We lock up my little shoebox and head downstairs, hand in hand.
“Just wait until you try a croissant at this place,” I tell him, wrenching open the front door, “One bite, and—”
An unmistakable, unwelcome commotion rises up and slaps us in the face as we step into the warm daylight. The pop of flashbulbs, desperate waving of microphones, and frantic clamoring bubble up before us. A mob of reporters have been waiting on my doorstep, hoping to catch a glimpse of Siena Lazio and Harrison Davies together again.
“What the bloody hell?” Harrison says, looking out over the crowd.
“How did they know we were here?” I ask, aghast.
“Perhaps your number one fan from last night gave us away?” Harrison suggests.
“Miss Lazio!” calls a reporter.
“Mr. Davies! Mr. Davies!” chants another.
“This is ridiculous,” I growl, “The season is over! What could they possibly want with us?”
“We’re just stepping out for some coffee,” Harrison says, shielding me from the crowd as we make our way down the steps. The reporters close in around us, blocking our way.
“Are you two living together?” chirps a media type.
“How would you define your relationship at this time?” another puts in.
“Are there wedding bells in your future?” queries another.
“There are croissants and coffee in our future,” I say, as patiently as possible, “If you’d all kindly get out of our way.”
“Do you plan to split your time between London and New York?”
“How will your relationship change now that the tournament is over?”
“What’s the sex like?”
“That’s enough,” Harrison growls, taking me by the hand and plowing through the crowd. I try and follow him, but it’s impossible to push through all of these people.
“I don’t want to call the police,” I tell the assembled herd, “But I will have to if you don’t give us some space! Do you understand?”
“This isn’t your property,” sneers a sweaty photographer at my side, “We’ve got every right to be here.”
“And I’ve got every right to a little privacy,” I retort.
“Not when you live in the spotlight, you don’t,” says a short, stocky reporter behind me, “So come on, tell us—who’s usually on top?”
“You’ve got some nerve,” I say, turning away.
“Hey—” the small reporter says, grabbing onto my wrist. “I asked you a question—”
The next moment unfolds as if in slow motion. I feel myself wrenched back to face the horrible man, torn out of Harrison’s grasp. I’m exposed and vulnerable, and every nerve in my body goes into panic mode. My entire world shrinks down to a little olive-sized center of gravity in my core. I cover my stomach with my left hand and haul back my right, bringing a stinging slap down across the reporter’s face.
The man reels away, cursing, as I look on in shock. The crowd backs up a hair, as if worried that I’ll strike at them next. Harrison grabs hold of my arm, concern clouding his face. I stare at the reporter, amazed at what I’ve done.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the man whines.
“You should have kept your hands off of her,” Harrison shoots back.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I tell the reporter.
“Tell it to them,” the man says, nodding at the dozen reporters and photographers looking on, “You’ve always been something of a hitter, haven’t you, Miss Lazio?”
I blush, remembering the doctored video of me slugging Rafael Marques that made the rounds just months ago. The guy has a point. I do seem to have a knack for getting myself into these shitty situations time and again.
Harrison leads me away from the stilled crowd, off into Alphabet City.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, swallowing a smile, “At least you didn’t knock the guy out. It’s the little things—”
“I’m going to get so much hell for this,” I groan, “Between Enzo and the Ferrelli guys, I don’t even want to think about who’s going to be angrier.”
“Don’t think about them,” Harrison tells me, “You’re not beholden to their opinions, anymore. You are your own boss, whether they like it or not.”
“If only that were true,” I sigh, “But we know the owners still hold the reins.”
“Then maybe it’s time you snatched them away,” Harrison winks, “Now, come on. You’ve got me all riled up for the croissants, now. Let’s just enjoy the rest of our day.”
We walk off through the city streets together, trying to forget what’s just happened. But for the life of me, I can’t stop marveling at my motherly instincts that kicked in back there. For the first time, I felt a real surge of protection for the little body inside of mine. And that only makes this whole thing seem all the more immediate.
Take it easy, I think to the tiny life inside of me, we’ve still got a few things to sort out here before you arrive. Like letting your father know you exist, for one.
CHAPTER TEN
Harrison and I barely even make it through coffee before our cell phones start ringing off the hook. Now that our little love nest has been exposed, the attention is raining down once again. And this time, there’s no umbrella of anonymity to be found.
We hurry home as fast as we can, ducking the stray camera that wasn’t scared away by the scene earlier today. Once we’re barricaded in my little studio, we finally let in the deluge of word from the outside world. Another PR emergency? Excellent. At least I’m an old pro at handling these situations by now.
“Oh, god...” I groan, staring down at the screen of my laptop.
“That’s a good shot of you,” Harrison quips, looking over my shoulder.
There I am, captured mid-hit as I lash out at the reporter who tried to grab me. My face is contorted into a mask of rage, my curls flying everywhere. It wasn’t exactly my finest hour, I admit, but anyone would have reacted the way I did if some schlub tried to manhandle her! Especially in my, uh, condition. This whole thing could be explained and pardoned in a second if I could only let the world know I was expecting.
