando finisce la partita il re ed il pedone finiscono nella stessa scatola?”
I swallowed hard and dipped my chin. I hated the way she’d thrown my father’s words—the words of my tattoo—back at me, though I deserved it. Hell, I’d thought the same myself. I hadn’t treated her with respect like I should’ve. The respect she deserved.
But apparently, she wasn’t done. “I can’t believe that after everything…” She shook her head. “I mean, the things you accused me of…” The way she looked at me was a punch to the gut. “You were the one who lied. About your name. About who you were. Everything was a lie.”
“Not everything.” I invaded her space, trapping her against the railing. “The way you made me feel when we were together wasn’t a lie. The batik—I chose that design because you made me feel joy and freedom like no one and nothing else.”
The way she made me feel now wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t seen her in months, but our attraction was just as palpable and real as it had been in Bali. There was still so much unsaid between us. Surely she felt it too—the undeniable pull.
From behind me, a man’s voice called, “Harper?”
Her eyes widened, and my attention snapped to him. We were about the same height, but we couldn’t be more different in appearance. He was so very buttoned-up in his tuxedo, his broad shoulders and blond hair making me think he was an athlete. But he was so different from me. No tattoos. No scars.
I stepped back to give her some space, and he took that as an invitation to slip his arm around her waist. A surge of jealousy had me nearly growling at him to back off. What the hell?
I’d never experienced this type of possessiveness when I’d been with Giada.
Instead, I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked on my heels, wondering if this was why Harper refused to have a drink with me. Was it because of him? Was she seeing someone—this coglione?