HER ITALIAN BODYGUARD

10. A SUPRISE GUEST

CHAPTER TEN

A SURPRISE GUEST

My parents can’t find out about his cheating. That was the very first condition I gave him. Second: no one and I mean, no single f*****g person in the outside world hears a whisper of his infidelity or the child that’s come out of it, not until I say so.

Third: he cuts off all personal contact with Evelyn. If they must speak for professional reasons, it can only be in the presence of others. No private meetings. No messages. No late-night phone calls under the guise of work.

These weren’t suggestions. These were terms.

Now, with my shift at the hospital over, I’ve got the next three days off. Diane’s gone to Everwood Cove to visit her parents, which means I have no solid plans except to breathe and maybe, just maybe, remember what peace feels like.

Right now, I’m stuck in traffic, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with Taylor Swift’s voice blasting through my speakers. The volume’s too high. I don’t care. It keeps my mind from spiraling.

I glance at my watch. Four hours to go before the charity gala.

Everything's gone according to plan this past week. The venue is prepped, the guest list confirmed, the wine pairing tested. Twice. Even my mother-in-law called to sort of compliment me in her usual backhanded way. I’ll take it.

When traffic finally clears, I make it home with just enough time to squeeze in a thirty-minute nap before the styling team arrives with the gown I picked-gold and velvet green, to match the gala’s theme. I’m almost excited.

But that brief glimmer of joy dies the moment I pull up to the house.

Rita, the head of the house staff, is bent over the roses I planted in the makeshift garden just outside the mansion. Her apron is dusted with soil, and she’s humming softly, her back to me.

“Rita,” I call, offering a smile as I step out of the car, “please tell me there’s still some of that menudo rojo left. I’ve been craving it all day.”

She straightens and smiles warmly. “I’ll warm it up for you now, ma’am.”

“No need. I’ll do it myself,” I reply, heading toward the front door. “How hard can it be?”

But then she says something that stops me cold.

“There’s someone inside waiting to see you. Your husband’s publicist. I believe her name is Evelyn.”

The name hits me like a stone to the chest. My stomach twists into something icy and sick. That b***h. She’s in my house? The nerve. The absolute nerve.

“Thanks for telling me,” I say tightly, managing a nod.

“Yes, ma’am.” She turns back to her roses, clearly unaware of the storm she’s just released.

I step inside, immediately greeted by three of the day maids, all offering polite smiles and soft greetings. I kick off my shoes, slipping into the indoor ones and make my way toward the lounge area, my pulse hammering in my ears.

There she is.

Evelyn.

Sitting on the edge of the couch like she doesn’t quite belong, gazing out onto the terrace like she’s waiting for someone to come save her. She startles when she hears me, quickly rising to her feet.

I pause at the doorway, taking her in. Her face is puffy, eyes red. She’s been crying. Good.

“You’ve got some nerve,” I say coolly, crossing my arms.

She swallows hard, fidgeting with her fingers. “He won’t talk to me,” she blurts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice is shaky. “Look, I know what I did was wrong. I crossed the line. I broke a boundary. I get that. I get that you’re pissed. But I’m carrying his child, and he should be part of that, don’t you think?”

My gaze flicks to her stomach, flat still, but not for long. She thinks she can appeal to me as a woman. She thinks I’ll feel some sisterly compassion because she’s pregnant. For my husband. She’s dead wrong.

I feel nothing but disgust. For her. For him.

They didn’t just have a fling. They destroyed something sacred. They burned down the life I was building and now she wants a seat at my table? They are both snakes and I’ll make them pay while I still can.

I take a slow step forward, letting her feel the weight of my silence. Every inch of me screams for a reaction; to yell, to throw something, to make her feel even a fraction of what I’ve felt, but I keep my expression unreadable. Controlled. Inside, though? A thousand thoughts are clawing at the walls of my chest.

“How did it feel?” I finally ask, my voice low but razor-sharp.

Evelyn blinks. “Excuse me?”

I study her. Like really look at her. At the nervous way she shifts her weight, the hint of guilt in her eyes, the tremble in her hands. But I’m not here to feel sorry for her.

“Watching him make a fool out of me in public,” I say, taking another step closer. “How did that feel? Did it make you feel powerful? Vindicated? In all those moments you smiled at my face while I treated you like one of my husband’s most trusted employees, did you feel clever? Did it make you feel good, knowing you were screwing him behind my back for three goddamn months?”

She flinches. “Three months?” Her voice catches. “Is that… is that what he told you?”

The ice in my stomach thickens. Another lie. Of course. I shouldn’t surprised at this point.

I arch a brow. “Then how long was it?”

She hesitates. Her lips part, but nothing comes out right away. Then finally, she swallows hard and answers.

“A little over five months,” she admits. “We were working late one night, trying to manage that media scandal, remember? That story the press was running after the ex-employee went rogue. We were tired. We had a few drinks. And then… it just happened.” She lowers her eyes. “I tried to pull away after that. I did. But then, that business trip three months ago… and we just… we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

She looks up at me then, eyes swimming with some twisted form of sincerity.

“I know you love him,” she whispers. “But I do too.”

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. That word again.

Love.

Everyone keeps throwing it around like it explains everything. Like it justifies betrayal. Like it has the power to erase consequence.

“I’ll tell you what, Evelyn,” I say, taking one final step forward until I’m standing just a breath away from her. “I may have lost a lot of things in this mess. My trust, my peace, my faith in the man I married but I’ll be damned if I let you take over my house.”

Her lips part like she wants to argue. I cut her off before she can try.

“Now get the hell out before I call security and have them drag you out by your overpriced extensions.”

She blinks, stunned. And then, maybe wisely, she turns without another word and walks out.

I don’t move until I hear the front door shut behind her. Even then, I don’t exhale. Not fully.