Page 44 of The Fighter

I roll my eyes.

It was a lucky guess. Stop changing the topic and go home.

And if I don’t, you’ll quote the contract at me? As scintillating as that sounds, I’m leaving. I have no food in my apartment. I have to make it to the store before it closes.

Good. Text me when you get back.

That’s definitely not in the contract.

Text me anyway.

It’ll cost you. One hundred thousand.

I laugh out loud, causing several students milling about in the hallway to give me curious looks. The gym is Alina’s baby, and she’s going to take every opportunity to remind me she wants me out of there. And I love it. I love her relentlessness, her passion, her fire.

Done. It’s a deal.

Estela was beautiful in a fragile, ethereal way. She never saw me fight—fighting disgusted her. She would have swooned into a delicate faint at the first sign of blood. And she never made me laugh. She never saw the real me.

Ali does. I can lose myself in accounts and investment details, and she doesn’t complain that I’m boring her. I can tell her I want to tie her up and her eyes sparkle with anticipation. I can suggest going to a sex club and she’s all in.

With Ali, I don’t have to pretend to be anyone other than who I am.

For five years, I’ve used the way things ended with Estela Villegas as an excuse to avoid intimacy. I’ve used my hurt as a shield and built a wall around my heart. The heart I thought Estela killed.

But maybe it isn’t dead after all.

Maybe it’s been lying dormant.

Waiting for Alina to walk into my life.

29

ALINA

I’m about to head to the small organic produce store around the corner when a familiar-looking woman walks into the gym. It takes me a moment to place her before I realize it’s Gemma, the MMA groupie who used to work out in Rome. Her mother died, and she’s been struggling to come to terms with the loss, the same way I did.

She gives me a wide smile. “You’ll never believe what happened,” she exclaims. “I found an apartment in Castello.”

Oh, right. Pieces of our conversation come back to me. She was getting transferred to Venice, but she wasn’t sure if she could find a place to live in time.

“That’s great,” I say, smiling at her obvious enthusiasm. Can’t say I blame her—it’s a rough rental market out there. When I first bought the gym, I intended for it to take up both levels as soon as I could afford the renovation. That was until I tried to find an apartment in Venice. It was awful. Every place I found was both crappy and expensive.

“Right? When the agency told me I got the apartment, I immediately threw my clothes into a suitcase and caught the next train. I went to my new home, tossed my luggage on my bed, and came straight here. I’m ready to fight. Sign me up, Alina.”

I have to laugh. “Here’s the membership form,” I say, retrieving a clipboard from the cabinet under the desk. “As for fighting, Thursday evenings are not the best time for a sparring partner but let me see what I can find you.”

“How about you? Are you too busy to fight?”

My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. “I’m afraid I can’t today,” I say regretfully. “I’ve been here since six in the morning, and I’m wiped. It’s dinner, followed by something mindless on TV, and then bed for me. But I’ll be here tomorrow morning and all day Saturday.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, if you need to eat, do you want to grab a slice of pizza with me or something?”

I’m too exhausted to be social. I’m about to turn her down when I catch a glimpse of her hopeful expression. It takes me back to my first weeks in Venice, all alone in a new city with no friends. “Sure,” I say instead. “Pizza sounds great.”

Gemma insists on dragging me to a small, out-of-the-way osteria in Castello. We walk there, crossing the Grand Canal at the Ponte dell’Accademia and continuing through the narrow streets to the north of Piazza San Marco. “You know the city well,” I remark as she leads the way, barely looking at her phone for directions. I’ve lived here for two years, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this way. There are no tourist attractions along the route, and the streets are blissfully empty.

“I’ve spent hours in front of a map,” she says with a laugh. “I want to blend in, look like a local.”

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