Page 15 of Big Wild Fighter

“Yes,” I interrupt, the word leaving me in a rush. “I’ll go with you to Chile. But we have to go now. I need to pack, and I need to say goodbye to my parents.”

A slow, breathtaking smile spreads across his face, and the tension I’ve been carrying all day finally starts to ease. “You don’t know how much that means to me,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Before I can respond, he stands, pulling me into his arms. The restaurant fades away, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversations muffled as he holds me close. His scent, that mix of soap and something uniquely him fills my senses, and I feel the tears sting my eyes.

“I’ll make this work,” he murmurs against my hair. “I promise.”

I pull back just enough to look up at him, a watery smile on my face. “We’ll make it work,” I correct, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is slow and sweet, his hands cradling my face as though I’m the most precious thing in the world. My arms loop around his neck, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. The cheers and whistles that erupt around us barely register, but when we break apart, I see the restaurant is watching us. Some customers are clapping; a few of my coworkers are grinning like they’ve just watched the finale of their favorite rom-com.

My cheeks burn as I bury my face in Marlon’s chest, but I can’t stop smiling.

“Damn, Grace!” one of the hostesses hollers from the pass. “When were you gonna tell us you were dating a celebrity?”

I groan, my embarrassment doubling, but Marlon just laughs, his arm tightening around me. “Guess the secret’s out,” he says with a wink.

Before I can respond, my manager appears, his arms crossed but his expression warm. “So,” he says, drawing out the word, “does this mean what I think it means?”

I nod, still a little breathless. “Yeah. I—I’m leaving.”

He tilts his head, a knowing smile on his face. “I figured as much. Heard the whole thing.” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to explain, cutting me off. “Don’t worry about it. You’re young, Grace. You should be out there living your life, not stuck here serving spaghetti.”

His words hit me harder than I expect, and my throat tightens. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He waves me off, his tone gruff but kind. “Don’t thank me. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it, okay?”

“I will,” I say, my voice firmer this time. “I promise.”

With that, he claps Marlon on the shoulder and heads back to the kitchen, muttering something about not letting the place fall apart while he’s gone. I blink back the tears threatening to spill and turn to Marlon.

“Let’s go,” I say, my resolve strengthening. “I’ve got some packing to do.”

He grins, grabbing my hand as we head for the door. The second we’re outside, the cold air nipping at my cheeks, I feel like I can finally breathe again.

We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.

The weight I’ve been carrying for days lifts just a little, and as we walk to his car, I squeeze his hand.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his voice teasing but his eyes warm.

I nod, smiling up at him. “With you? Always.”

The drive to my apartment passes in a blur and the packing goes even faster.

“We have some time before your parents get home and we go see them,” Marlon says, leaning back slightly. His gaze catcheson my lips, lingering there for just a beat too long, and it makes my breath hitch. “And even more time before our flight tonight.”

“Oh!” I exclaim, the realization hitting me. “I need to book a ticket!” I smack my palm against my forehead in frustration, but Marlon quickly catches my wrist and gently removes my hand, his warm fingers curling around mine.

“I booked you one while you were packing,” he says with that easy, self-assured grin of his, pulling my hand to rest against his chest. The warmth of his body radiates through his shirt, and I feel my pulse quicken under his touch. “How about we do a little something to celebrate?”

My heart flutters and I swallow hard. “What do you have in mind?” I ask, my voice coming out softer than I intend.

His lips quirk up into that wicked smirk that always leaves me feeling weak. “I thought, if you’re ready, I could show you how much I love you,” he says, shifting his hands to my waist. His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a heat in his tone that makes my legs feel like jelly. “How does that sound?”

For a moment, I can’t even form words.He loves me?

My cheeks burn, and my chest feels tight. But I nod, managing a shaky, “Okay,” before his mouth is on mine again, hot and insistent, stealing whatever breath I have left.

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