As I’m scrolling through the trashy article beneath my new glamour shot, a message pops up on my screen. I gulp as I see that it’s from Bruno and Carlo Ferrelli—they want to have a little video conference. Right this minute. I can’t very well ignore the message, given our last conversation. I sit cross-legged on my bed, arrange myself as professionally as possible, and accept the call. My bosses’ faces blink into view on my screen. Each Ferrelli man wears a mask of calm sternness, and neither looks happy to see me.
“Siena,” Bruno begins, “Good morning.”
“Good morning Bruno, Carlo,” I reply.
“We’d have asked you to stop by the offices,” Carlo says dryly, “But you seem to be on another continent.”
“Do you need me to let you know when I’m traveling?” I ask, trying to be helpful.
“It’s just sort of strange,” Bruno says, “To leave Italy so soon after becoming an important part of an Italian team. We thought you might stick around and learn the ropes of Team Ferrelli a bit.”
“With all due respect,” I reply, “I’ve spent my entire life learning the ropes of Team Ferrelli, so—”
“Not as a shareholder,” Carlo cuts me off.
“Don’t let him interrupt you,” Harrison hisses from the kitchen.
“What’s that?” Bruno asks.
“Nothing,” I reply, shooting Harrison a look as he pops open a noontime beer.
“Is Mr. Davies there with you?” Carlo asks.
“Um...” I stall, “He’s—”
“Right here!” Harrison calls, striding across the room and sitting down next to me in the frame. “Pleasure to e-meet you both. Hope you don’t mind me sitting in on your little powwow.”
“Not at all, Mr. Davies,” Bruno says, “It’s actually good that we can talk to you both.”
“How handy
,” Harrison grins.
“Siena may have filled you in on our first meeting a couple of weeks ago,” Carlo begins, “We discussed your public image, as a couple—”
“Oh, yeah,” Harrison says, “I heard all about that.”
I shoot him a panicked look as he casually takes a sip of beer. What is he doing, talking to the owners like this?
“I guess you want to chat about what went down this morning?” Harrison goes on.
“That is exactly what we’d like to talk about,” Bruno says, “We’d discussed the fact that it would be helpful for the team if you and Siena avoided behavior that might seem scandalous.”
“You don’t need to talk about her like she’s not here,” Harrison says, nodding my way. A flare of anger cuts through me at being dismissed by these men. Where do they get off?
“Bruno, Carlo,” I say, grabbing hold of the conference, “I know that what happened this morning was a bit off-color—”
“You hit a reporter,” Carlo states, “It’s a serious matter.”
“He grabbed me,” I reply, “I was acting out of a sense of danger. There was nothing wrong with the way I handled that situation.”
“Not legally, perhaps,” Bruno says, “But from a brand-image point of view—”
“Why does it matter so much to you, the way Siena and I live our lives?” Harrison groans, “Last I checked, there was no such thing as bad publicity.”
“But bad reputations, I hope you’ll admit, are quite real,” Carlo says.
“I’ve never been too concerned with my bad reputation,” Harrison smiles.
“No. That’s abundantly clear,” Bruno says.
“Do you have a problem with me that you’d like to air?” Harrison challenges him. For the love of god, are they seriously going to hash this out right now?”
“We think that it’s unfortunate, the way that the media has seized your relationship with Siena and made it into a rumor mill,” Bruno says, as diplomatically as possible, “But we also feel that there are some aspects of your relationship that lend themselves to gossip.”
“That’s called having a good sex life,” Harrison winks.
I whip around to face him, blood pounding in my ears. I’ve had many heated moments with the man, but few that were filled with anger. Is he trying to tank my relationship with Team Ferrelli right now?
“We really do need you both to be more conscious of your public image,” Carlo says shortly, “It’s important for the team.”
“Well, I think that living our lives the way we like is more important than any team,” Harrison shoots back, “And that’s my final say on the matter.”
“Mr. Davies—” Carlo says.
“Sorry, we’ve got some things to attend to over here, like scaring the rest of the press away from our doorstep. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again, gentlemen.”
And before anyone can utter another word, Harrison closes out of the chat window and snaps my laptop closed. He turns to me with a satisfied smile on his face.
“And that is how you win a meeting,” he says.
“What...the hell...is the matter with you?” I say, my eyes fixed on his.
“What do you mean, what’s the matter with me?” Harrison says, standing up from the bed, “Those two were bullying you.”
“My employers and I were trying to have a civil discussion about a complicated issue,” I reply, “A very delicate discussion, I might add. And you bulldozed your way in, acting like a total ass!”
“Come on,” Harrison scowls, “Those stuffed shirts were just going to lecture you. Why the hell do you care about what they think?”
“Maybe because my job depends on it?” I shoot back, jumping up from the bed, “Maybe because Ferrelli has been my entire life, for my entire life, and I value my relationship with the team? And forget about that very obvious fact for a second. What are you doing trying to jump in and fight my battles for me?”
“I was protecting you,” Harrison says, his jaw clenching.
“I don’t need to be protected from a freaking business meeting,” I cry, “I’m more than capable of standing up for myself. I had a whole life before I met you, Harrison, that I feel like I navigated pretty damn well. Don’t insult me by intervening like that.”
