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“No fucking way. This is my livelihood. You’re fucking Jackson Sanders. That picture’s gonna be worth something.”

I snarl, ready to knock his teeth out. But there are other photographers. Before I know it, they’re all snapping pictures—of me, of Mina, demanding to know who she is. Is the great Jackson Sanders taken?

I have to get her back to the hotel.

Turning, I grab her hand before anyone can ask anything else, and tug her toward the stairs. Fuck, she looks so scared, so much like the little sister I remember instead of the one I’ve been with this past week. And as much as I’ve enjoyed our time together, I still haven’t forgotten my one mission in life: protecting her.

“Come on,” I tell her as I stoop and lift her into my arms. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Twelve

Mina

Ipush away from the crowd of paparazzi, blinded by the flashing lights as I retreat back into the hotel. Nobody follows me, I guess they’re more interested in Jackson and his football career than they are in his girlfriend who just happened to win a place in a fashion contest.

It was strange, the way they were asking who I was. It made me feel frightened in a way I don’t remember ever feeling before. Well, not in the last few days I remember, anyway.

Until they started asking that, I thought…

Well, I thought we had been an item for a while. When Jackson told me all about how we met and dated and all, it seemed like we’d been together forever. But if we had, nobody would be questioning who we were. Could we have never been in public before?

As I lean back against the cool wall and close my eyes, listening to the drone of inaudible questions still being thrownat Jackson outside, I’m just relieved that’s not my everyday life. I don’t know how he copes with everyone recognizing him all the time.

“You all right there, miss?”

I open my eyes to see one of the hotel porters looking concerned. But I nod and force a smile. “Just taking a break.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to imagine being famous. But I guess the reality is something different.”

“I’m not famous. But my boyfriend is.”

“Jackson Sanders, right?”

“Right.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Go Trojans.”

I laugh at that, and he grins as he turns away and heads for the elevator. As the doors slide open, I see a girl standing inside that seems vaguely familiar. I watch her step out, exchanging a few words with the porter as she enters the lobby.

She’s much smaller than me, short and skinny and bunched in on herself like she doesn’t want to get in anyone’s way. Wearing a big backpack. Part of a name comes to me as I watch her head for the counter.

Rosa? Rose? Rosie?

Suddenly, she swivels on her heel, glancing around until her eyes land on mine, and her mouth spreads in a wide grin.

“Rosaria?” I say as she heads my way, and she nods enthusiastically.

“I missed the contest, I’m sorry my flight was late.” She throws her arms around me and hugs me warmly. And I still have no idea who she is except a name. “How come you haven’t been answeringanyof my calls and texts? Have you fallen out with me or something now you’re a big famous fashion designer? She rolls her eyes. “I was coming to try to find you. I just checked in.”

She narrows her eyes as she breaks the hug, then loses it and starts laughing, but I stumble over my words.

“My…my phone got smashed. I fell in a pool and hit my head. I’m sorry, who…who are you?”

She laughs louder. “Good one. You? In a pool?” When I just stare at her, her face drops. “Oh my gosh. Really? You’re serious.”

I can’t figure out why she thinks I’d be terrified. Because I hit my head? Who is she?

“It was okay. Jackson took me to hospital.”