Free Positive/Negativity by D.D. Lorenzo Page A

that Declan was apparently living in. Marisol picked up the corresponding report to read the details of what the pictures implied. The reports did outline this woman’s time entering Declan’s house and leaving an hour later, and at times—hours later, yet there was no report of the woman’s identity. What the hell was she paying an investigator for if he wasn’t getting her detailed information?
    The more that Marisol saw the smiles on the faces of Declan and the unknown female, the more bitter and angry she became.
    Marisol immediately phoned the Investigator. She vehemently instructed him to get more information on this house, this beach town, and most importantly, this woman. Specifically, she wanted to know exactly who she was to Declan. When she had barked her detailed orders to the investigator and concluded her threatening call, she threw the phone in a fit of temper.
    As Marisol paced the floor, she once again looked at the picture of the smiling woman and Declan. She had to admit that the woman was indeed pretty, but then again, Declan Sinclair was one of the most handsome men in the United States, if not the world. She wouldn’t go so far as to say that this woman was beautiful—no, she was far from it. Her hair didn’t look like it had seen the inside of a salon for ages, and her face was pretty enough for an everyday girl, but it was too pudgy. That wasn’t sufficient for Declan Sinclair, and Declan well knew it. The thought gave Marisol some consolation. Perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps this woman was an acquaintance or an old friend.
    Marisol picked up the horrid photo and thoroughly inspected it. As she scanned from top to bottom, she completely dismissed the woman’s clothing. They were department store at best, certainly not designer. Her shoes were flip-flops, of all things. Tasteless! She carried no handbag! The thought was revolting to Marisol. What was she? A farm girl?! Marisol looked at her again . And her figure! It was laughable. She was much too fat to ever compete with Marisol! A sardonic grin made its way to Marisol’s face . They weren’t even in the same category!
    Marisol threw the photos onto the floor in disgust and reclined onto the sofa. It was there, on the top of the pile, that she saw the one photo that made her take notice.
    With all of the photos lying in a heap on the floor, just one stood out—a photo of Declan and this woman sitting on the beach, and he was handing her a cup of coffee. Although to someone else it may have appeared to be a simple cup of coffee, to Marisol, it appeared to be more.
    Marisol’s bitterness began to rise into hostility. It wasn’t the woman in the photo that concerned Marisol. In fact, her expression was partially hidden by the cheap sunglasses that she wore, and Marisol dismissed her anyway. In this particular photo, the woman was insignificant. What was of concern to Marisol was the expression on Declan’s face.
    In this one, seemingly innocent photo, the investigator captured what most people would dismiss. Marisol wasn’t most people. Photos were her livelihood, and she knew that a photo could reflect a product, person, or an image. These photos were taken without the subjects being aware so that the reflections were honest and genuine. As she continued to study the photo, she saw in it what she didn’t want to see—Declan’s response to this woman.
    Declan’s smile directed toward this woman was one that Marisol hadn’t seen before. The lines of his mouth were soft and genuinely raised as he looked at her. His eyes were gentle and kind. Looking further down the photo, Marisol looked at his hand. She saw that, as he passed the coffee to this woman, his fingers were curved and purposely cupping hers. What the hell! Declan felt an affection for this woman! TTT
    Marisol felt the loathing and contempt rise up and over her as a fast-growing malignancy. The friction between her and this woman was instantaneous. Who the hell was