“Maybe.”
“Would you rather we talked about what happened at the hospital last year?”
“I would rather we meet on Friday night and talk about whatever you want to talk about. Or we don’t have to talk at all.”
Artina starts to sweat. “I’m seeing someone,” she whispers.
“What was that?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“I don’t know if you know that my mother was seeing someone when Massio forced her to marry him.”
Artina glances at the door.
The camera stops rolling, and the man steps from behind it. “I think we should leave.”
“You think? Why did you follow me when I promised you an interview already?”
Artina might hyperventilate, but she’s smart and grabs her shoes from under her chair. “I just wanted to see where you’re headed. You let me in the building.”
“I can’t very well leave you outside and have you report from there, drawing more attention to my family’s private affairs. I promised you an interview. I told you to drop the other event and clear the street. You decided not to tell anyone to clear the street. You followed me here. Those are your decisions, not mine. What I do with how you’ve reacted, namely, choosing not to listen to me and do what I asked of you, is now up to me. Get the fuck out of here,” I order. “If you follow me again, you’ll need new legs.”
Renne
“Come out, little mouse.”
When I’m sure the news crew has left, I sling back the curtain and march toward where Connor is sprawled with Hanna on her belly on his chest. I stop between his long legs and grip the armrests of the chair.
“What the hell are you thinking, putting my baby on the news?” I hiss, wishing I could yell at him. Or slap him. But he’s holding my daughter and disarming me for no good reason. Damn it!
Since I’m hovering over him, he tilts his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple. His blue eyes hood. “When you come at me aggressively like that, you better either jump on my lap or get on your knees.”
“Hush. The baby.”
“She understands nothing, and she’s about to take a nap. Perfect timing.” A man dressed in tactical pants rolls in a black stroller. It’s one of those sleek, futuristic-looking, egg-shaped strollers with gold trim.
Connor jerks his head toward the stroller. “Put her in, Mamma.”
I take a moment to internally rebel against this gift, but it’s for my baby, and it’s a beautiful stroller I could never afford. “Thank you.” I put Hanna on her blanket and cover her with a spare from the diaper bag, then linger for a moment. She looks so cute in there.
Connor stands. “You’re on babysitting duty.”
The man in tactical pants, who looks like he could take on a medium-sized enemy village all by himself, appears terrified. “What do I do?”
“Sit here and do nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, you can stroll her over by the corner where there’s more sun. She’ll get some vitamin D.” Connor grabs my hand and drags me back to the dressing room.
“I don’t want my baby on TV.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“That’s what I said. Though I’m curious why you didn’t come and get her yourself.”