Page 50 of The Fake Date Deal

“No. It was different back then.” His tone had gone harsh. I caught my breath.

“Different how?”

Marco’s jaw was tight. He looked away. “Different, is all. We fell out of touch. It was just me and Ma when I was starting. But that’s in the past now, so— so let’s drop it.”

I reached out for him slowly, afraid he’d pull back. But when I slid my hand over his, I felt him relax. The storm clouds scattered from over his head, not all at once, but by degrees. I watched his nostrils flare as he breathed deep, his chest rise and fall as he found his calm. I’d touched on a sore subject, that much was clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“I shouldn’t have brought you here. Into this mess.”

I twined my fingers with his. Squeezed his hand. “What mess?”

He jerked his head at the menu, as if that explained it. As if the low prices were the key to his past.

“Here’s how I see it,” I said. “I asked to come. And you brought me to this clean, friendly café. You got me a sandwich, which, trust me. I’ve had worse. If this is your mess, that you had to eat here once… which is more embarrassing, this or Rafael? Me ripping my wedding dress to get away?”

Marco’s lips twitched at that, halfway to a chuckle.

“I don’t care if you were poor, or if your family’s dramatic. Whose isn’t? You’ve met mine, remember?”

Marco let out a long breath, loud through his teeth. His shoulders went lax, like his strings had been cut. “I think this was enough, though. To count for my ritual. We can go back to our real hotel with our soft beds. I’m not so superstitious I need a sore back.”

We both laughed at that, and with the release of tension. By the time we’d finished eating, the rain had eased off. The sun broke through the clouds and lit up the streets. Where they’d seemed gray and decrepit, they now seemed quaint. Cheerful. Looking up at a stone arch, I tripped over a flagstone. Marco caught me and steadied me before I could fall, and pulled me to him. We kissed in the shadow of the old, crumbling arch, and my first thought was, had somebody whipped out their phone? I tilted my head up to catch the light better, but when Marco pulled back, the street was deserted. No one was watching us, much less taking pictures.

I smiled, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him again. We kissed some more in an alcove as a fish truck rolled by, then held hands picking our way through the puddled back streets. The setup was perfect for rainy-day selfies, cuddling in doorways, sharing one umbrella, but I didn’t want to whip out my phone. I didn’t want to shatter the fun, playful mood. Marco was smiling, his glumness forgotten. Telling stories from races across his career. When he got to an exciting part, he gripped my hand tighter, or turned to smile at me and catch my eye. The air crackled between us, the day ripe with promise. Something had shifted, something between us. Like our last pretenses dropping away. All that remained was to put words to the feeling: we’re real, aren’t we? This between us, it’s real.

“Let’s go in through the kitchen when we get back.” Marco frowned in the direction of our hotel. “I don’t want to deal with the press today, or people with phones.”

My heart leaped. “Me neither. Maybe it’s enough?”

Marco’s brow furrowed. “What’s enough?”

“With the promo shots from our commercial going viral. It’s not going to get any better than that, so maybe… maybe it’s mission accomplished? We’ve got our revenge, so we can enjoy this.”

I couldn’t make sense of Marco’s reaction, a bright smile, then confusion, then his mouth turned down. Then he laughed, took my hands, and spun me into his arms. His kiss was rough. Fierce and demanding. I bit his lip, wanting. He bit mine back. I savored the tiny, sharp prick of pain, then the slow sweetness as his kiss turned gentle.

“We should get inside,” he growled. “If we’re done showing off.” He glanced down the alley and I saw we had an audience, an old man and woman walking their dog. I broke out giggling and we ran hand in hand, round the side of the hotel and in through the kitchen, up the side stairs to our shared suite. He flung me down on the bed and I pulled him with me, down in a tangle of laughter and limbs.

“This should be my new ritual.” His breath tickled my skin. “You and me, this. I’d never lose.”

My heart raced at that. His new ritual. Race after race, stretching out to forever. I’d never let him lose. I’d keep him so happy.

“I’ll be there,” I gasped. “Your biggest fan.”

“Yeah, scream for me…” He tugged my shirt open. I moaned as he leaned down to tease me through my bra. I’d scream for him, yes, and after the race — after he’d won, and it was just us — I’d seize my moment to tell him yes. Yes. If he wanted me, he’d have me, his loudest cheerleader. The real thing, no games, as long as we wanted.

CHAPTER 20

MARCO

Enough.

It’s enough.

Mission accomplished.

For a moment I’d thought she meant we were real now. We didn’t have to fake anything because we were real.

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