Page 4 of Fast-Track Fiancé

SHE HAD LOST HIM.

Nina looked from one edge of the darkened terrace to the other, squinting in the low light. She’d spent the past hour discreetly tailing Tristan Falco from afar, waiting for an opportunity to sidetrack him and make her move. For someone who had avoided the paddock as a new owner under the guise of being far too busy, the infuriating man had a remarkable flare for striking up a conversation with every passer-by with a pulse. Not only that, it was very clear that he was hosting the entire event.

Her irritation had grown as she’d watched him glide effortlessly between the influential guests that filled the long gallery, a grand crown atop his head as if he owned the entire museum. Which he did not. She had already done a quick search on her phone to check. The Falco family were probably the biggest benefactors, with their historic jewellery and gem collection being one of the grandest exhibits in Europe.

She had already been exhausted after the weekend of racing events, followed by that press conference and the subsequent mad dash to get here, and she was now feeling the effects. Her insides felt too tight, her thoughts moving too fast. Events like this served only to remind her of her childhood in Monte Carlo, back when the Roux name had been a golden ticket to every elite event in the city. Her mother had wanted to parade her only daughter around in all the latest fashions like a doll, then grown furious when Nina had struggled to behave correctly. She’d been told she was too sensitive. Too different. Too much.

But, for Nina, the high-society world had been what felt like too much. The scratchy clothing, the dancing, the unwritten rules, the constant noise and banal chat. The only way she’d managed to cope was by zoning out to the happy place in her mind, imagining she was navigating the trickiest chicane in the Circuit de Monaco or flying along the final straight to victory at the Autodromo Accardi.

On the track she wasn’t too sensitive or weird or wrong. Her attention to detail and her immovable focus were what made her a damn great driver. The only time she’d ever felt right was behind the wheel of a racing car with her aunt Lola’s words ringing in her mind, to ask herself not if she could become a world champion but when. She refused to lose that determination and let a bunch of clueless men in suits break her down. She wouldn’t let them win.

A balmy breeze blew across her flushed cheeks and she prayed she wouldn’t cry. She ached to remove the false lashes on her lids, feeling rather like a prisoner in a cage of modern beauty standards. The haute couture gown was too heavy and felt like sandpaper on her skin. Bracing her hands on the stone balustrade, she drew a hearty breath and growled with frustration, letting go of some of her tightly held restraint in the solitude of the dark terrace, adding a string of curses under her breath for good measure.

‘Looking for someone?’

Nina jumped, peering over her shoulder to find a man looming in a shadowy alcove beside the doorway she’d just exited through. A loud squeak escaped her lips as her body seemed to react of its own accord, her hands slipping on the balcony ledge, sending her sliding sideways until her hip bone thumped painfully into the cold stone.

When she looked up, the man had moved out of the shadows, a familiar sapphire-encrusted crown glinting atop his head and white tuxedo jacket glowing in the moonlight.

Falco.

Her eyes narrowed upon the man she’d been seeking for much longer than one night, the man who had hijacked all of her plans and taken her dreams, stamping them under his shiny billionaire shoes. He stared at her, eyes hooded and the hint of a smirk dancing upon his full lips. He really was sinfully handsome, for a spineless jerk.

‘Why yes, as a matter of fact.’ She stepped forward. ‘I’m here to—’

‘Take off your mask,’ he interjected silkily.

Nina inhaled sharply. ‘Excuse me? That’s not exactly—’

‘Take off your mask...por favor.’

‘Do you always bark commands at strangers in the dark by way of greeting?’ she snapped.

‘Only if said stranger has unashamedly stalked me from the moment she arrived at this event.’

She felt her cheeks heat, another flare of irritation at herself for how utterly terribly this plan was going.

‘Did you hope for me not to notice your eyes on me, belleza?’ He took another step forward. ‘Or is this all part of your game for me this evening? Because I’ll admit I’m hoping for the latter.’

Belleza? Her game? What kind of riddles was this man talking in? She opened her mouth to speak, only to feel a warm fingertip press ever so slightly against her lips. Eyes wide, she fought the urge to bite it off.

‘There is no need to be embarrassed,’ he continued, oblivious to the danger his digit was in. ‘I admire a woman who sees what she wants and tracks it down unapologetically. I noticed you from the moment that you stepped onto the carpet outside. I found myself...irrevocably intrigued. I know everyone here. But you are a mystery.’

‘Everyone here is wearing a mask,’ she pointed out. ‘Everyone except you, Your Highness.’

His smile widened at the sarcastic honorific, his ego clearly enjoying a thorough stroke. Her mind’s eye immediately conjured an image of herself smacking that smile from his pompous, arrogant, perfectly sculpted lips. She paused at that last descriptor, wondering why looking at those lips made her feel too warm all of a sudden. He noticed where her gaze had wandered and his smirk turned utterly sinful.

‘Take off the mask,’ he murmured again. ‘Or are you waiting for me to remove it for you?’

‘I dare you to try.’ She spoke through gritted teeth.

‘Do you realise your eyes practically glowed just now?’ he mused, pursing his lips as he trailed a fingertip along the edge of her mask. ‘Quite an achievement, considering they are such a deep brown that they’re practically black. Like tourmaline...or the rarest obsidian.’

The sudden bubble of laughter that escaped Nina’s throat took her by surprise, but once she released it she could no longer hold back.

‘Something amusing?’ he asked, his charming mask slipping ever so slightly.

‘It’s just...the pretty Spanish endearments, describing eyeballs like rare gems et cetera. Do you speak to every woman you meet with such flowery words?’

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