Page 29 of The Fake Date Deal

I tried to think of a retort, but Marco was right. That was what I’d said, and it sounded weak. Silly.

“I get it,” he said. “For me, it was easy to take a long shot on racing. I was nobody special, not famous or rich. If I made it, I could buy a new house for my ma. If I flamed out, I’d work for one of my uncles. You’ve got further to fall, so it’s harder to jump.”

I tried to imagine going all-in, doing comedy festivals. Going on auditions. Being recognized for something besides my last name. It felt like a daydream, but I got laughs. I did. If I tried, really tried, what was the worst that could happen? I’d already had the worst moment ever on socials, running out of my wedding. Tearing my dress. Bombing a festival, a lousy review… none of that seemed so bad after Rafael.

“You should do it,” said Marco. He gripped my hands tight. “If your family loves you, they’ll support you. Your friends will, as well. And your fans, once you get some. Once you show the world what you can do.”

I knew he was right, at least about Gabriella. She’d always supported me. She’d be on my side.

“I saw you up there, how you came alive. It’s like when I’m racing. I saw that same fire. You can’t deny yourself that. It’d be like living life on a diet. You might not starve to death, but where’s the joy in just bread?”

“Bread’s what you don’t eat when you’re on a diet.”

He squeezed my hands harder. “You know what I mean. Life’s really short, and you only get one. Do you want to spend your only life thinking what if?”

A vision flashed through my head, me on a movie set. At an awards show. People smiling and laughing, just seeing my face. Running up to get autographs, phones up for selfies. Marco beside me, cheering me on.

Only, he wouldn’t be, because we weren’t real. Two weeks from now, we’d be all over, and any dream-chasing I did would be on my own. Marco would be somewhere, with someone else. Maybe the woman who’d texted at dinner.

“Maybe,” I said, and pulled my hands back. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s getting late.”

CHAPTER 12

MARCO

The next stop on my tour was Barcelona, and we set off at the first light of dawn. I’d thought Eve would fly and meet me down there, but this time, she said she felt like a drive.

“We could take turns,” she said, as we loaded her bags. “Or, wait, don’t tell me you’re one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“Those caveman guys, like I do the driving.” She dropped her voice to a growl to show what she meant.

“Those guys are just scared. Can’t give up control.” I pounded my chest like a lowland gorilla. “I’m a real man, so you can drive if you want.”

“You take the first shift. I’m still half-asleep.”

She dozed most of the way south out of France, only reviving as the sun climbed the sky. My phone buzzed as she woke, and we both glanced at it, then we both looked away, and the atmosphere got awkward. It wasn’t tits this time, or even a woman, but I flashed back to that moment, and I saw Eve tense too. Then she laughed at nothing and shifted in her seat.

“Pull over,” she said. “Let me drive awhile.”

I switched off my phone when we switched places. It occurred to me I had no idea what kind of driver Eve was. I doubted she drove much. People like her were driven, mostly in limos.

“You are nervous,” she said, as I got in.

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Now, what does this do?” She waggled the stick. I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t nervous, not really. I’d restored this car from a junker, and I could do it again. If she scratched it or dinged it, it’d just be a project.

She pulled out smoothly, not a jerk or a hitch. The road was quiet this time of day, but she kept to the speed limit, cruising easy. A lot of people tried to impress me by going too fast — hey, check me out. I can speed too! Eve didn’t do that. She kept her eyes on the road.

“I like driving,” she said.

“Yeah. I can tell.”

“It’s relaxing on a day like this, with the road to yourself. I do some of my best thinking driving around France.”

“Is that how you found the club from last night?”

---