“Good morning.” Santiago’s rough voice greets me as I exit the room. He sits on the hotel room’s couch, shirtless while reading on an iPad.
How does he always wake up way before me?
I scan his upper body, my eyes getting stuck on ridges of muscles across his stomach. Good God. I’ve never met a guy who actually looks like he belongs on a magazine cover until now. I cough, recovering from my perusal. “Did your shirt get lost somewhere?”
He chuckles. “I don’t sleep with one.”
“Well, you can always wake up with one.”
His smile expands. “And miss the look on your face as you check me out? What kind of man do you take me for?”
“Are you sure you want to hear my answer?”
He laughs. “Maybe it’s best I don’t.”
“Good choice.” I grin.
“So, I have a surprise.”
My smile disappears. “No.”
“Hear me out.”
“I don’t do surprises. Ever.”
“How about if it involves shopping?”
“Especially if it involves shopping.”
He dares to laugh. “I’m sorry then. Really I am. But my sister and mom want to take you shopping for a dress for the gala tonight.”
“Ugh.” I throw myself dramatically on the couch. My legs flop over his thighs, and he secures them to his lap.
“I tried to talk them out of the plan, but they’re pretty dead set on it.”
“You’re throwing me to the wolves on day two!”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“Right. And let me guess. You’re not coming with.”
He frowns. “I could if you want me to. It’s just that I never go shopping with them, and they seem excited to have some time alone with you.”
“This is a disaster in the making. They’ll figure out our ruse in an hour or less.”
Santiago shakes his head, trying to hide his smug grin. “No. They’ll be focused on you and shopping that they won’t notice anything amiss.”
“Anything I make up about you in front of your family is your own fault.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. The more outrageous, the better.”
“Oh, I plan on it. I’ll start with how you secretly love frilly bath bombs.” I smirk.
“If they ask, please only recommend the kind that smell like lavender or citrus. Anything else makes my skin itchy.”
While the grumpy version of him was tolerable, a joking Santiago is rather addictive. One so beautifully toxic, I wouldn’t mind overdosing from the experience.
I feel like the biggest fraud, clutching a glass of champagne as we walk through a luxurious store with a name I can’t pronounce. My scuffed-up sneakers squeak every time I move across the marble flooring.
We’ve bounced between stores, with Santiago’s mom, who asked me to call her Daniela. She spent the whole morning sharing funny stories about her son while Maya talked him up like a contestant on a love show. It’s not as if I need someone to convince me Santiago is a standup guy. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes and it’s not exactly something I’ll forget anytime soon.
“What about this one?” Maya hands me a silky dress. The material feels lush and unlike anything I own.
I sneak a peek at the price tag and nearly have a stroke. This dress is worth more than my rent for a month.
“Do you not like it?” Maya’s smile drops.
Why does she have to be this wonderful and kind? Can’t she have a flaw that would make it easier to run out the door and never look back?
I stutter. “Uhm…no. It looks gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but…”
“Is it the price? Don’t worry about it. Santiago slipped me his Amex before we left the hotel.”
“He did what?” The first lines of Pretty Woman blast in my head as my stomach twists into a tight knot.
“He said to pick out the prettiest dress for you or else he won’t attend the gala tonight. I took it as a challenge.”
“That’s so…sweet,” I choke out.
“I don’t think I’ve seen my son this enamored by someone before.” Santiago’s mom winks at me. Her brown eyes have a lightness to them I can’t ignore.
Either we’re amazing at faking this relationship or everyone wants to desperately believe Santiago is genuinely happy.
“Oh.” That’s all I can muster up. The guy offered to pay for my dress for God’s sake and all I can say is oh. I’m slipping into extremely dangerous territory around him. It’s the kind of treacherous waters a girl can drown in if she’s not careful.
A dress on the mannequin at the front of the store window catches my eye. The black material shines under the spotlights, making thousands of crystals appear like they’re moving. Long sleeves balance the severity of the open back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a piece of clothing as stunning as that. It’s as if the designer captured an illusion of moonlight reflecting off the glittering ocean at midnight.
“Oh, just look at your eyes light up!” Maya calls out to the employee who helps us. “We need that dress, please.”
“What? I like the one you picked out!” I stumble over my words.
“But you love that one.” Maya waggles her brows.
Based on the how dress is part of the storefront display, it must cost way more than the one I hold in my shaky hand. It makes me sick to purchase something like that on someone else’s dime. I don’t even see a price tag on it which only means one thing.
“Don’t bother saying no. When my daughter sets her mind on something, come hell or high water, she is getting her way,” Santiago’s mom offers.
Maya plucks the dress she chose from my hands. She gently pushes me into a dressing room and the store attendant passes me the black dress.
I can’t walk out of the store with this. How could I live with myself when I was barely making enough to cover my rent last month?
I pull out my phone and text Santiago.
Me: Please tell me you didn’t tell your sister that you wouldn’t go to the gala if she didn’t buy me a pretty dress.
