Page 21 of Fast-Track Fiancé

He remained silent, holding his tongue at what he wished to say. What he wished to demand. If their engagement were real and they’d been planning to intertwine their lives, perhaps he might have spoken those thoughts aloud, but it wasn’t his place. Maybe it wasn’t his place either way. It was her job, after all.

But no job was worth more than one’s life. His uncle had learned that the hard way.

They were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door and the next while was a pleasant distraction of a delicious breakfast, which they both practically inhaled, neither of them having eaten since early the evening before. Once they were pleasantly full and their plates had been cleared away, Nina stood and announced that she was going to get ready.

‘Get ready for what, exactly?’

She looked at him, hands on her hips. ‘I appreciate you taking care of me last night, Tristan, but we both have separate plans. You need to be back in Paris today and I have to pack for the photo shoot. And I’d like to get a workout in before I leave.’

‘First of all, you are on bed rest. And secondly, I will not be going to Paris. I’ll be escorting you to the Falco estate.’

‘You will? Does that mean that you’ve decided to do the photo shoot?’

‘No,’ he growled. ‘It means that I will be coming with you, and I will oversee the photo shoot to make sure that it goes according to my specifications.’

‘I rather feel like you are babysitting me.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘But okay, then.’

‘That’s it?’ He narrowed his own suspiciously. ‘No five-minute sermon about how you don’t need to be babysat by me and how I’m stifling your independence by ordering you around?’

She smiled. She actually smiled at his outrage, the little brat.

‘No argument. I’ll go back and then we can leave.’ She sauntered over to the bathroom, pausing for a split second at the doorway. ‘You know, I think I kind of like it when you order me around.’

She smirked, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving him to groan into his own hands with the effort of not following her.

After being firmly denied her suggestion of a gentle swim before they left, Nina remained quiet and on edge for most of their journey as they travelled north along the Spanish coast. Resisting the urge to ask the hundred burning questions that entered her mind, she almost picked through the skin on the beds of her nails as they began to move further and further away from the city.

Going without heavy exercise for two days straight might not be much to most people, but, as someone used to a certain amount of challenging physical activity per day, the lack of release was rapidly sending her anxiety levels through the roof.

Sophie had sent her a number of probing texts to see if she was doing okay, her trainer likely remembering how easily Nina had slid into burnout after her neck injury a couple of years ago. The long period of bed rest and slow torturous rehabilitation had been painful on so much more than just her injured body. She had always known that she didn’t cope well with slowing down, but now, looking at her difficulties through a new lens, she realised that it was possible her neurodivergent brain actually needed to keep busy. That maybe it was okay that she relied so heavily on having measurable goals to focus on and tasks to hit in order to feel any semblance of balance. Perhaps there was no need to feel so ashamed of how rigidly she clung to her schedule. Much like the temperamental vehicles she drove, if she stopped too suddenly, she risked fully losing control.

‘Still cranky?’ Tristan asked, breaking her out of her own thought spiral.

For once she was actually grateful for the distraction. ‘Just trying to ascertain if you always drive at this speed, or if you’re crawling along in the slow lane just to irritate me.’

He smirked, his hands drumming a beat on the wheel as he slowed even further. ‘Maybe I like to enjoy the scenery when I travel. Live in the moment.’

‘Well, you’ll have a lot of scenery to enjoy, seeing as we likely won’t arrive until tomorrow.’ She pressed the button on the dash to try and find some music to distract herself, only to be met with her least favourite big summer dance tune. She winced, turning the volume back down.

‘My radio, my rules,’ he scolded, turning the dial back up and singing along with the overdramatic tune. He sang well, annoyingly well. Of course he had been blessed with the voice of a fallen angel as well as having the looks of one. Still, she had to turn her head to watch as he bellowed the fast-paced Spanish lyrics, describing the famous singer’s scorn after her lover had strayed. He knew every single word. She thought of how intensely he’d reacted after her accident.

Was it possible that he actually wasn’t quite the paragon of calm that he pretended to be? This man sang the song with a quiet passion that made her skin prickle and her heart throb. He felt the lyrics. Too soon, the song came to an end and she felt as if she’d just witnessed yet another tiny glimpse beneath the mask of Tristan Falco. Something even wilder and more intense than the devil-may-care playboy he presented to the world.

The Falco estate was as grand and exaggerated as she expected it to be, with a sweeping tree-lined drive that seemed to go on for miles before the actual house came into view—well, Tristan had referred to it as a house but as they grew closer, she could hardly believe her eyes.

‘Is that a freaking castle?’ she asked.

‘The main house dates back to the seventeenth century, yes.’ Tristan smiled. ‘My uncle had a flair for the dramatic, and once he saw this place nothing else would do.’

Nina had grown up in luxury and was no stranger to the opulent grand estates of wealthy families, but the Falco estate was nothing like she had ever seen before. After parking in the middle of a grand courtyard, complete with legitimate antique marble statues and a manicured garden that would make a king weep, Tristan greeted the couple who managed the estate year-round and linked his arm through Nina’s as they were given a grand tour.

He introduced her as his fiancée, of course, which the housekeeper and her husband acknowledged with delight, asking if the wedding was to be held upon the estate. Without missing a beat, Tristan mentioned that his mother would likely insist it took place in Buenos Aires. It was just part of their ruse, she reminded herself. But still, hearing him mention their non-existent wedding plans shifted something in her stomach.

Her sense of awe quickly overrode her unease at their deception as she was guided through the most stunningly preserved historic estate she had ever seen. She was given the full history by the very animated groundskeeper, his wife interrupting every now and then to correct him if he got the dates wrong. The majestic manor house was located in the most exclusive area of Barcelona’s north coast, less than an hour from the city centre. Surrounded by beautiful garden and lush forests, it was gloriously private with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean Sea. They were shown around more than ten spacious suites inside, then guided outside where there were a large ballroom and chapel hidden in some lush forest, as well as a long swimming pool and a handful of smaller villas.

The main building was comprised of several outbuildings that formed a fortified enclosure. It had been reformed over time while preserving and enhancing the architectural wealth of the original stone features. Its charm lay in the perfect fusion of its historical character with the more modern touches that added comfort and luxury.

Tristan seemed on friendly terms with the staff, which surprised her considering she had read he’d grown up mostly in Buenos Aires with his mother, with the exception of his teenage years when he’d attended a boarding school somewhere in Europe. She knew so little about him, she realised.

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