Page 31 of The Fake Date Deal

“You know you are, right? You’re great. You’re amazing. Especially last night, when you went onstage.”

Eve went sort of pink and looked away. “I wasn’t digging for that, but it feels good to hear.”

“You’ll hear it every day once you get famous.”

She waved me off, laughing, and I watched her relax, the line of her shoulders softening at last. “So, okay,” she said. “You’ve dated a lot. What’s the worst first date you’ve ever been on?”

I nearly choked on my lemonade. “The worst? You go first.”

Eve thought for a moment, and then she giggled. “I was fifteen, in high school. This kid, Bruno Casareggio, asked me over to study. When we were done, we went out for dinner, and I guess he was thinking it was a date. He tried to kiss me and I sort of jumped back, and the next day at school, he said we made out.”

“Ugh. What a dick.”

She poked me. “Your turn.”

I scratched my chin, thinking. I’d been on a whole lot of dates, but no really bad ones. It was hard for a date to go properly bad when you had no expectations of more dates to come. When nothing was riding on how it shook out.

“Come on, don’t just sit there. I told you mine.”

I took a swallow of lemonade and decided to be honest. “I’ve been on a lot of first dates,” I said. “But only first dates.”

Eve cocked a brow. “Fear of commitment?”

“No. It’s not that.” I stretched out and leaned back, trying to marshal my thoughts. “I mean, I had girlfriends when I was younger. In high school and stuff, before I started racing. But the women I meet since then want Marco Barone.”

She looked puzzled at first, and then she nodded. “The name, not the man.”

“That’s it exactly. They’re not into who I am, but what I can offer: wealth, fame, my lifestyle. You know how it is.” I laughed, hearing myself, and shook my head. “First-world problems.”

“I thought that too,” said Eve. “For a long time. But loneliness isn’t a first-world problem. Neither is ending up with the wrong person. It can happen to anyone. It’s just the reasons that vary.”

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. Loneliness, yeah, life had been lonely. I’d taken the edge off with a lot of first dates, but all I had to show for it were memories, and the occasional text on my phone.

“It’s not easy,” I said. “To make a connection. I did try at first, but I’d go on a date, and it would hit me — this girl’s not listening. I’d try to get to know her or let her know me, and she’d just want to go show me off. To be seen in the club with me on her arm.”

“Rafael, too. He was all about optics.” Eve’s gaze had gone distant, and a little sad. “I thought it was sweet at first. He’d fuss with my hair. Tuck in my flyaways before we went out. But it was just for the pictures, not— not, you know. At first, I thought it was an excuse to get closer.”

I resisted the urge to reach out myself, to smooth her hair out and then steal a kiss, not for the look of it, but yeah. To get closer. It would seem like a joke, and I didn’t want that. But I couldn’t think what would make her feel better.

“This has been good,” I said. “This, me and you. The way we can talk and be ourselves. Be honest.”

Eve smiled and moved closer, and nudged our shoulders together. “Yeah. Yeah, it has.” She bit her lip, and I thought she might say something else, but she just leaned against me and looked up at the sky.

“You’ll always be good enough,” I said at last. “If you ever need a reminder, just call on me. Even when this is over, with Rafael.”

She turned her head up and we kissed slow and sweet. When we broke apart, she leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Same goes for you. You know where to find me.”

CHAPTER 13

EVE

Isat at my vanity, in our hotel room, getting my face on for a night out. Any time now, Marco would burst in. He’d sweep me into his arms and smear my lipstick. I wouldn’t fix it, or not all the way, and I’d get caught on camera glowing and mussed. We’d go out dancing, and then — and then what?

My stomach did a backflip. My mascara wand twitched. I left a black smudge on the crest of my cheek, and cursed through my teeth, and wiped it away. I’d been nervous since yesterday, since we crossed into Spain. This was Rafael’s turf, not mine or Marco’s. He had fans here who might take up his cause. Worse, he was here, and not just in Spain. He was in Barcelona, same as us. He’d been photographed this morning with his royal entourage, opening a new wing at a local museum.

He wouldn’t confront us, I didn’t think. Not out in public, where anything could happen. But what if he did? Or if we crossed paths by chance? I tried to think what I’d say, but not much came to mind. I saw myself freezing, my jaw hanging slack. He’d smile and say Eve, or maybe Miss Hansley, nod hello and goodbye and glide out of my life.

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