Page 137 of My Treasured Obsession

“I’ll be back.” Hunter dropped a chaste kiss on my temple. “I’m going to speak with them for a bit, and then we’ll leave.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, baby.”

Hunter walked away, leaving me with the girls. In the middle of chatting about the upcoming Halloween party, I noticed that Dacia was a bit disconnected. As if her mind had wandered elsewhere.

I slid closer to her, taking a swig from my champagne flute. Not wanting to be the reason for the damper in Dacia’s mood, I felt called to explain to her why the painting meant so much to Hunter and me. My soft heart couldn’t stand seeing the people I cared for being upset in any capacity.

“Before Hunter and I officially got together,” I began and Dacia’s eyes veered my way, holding, “he took me on a date—but at that time I didn’t realize it was actually a date, though that’s beside the point—and we stargazed for the first time and saw the constellation Pegasus. Since he has an interest in Greek mythology, I asked him to tell me a story—whichever one he wanted to share—and he told me the tragic tale of Hero andLeander. When I saw the painting at the auction, it felt symbolic. That’s why I wanted it. Something tangible that represented a small slice of our relationship.”

Dacia smiled with understanding. “That’s really sweet, Gabby.”

I was glad she thought so. Still, I added, “But if the painting has any sort of importance to you, please tell me, and I’ll let Hunter know.”

Maybe she knew the artist. Maybe she was an avid collector of their work.

There was something wistful in her expression. “It’s of no importance to me. I thought it was pretty and wanted to add it to my collection. That’s all.” She squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “You deserve to have it. Especially given the reasoning behind it.”

The event dwindled down and the girls ended up leaving before midnight, Cade and Shaun in tow.

Hunter was engaged in a conversation with one of his dad’s old friends and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I texted him that I was headed for the washroom. I wanted to freshen up and reapply my lipstick.

When I finished and stepped out into the empty hallway, secluded and far away from the banquet hall…a surprise awaited me.

It caught me so off guard that for a moment, I just stood there.

Completely shocked.

Franco pinned me with perplexed brown eyes, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black pants. “Hey, Gabby.”

I blinked.Is this really happening?

“Can we talk?”

I almost gawked at him. It definitely wasn’t my imagination. He really stood before me, his voice loud and clear.

Somewhere between then and now, Franco must have gone nuts if he thought I would actually speak to him after all this time. Fucking twat.

I squished down the old memories trying to burst free from the figurative box I shoved them into all those years ago. I hated how he appeared so blasé. He tore me to shreds and stomped on my teenage heart until it was a pulverized mess. He barely had the decency to treat me with respect when I’d been his good childhood friend before becoming his girlfriend, and that should have counted for something. So how dare he speak to me like he had any right?

I’d always deserved better than him.

Gritting my teeth, I side-stepped my ex-boyfriend, hell-bent on continuing to pretend like he didn’t exist.

Franco’s hand shot out to grab my wrist, halting me.

I bristled and tried tugging my arm free. “Let go of me, Franco.”

He yanked me towards him.

This was the closest we’d been in three years. And my heart began to beat fast, not in aI-have-butterflies-in-my-stomachmanner, but more in aget-me-the-hell-away-from-this-asshole.

“You’re not going anywhere until you hear what I have to say,” he clipped. “I’ve had three years to think about what happened between us, three years to—”

“Franco, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” I growled. “Even the sound of your voice is grating. I’m literally developing hives as you speak. Let. Me. Go.”

“Fuck, Gabriela!” he whisper-shouted, attempting to keep his voice down so no one witnessed his clown behaviour, but failing regardless. “I just want to say—”