“You’re giving these assholes way too much power over you. Over us,” he says, “McClain’s breathing down my neck too, but do you see me changing the way I do things?”
“That’s because you don’t have to change,” I tell him, exasperated, “You’re a man. You can get away with anything.”
“That’s not fair,” Harrison says.
“No, it’s not! But it is true,” I say, crossing my arms, “You’re allowed to be a bad boy, a party animal, whatever you like, but I’m held to a different standard. I need to be smart, professional, likable, sexy, and competent all at once in order to be good at my job. It’s ridiculous, but you know what? I know what I’m doing. I’m good at it.”
“I’m not saying you’re not,” Harrison exclaims, “I just think that you’re letting yourself get walked all over.”
“Maybe I am, but it’s not by my bosses,” I say coolly.
“Are you saying that I walk all over you?” Harrison asks, hurt and angry.
“I think that you’ve been calling the shots between us lately, yes,” I reply, “And that you’ve tended to be in charge since the beginning.”
“Where is this coming from?” Harrison asks, color rising to his face, “We’ve always been equals in this relationship, Siena.”
“Have we?” I ask him honestly.
“How can you even suggest otherwise?” he growls, “Don’t make me into someone I’m not just because you’re frustrated with your damned job.”
“It’s not my job that I’m worried about,” I shout, “Ferrelli is more than a job to me, and you know that! Ferrelli is my life.”
“Fine,” he steams, shoving a hand through his hair, “So, what, you’re willing to change the way we work as a couple for those assholes’ sake? Is being a Ferrelli shareholder more important than being with me?”
“Of course not,” I tell him, “I mean, I can’t believe you’d even phrase it like a damned ultimatum, but—”
“It just seems like maybe you’re not as on board for us being together as I thought,” Harrison tells me, “You know, there is nothing that could keep me from being with you. The way we want to be together. Not McClain, not my family, nothing.”
“This isn’t about me not wanting to be with you!” I say, going to him, “I just need you to respect me enough to let me have some control over my own life.”
I lay a hand on his arm, but he quickly shrugs it away. I flinch back, hurt by his dismissal. The blood rushing through my veins goes cold. This is one of the worst fights we’ve ever had, and over something as stupid as a meeting. But it’s not really the meeting itself I’m upset about, is it? It’s feeling like I’ve lost agency over my own life.
“I’m going to take a walk,” Harrison says, heading for the door.
“Please don’t leave here angry,” I say, “Let’s just talk through this—”
“I need to cool down first,” he says shortly, “Unless you’re fond of people punching holes in these walls, you need to let me go.”
I step back warily. I know that Harrison would rather die than hurt me, but that temper of his is not to be messed with. He wrenches my door open and departs without saying goodbye. I can hear his heavy steps echoing in the stairwell as they descend.
Alone in my shoebox apartment, a crash of loneliness, frustration, and confusion slams into me. I sink down onto the floor in the middle of the room, hot tears springing to my eyes. I wrap my arms around my knees and let the sobs come as they will.
I’ve been watching my life turn completely upside down for weeks, now. As the championship ended, I felt like I was invincible. My two boys had kicked ass on the race track, I’d proven myself to be a force to be reckoned with, and I was madly in l
ove with all the potential in the world behind me. But with Dad’s passing, and finding out about my pregnancy, and the pressure from Ferrelli to shape up and fly right, everything’s gone awry. I’m still madly in love, still full of potential, but I don’t know how to stick the landing, here. And things are going to get a lot more complicated before they can possibly resolve.
I’m just so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened. Everything that’s happening. And with Harrison angry with me, I don’t feel like there’s anyone in the world I can talk to. I feel alone in all of this, for the first time.
“Well, not entirely alone,” I mutter, gazing down at my stomach, “That’s for damn sure.”
* * *
The day passes slowly, torturously. I field calls from just about everyone I know, asking about this morning’s incident. Enzo wants to know if I’m OK, my mother wants updates about the baby and whether I’ve told Harrison yet, and the owners and I smooth things over the best we can. Harrison’s left his cell behind, but it’s ringing like crazy, too. I notice, not without a bit of outrage, that his mother is one of the people trying repeatedly to catch his ear. Oh, how I’d love to know what she has to say about me after this.
Just when I think I’ve finally snatched a moment to breathe between clean-up calls, my cell fires off again. I glance down uneasily, but Bex’s name is illuminated on the screen. Thank god, a voice of reason in all of this.
“Bex,” I say, hurriedly taking the call, “You will not believe the day I’ve been having.”
“Oh, but I would,” she tells me, “This little PR snafu is in my court now. That’s what I get for being the new head bitch in charge of public relations, I guess.”
“Oh shit,” I mutter, “I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”
“Please,” she says, “You’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”
“I don’t know if Harrison and I have, though,” I tell her, “We’ve just had the worst fight.”
“Over the reporter thing?”
“No, he sort of crashed a meeting I was having with the owners and made things more than a little tense,” I tell her, “It’s the first time I’ve ever felt so small next to him.”
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