She stopped at the top of the hill, finding a nice leafy tree for them to seek shade under. It was still early morning but it was already a balmy twenty-five degrees. She set about propping Anna on a blanket and kicking off her shoes. She had brought some fruit and bread as a midmorning snack, and laughed as Anna grabbed a piece of melon from her hand and sucked on it greedily.
She would be all right here, she told herself as she munched on her own fruit. She had her daughter and her privacy and that was all that mattered right now.
Once they had finished eating it was nearing eleven, and much hotter. She stood up, stretching her leg muscles from being cramped underneath her for so long. She looked further ahead of her, to the hill that led to the church. For some reason she felt suddenly unnerved by the quiet that usually calmed her.
A man was standing there, beside a black car, his face partially obscured by a wide straw hat. He looked like a local, she thought, her mind working overtime to process her sudden feeling of unease.
Without warning the man pulled a dark bag out of the car, unclipped a large telescopic camera and began walking down the hill towards her.
Paparazzi. Nicole didn’t waste a moment. Abandoning her picnic and the blanket, she covered Anna’s face and walked as fast as she could manage in the opposite direction. She looked over her shoulder, and sure enough the man was pulling out the high-scope lens and breaking into a run. Her heart beat hard in her chest as she fought to hold Anna close, still shielding her face.
She broke into a run down the hill but, having abandoned her sandals with their picnic, found her bare feet soon ravaged by the rough terrain. Every step proved to be pure agony as she tried frantically to stay ahead of her pursuer.
Her steps faltered as she heard a scuffling behind her. Turning to check he wasn’t gaining on her, she lost her footing and caught her heel on a sharp rock. Anna began to cry—a sharp, piercing sound that sent waves of pain straight to Nicole’s heart. The man was gaining on them—fast.
He didn’t care if her daughter was terrified, she thought angrily. All he wanted was a million-euro picture of her child. There was no way in hell he was getting it.
Hissing with the pain, she stood straight and forced herself to put pressure on her foot, feeling tears prick her eyes. They were almost at the gates, she told herself. They were almost safe. She shouted for the security guards who stood sentry there, her voice shaking with adrenaline. Anna was crying in earnest now, her little body shaking as she clung to her blouse.
Mercifully the men responded quickly, running out of their hut to meet her. But they were quickly overtaken by the appearance of her husband, his face a mask of pure rage.
CHAPTER NINE
RIGO’S FIST CONNECTED squarely with the photographer’s fleshy jaw, sending him to the ground instantly, where he lay cowering. He grabbed the camera, hurtling it at the boundary wall of the estate with a satisfying smash.
‘You’re going to regret this, Marchesi.’ The man spat blood onto the ground, groaning as he held his rapidly swelling jaw.
Rigo leaned down, grabbing him by the collar and watching him wince in preparation for another punch.
Nicole’s hand on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from pummelling the man to within an inch of his life. The red rage lifted and the sound of his daughter’s terrified cries was suddenly all he could hear.
His security guards stepped in, pulling the man to his feet and holding him in their grasp while one began contacting the local law enforcement.
Rigo reached out, taking Anna from Nicole’s shaking arms. The little girl nestled into him, her cries still fearful but not as piercing now that he held her close. Holding Nicole by the arm, he guided her away from the ugly scene, back towards the villa as his heart hammered painfully in his chest.
Once inside, Rigo calmed Anna with quiet shushing until she was laughing once more. He set her down in her playpen and surrounded her with toys. He had to tend to Nicole’s injured feet. The sight of her panic-stricken face flashed through his mind, making his fists clench. He blocked it out. Needing to do something practical to calm himself, and to stop himself from running out and physically attacking the rat once more, he grabbed a first-aid box from the kitchen, getting to work cleaning her raw wounds and bandaging the more open cuts.
Nicole hissed with pain. ‘I lost my shoes when I ran from him.’
Rigo clenched his jaw. ‘He’s going to be taken care of—don’t worry.’
‘He’s going to sue you for attacking him,’ Nicole whispered, looking past him to the windows.
‘I’d like to see him try,’ Rigo gritted, putting one last rub of salve on her skin before closing up the kit with a dull click.