twelve
Santiago Moves In
“This is insane.” I mumbled. “Who the hell told the photographer we were in Vegas?”
The woman seated across from me on the train glanced over with an eyebrow raised. I shrugged my shoulders and went back to reading the horrific hit piece on me in the Correo Braziliense. It was Brasilia’s daily newspaper, and a picture of Diesel with his hand on mine at that steakhouse filled my phone’s screen. But it wasn’t just the picture stirring up trouble, it was the accompanying story about our marriage.
The paparazzi had done his homework. Over the last few days the Pap had discovered that we’d married, where the ceremony had taken place, and even got a quote from the Elvis impersonator who’d married us. My stomach churned thinking about Papa’s reaction. The reporter rea