Santiago: Can I plead the fifth?
Me: Seeing as you’re not American and you don’t follow the Constitution, the answer is no!
Me: Seriously. I can’t let you pay for something this expensive. Tell your sister to take me to a Zara or something a little more on par with my budget.
Santiago: But I’m scared of her. Why don’t you tell her since you’re the one opposing this in the first place?
Me: You’re afraid of your sister? I wish I could choke you through the phone.
Santiago: Is that your kink? You really are quite the surprise.
I snort.
Santiago: And yes I’m afraid of my sister. She might be small but she’s scrappy. I wouldn’t mess with her. The one time I tried, she shaved my head in the middle of the night as payback.
Me: You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.
Santiago: Replace infuriating with kindest and you have yourself a compliment. Try it with me. Things like this take practice.
I huff. My phone beeps, interrupting my typing fingers.
Santiago: You can always pay me back if it really kills you to accept a gift.
The only way I could afford a dress like this is if I worked until the day gray hairs started sprouting from my head.
Santiago: But I’d rather you didn’t. That takes away from the fun of it. Just let someone else take care of you for once.
Let someone else take care of you for once. Something about his simple words makes my chest tighten. I can’t exactly reject him when he is this honest with me.
Me: Thank you.
I can’t think up anything else, and I doubt he expects me to. His words alone already incapacitated my brain for the morning.
“Is everything okay in there?” Santiago’s mom calls out.
“Just perfect!” I offer in the nicest voice I can fake.
I remove my clothes and put on the new dress and matching shoes. The material clings to my body, highlighting curves I didn’t know I possessed. My feet turn on their own, and the material swirls around me. Crystals reflect a spectrum of colors off the walls.
“Whoa.” I snap a picture of myself and send it to Brooke.
“Let us see!” Maya chants.
I exit the stall, doing a little twirl in my heels.
Maya claps. “That’s the one! Santiago is going to die when he sees you.”
Well, Maya doesn’t have to try too hard to convince me. I may not be the classiest gal to strut the red carpet, but I’ll play the part.
I should be wary of how our performance is becoming much more real by the day. Instead of feeding the mental monster, I chug the rest of my champagne and enjoy my day with Daniela and Maya.
This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to family bonding, and it brings fresh tears to my eyes. And they’re not exactly the happy kind. I traveled to Italy to find my family, but all I’ve done is throw myself into someone else’s.
The worst part is I want more of it. I shouldn’t crave more experiences with Santiago’s family, but I can’t resist. I’ve been denied a family to call my own for years. And my starved heart will suck up any kind of love it can get, even if it’s poison.
I walk into our hotel room after having a spa day with Maya in her penthouse suite. She welcomed me into the life of the rich and lavish with manicures, pedicures, and a private makeup artist before our night at the gala. I never knew joining the dark side meant having champagne and a charcuterie board, but now that I’ve tried it, I’ll never look at pre-gaming the same way again.
“Santiago?” I call out.
No response has me searching the large hotel room. I attempt the doorknob to our bedroom but find it locked. “Santiago?” I tap against the door.
“Give me a minute,” his voice croaks.
Shit, is he having more phantom pains? I press my ear to the door. He mumbles something I fail to catch.
I tap the door again. “Are you okay?”
“Define your meaning of okay?”
“Do I need to bust this door down to save your ass?”
“No. But I might need you to save me from myself because there is no way I can go tonight.”
“Huh?”
The door opens, and I tumble into his room. His hands dart out to stabilize me.
My eyes flit from his tux to his eyes. Damn, he fills out the material in the best kind of way. He looks regal, with his hair slicked back and his face cleanly shaven.
I love everything about his look except for the frown plastered on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know why I thought I could do this,” he mumbles, turning away from me.
“Go to a gala?”
“A gala, seeing coworkers from before, and doing interviews with people asking me too many damn questions. I don’t think I can do it.” He takes a seat in a chair off to the side of his bed. His eyes avoid my gaze as he puts his head in his hands.
“If there is anyone who can do this, it’s you.”
He looks up at me, his eyes plagued with a darkness I hate. My breath lodges itself somewhere in my throat as his eyes roam down my body, taking in every detail. As good as it makes me feel to have his attention, it seems like a distraction for how he actually feels.
His chest heaves as he takes a few deep breaths. “Fuck. Here I am freaking out when I should be commenting on how beautiful you look.”
I take the seat across from him, halting his assessment. “Eh, you have all night to compliment me. You know, at the gala you probably should attend, seeing as it’s honoring your brother-in-law and whatnot. Plus you got all dressed up already. It would truly be a crime against humanity to hide you from the world when you look like that.”
He laughs, but the sound is hollow and unlike him.
I tap his knee. “But it’s okay to be freaked out. I would be if I were in your shoes.”
His brow lifts. “Really?”
“Of course. You’re making a huge, scary sacrifice for your family.”
“What if I don’t want to go anymore?”
“If you don’t want to, then we won’t go.” I shrug. “We can order takeout and binge watch TV until we pass out.”
