Page 57 of The Fake Date Deal

I don’t know if you’ll read this, or if you’ll toss out my letter. I’d probably toss it, if I were you. But if you’re reading this, please can we talk? I’ve chartered a plane to bring you to Spain, to my big showdown with Rafael. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me, but I thought you might want to watch him lose big. I can still do that much for you, if nothing else.

After that, I promise, it’s up to you. You can go home without seeing me, or we can talk. Or you can dump me live on TV. (I hope you don’t do that, but if you do, that’s okay. I just need to see you. Please come. Or don’t.)

I crumpled the letter up. Stupid. Pathetic. Please come, or don’t? What was I, in high school? I grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and scribbled from the heart:

Eve,

What we had was real. I was wrong and mean. I’m sending a plane to bring you to my race, and I hope you’ll get on it. We need to talk.

I drew a heart under it, then signed my name, and crammed it in the FedEx pouch before I could change my mind. She’d get it just in time to come if she wanted. Now all I had left to do was post it. And wait.

I saw Eve at the gym, at the juice stand. She was sipping a bright yellow pineapple concoction, leaning on the counter with one hip poked out. When I called out, she turned, but she was someone else. She waved to someone behind me and beckoned him over.

I saw her again at the café that had once been a Greek place. She was buying lemon cakes in halting Spanish, which struck me as strange. Eve’s Spanish was perfect. Then the morning light caught her, and her face changed again. Her hair lost its luster. She caught me staring and frowned.

I saw her in the market square. At my hotel. A ghost in a rain shower jogging up the street. Were these omens that she’d be there, that she’d hear me out? Or just wishful thinking? I should’ve sent my first letter. It was more humble. The new one was cocky, like I assumed she’d come. If she’d said what I’d said, then sent me that letter, I’d have set fire to it. No questions asked.

I saw her in a garden brimming with roses, trimming the deadheads with a pair of blue shears. She looked up and smiled at me, the wrong smile. A stranger’s. If she’d sent me that letter, I would’ve framed it. Tucked it under my pillow. Held it all night. Anything to be close to her. Anything to fix this. She’d come. Of course she would. She’d come because she had to.

I sat on my balcony the night before the race. Maybe she’d come back here, to our hotel. I watched the cars go by, held my breath for the taxis, but I didn’t see her.

I didn’t see her at all.

I called the pilot nine times that night, then a million more times the day of the race. I needed to know, was she here? Had she come? But his phone went to voicemail every damn time, and no one could tell me jack at the airport. She’d come or she hadn’t. She’d show, or not. My stomach lurched and dove as I paced off my nerves. If I knew she was out there?—

“You actually came.”

I jerked to a halt. That smug, snooty voice! I bit back my first response, and two more after that.

“Rafael,” I said, and forced a tight smile. I turned to face him. Looked him up and down. “What are you doing here, mingling with us peasants? Don’t you have your own, uh, your royal pavilion?”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “I came to shake hands with you before the race. Graciousness in victory. You know, the whole royal thing.”

“Victory, psh.” I scowled at his hand. “Don’t count your chickens. You haven’t won yet.”

“No, but you’ve lost.” His rancid smirk spread. “I heard she ditched you.”

Hot anger bristled all down my back, like the quills on a porcupine rising in hate. I wanted to hit him. I clenched my fists tight. “Don’t talk about Eve,” I said.

He laughed. “Why not? I had her first.”

“You lost her first.”

“No, you lost her.” He sauntered right up to me in a cloud of cologne. I ground my teeth. Willed myself not to hit him. Rafael smiled at me, and his voice was like silk. “I never lost her,” he said. “I walked away.”

“Well, you were stupid. You walked away from a dream. Everything you could hope for or want in a person, you had all that and you threw it away. So if you want to gloat, fine. Go ahead. What that says to me is you’re an idiot and proud of it.”

Rafael laughed. “Projecting much? She break your heart? Guess even my castoffs, for someone like you?—”

I swung at him without thinking. He ducked my fist. It wasn’t hard for him, the way I was flailing. My vision was blood red, my mouth dry as dust, my guts all clenched up in a furious knot. I swung again. He danced back. Somebody shouted.

“Don’t get disqualified before I can beat you.” He smirked.

“Beat me! Beat me!” I kicked dust in his face. He waved it off, still grinning as he backed away. I heard pounding behind me, boots on the tarmac. Someone yelled out security and grabbed for my arm.

“We’re fine,” said Rafael. “Just warming up.”

“Well, do it inside. We don’t need the scandal.” The guards pushed between us, blocking my way. I stood tight and panting, trembling with rage. Eve was nobody’s castoffs. She was everything. If Rafael couldn’t see that?—

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