His lip twitches. “After you spent all that time getting ready, you’d be okay skipping out?”
“Absolutely. I’ll count us even as long as you take a picture of me for my social media page. I’ve never dressed up like this before, so pics or it didn’t happen.” I grin.
“Never? What about prom?”
I shrink back and stare at my hands. “Oh, I couldn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because my foster mom didn’t have the money to buy a dress. It wasn’t common for kids like us to go to those kinds of things anyway. But it’s fine because I didn’t plan on winning prom queen or anything.”
Wrinkles mar his forehead as he frowns. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like it doesn’t bother you. It bothers the fuck out of me, and it wasn’t even my prom.”
“What do you expect me to do? Get mad?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Well, I can’t turn back the clock, and I don’t want to.” The last thing I want to do is relive those years of my life.
“You’re right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to turn back the clock, either.” He looks up from his hands, hitting me with a stare filled with mixed emotions.
“Why?”
“Because you make me want to live in the present rather than kill myself by focusing on the past.”
My chest tightens to a point of discomfort. There’s nothing in the world that can prepare me for having real feelings toward Santiago Alatorre. Feelings are dangerous, and I want to push them away. Very few people in my life have elicited any positive ones. And developing any kind with him gives him an opportunity to break me in ways I’ve never allowed anyone to do before.
I don’t have time to evaluate how I feel toward him. It’s messy and convoluted because of our fine line between fake and real. And it doesn’t help when he says things that muddle my brain.
I didn’t come to Italy to fall in love. And I most definitely didn’t come to Italy to have my heart broken. But with all the time I’m spending around Santiago, I’m not sure if the two are mutually exclusive anymore.
The first camera bulb blinds me. I blink away the black spots in my vision, only to be set off by another flashing light. “How does anyone walk the red carpet if they can’t see?” I clutch onto Santiago’s arm, my fingers digging into the material of his tux.
Somehow my game-day prep speech worked on him while my confidence disappears by the minute. He struts the carpet like he was meant for this life while I struggle to keep up, my attention diverted by reporters yelling out questions.
“I’d say you could get used to it, but I hope we don’t have to attend another one of these for a very long time.”
My feet grind to a halt at his words. “We?”
His eyes land on everything besides my face. “We. Me. Slip of the tongue.”
Right. I scrunch my nose.
A reporter calls out Santiago’s name. He grumbles something under his breath as he leads us toward the red velvet rope. “Let’s get this one over with and then we can drink until the world blurs.”
I laugh as I follow him.
“Santiago Alatorre! What a pleasure it is to have you here at Monza with us!” The reporter beams at my date.
“I’m happy to be here.” Santiago offers a half-assed smile.
I elbow him in the ribs and whisper, “Try a little harder.”
“And who is your date for tonight?” The reporter moves the microphone from Santiago’s face to mine.
“Oh.” I suck in a breath. “I’m Chloe.”
The reporter looks at me expectantly. “Chloe who?”
“Carter.”
“From?” he prompts, his right eye twitching as if he wants to hold back an eye roll.
“America?”
The reporter laughs while Santiago looks like he sucked on a lemon. Am I making myself look like an idiot on live television? If I had a mom who cared, I’d apologize to her later.
The man shifts his attention back toward my grumpy date. “Santiago, will we see you out on the track this Sunday cheering Noah on?”
“Of course. It’s Bandini’s home race and Noah’s last Italian Grand Prix. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Santiago’s smile looks more like a wince.
I pat his hand, and he wraps his muscular arm around me, tugging me into his side. My heart speeds up at his touch, and all the nerves in my body go haywire.
“And how long have you two been dating?”
“A month.”
“A year.” We both speak at the same time.
The reporter’s head snaps back and forth between us.
“A year and a month.” Santiago squashes the man’s confusion.
I turn my laugh into a cough. Somehow my fake relationship has been more successful than my last two relationships combined.
The reporter asks if I need water, but I wave him off. “Sorry. I have chronic allergies.”
“A pity indeed, always flaring up at the most inconvenient times.” Santiago cracks a smile in my direction.
The reporter carries on, expressing his enthusiasm at scoring an interview with the enigma beside me.
I learn a few things as we continue down the carpet, answering questions from fellow reporters. People genuinely care about what Santiago has been up to. Their gaze remains sincere as they ask him appropriate questions. But most of all, Santiago brightens as he gains more courage with them.
I don’t want to assume, but I think deep down that he misses this. The attention, the race car talk, the whole don’t mind me, I’m really fucking famous situation.
The curious part of me wonders what it would take to help Santiago realize he has what it takes to come back.
It seems like after this trip, I need to add something new yet essential to my European expedition. I refuse to leave Italy without helping Santiago return to his former glory. Whether it’s racing or living a life out of the shadows, I want to help him. And nothing can stop me from accomplishing what I put my mind to. Not even a grumpy, six-foot-something male who seeks to be invisible when he’s meant to shine.
