by Lauren Asher
Marko snatches it from my hands and sucks on the straw.
I turn to Santiago. “What did you both eat today?”
“Nothing out of the normal. I made our usual pancakes in the morning, pasta for lunch, and then chicken and rice for dinner.”
“And you ate all the same food? Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, and I feel fine. The only difference is the snacks he eats, but he’s been having those the entire time he’s been here. He never got sick before.”
I think back to my daycare training. “Any food allergies?”
He tugs at his thick hair. “No. He can eat anything and everything.”
“Then he must have a stomach virus.”
“Uh, Princess?” Marko taps my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I turn to him.
“I don’t feel good again.” His face, even in the dim lighting, loses some of its coloring.
I freeze. “Oh, no! Where’s the bucket, Santiago?”
“Bucket?”
Ugh. Maybe I can get him to the bathroom before—
The water Marko chugged makes a return appearance, and I am not a fan of the encore. It saturates the comforter.
Santiago mumbles something under his breath.
My chest tightens at Marko crying again. I throw the duvet off Marko’s legs and bundle it up on the corner of the mattress.
I cringe as Marko’s wails become ragged coughs. “If he keeps this up, we might need to take him to the hospital.”
“My sister would freak out and rush back here. If you have another idea, I’m all for it.” Santiago’s voice hits a new level of panicky.
“Okay, it’s fine. Relax. Let’s see what happens over the next hour. We should move him to your bed so you can keep an eye on him.” I step out of the way to give Santiago room to grab Marko. Each step he makes is followed by a heavy thud.
I check out the hardware attached to his leg. I’ve never seen anything like it before. His right leg is strapped into some kind of device where he can kneel on a pad attached to a stabilized pole. His knee and stump lie comfortably on the padding, covered by some kind of protective sock.
Marko crawls into Santiago’s waiting arms.
I sneak another peek at the special kind of walking crutch. “Do you want me to carry him instead?”
His back tenses.
Way to go saying the wrong thing.
His back rises and falls as he takes a deep breath. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t start treating me like I’m different now,” he whispers.
My body locks up at the broken rasp in his voice. Even after he lied to me, my heart aches for him in a way I’ve never felt before. He makes it impossible to stay mad at him. Not with him looking defeated, plagued by whatever thoughts eat away at him.
“I carry him like this every night after he falls asleep in my bed. It’s not a big deal.” He turns toward the door, not bothering to look at me.
How can I make the sadness in his voice disappear?
Think, Chloe, think.
“No one should look as good as you do while carrying a kid. You’re a risk to women’s ovaries exploding all across the world,” I call out as I imagine a swarm of brunette face-palm emojis floating around my head.
What can I say? There’s no better way to break the awkwardness than to compliment a man. Their egos are like starved plants in need of sunshine.
I catch his smirk before he turns out of the room. Boom. Achievement unlocked.
I’m not lying either. Watching Santiago carry Marko is the ultimate eye candy. Forget abs and corded arms. After this display, I’m all about men cradling little kids and kissing their foreheads. Santiago officially made the top of my sexy list.
Okay, who am I kidding? He is the list.
I follow behind the two of them, fascinated by the way Santiago moves on his device. Santiago walks slower, with the sound of the stabilizer echoing off the walls of his house. He still remains agile with the crutch-like device, clearly comfortable in his environment. To be honest, he’s more graceful than me, and I have both legs firmly planted on the ground.
He stops walking. “I can practically feel your eyes on me.”
“Sorry. I’m too curious for my own good.” I blush. I’m grateful to be standing behind him because the last thing I need is to show him how flustered I am.
“Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“What do you call it?”
“An iWalk. It’s what I like to wear when I don’t want to go through the hassle and discomfort of the leg.” He continues walking.
Something tells me the simple admission about his pain and discomfort took a lot out of him. It’s the first time he’s addressed his disability to me in a matter-of-fact way rather than something to be ashamed of. I find myself wanting to encourage more of that out of him.
Ugh. He’s right. I’m too curious and I’m bound to get hurt by it.
I cover up my surprise. “It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Marko is right. You are Iron Man.”
Santiago’s back shakes from silent laughter. “You should check out my other gadgets and gizmos.”
“I don’t know if that’s an innuendo for something not PG rated.”
Santiago grumbles something I can’t hear before speaking louder. “You don’t want anything but PG from me.” He enters his bedroom, leaving me in the hall.
I take a moment to catch my breath. Why is this man so infuriating? And worse, why do I care about changing the way he perceives himself? He lied, Chloe. You’re only here to help Marko, not learn more about his uncle.
This is how I get in trouble every single time. I think I can fix damaged people when they end up like my mom—disappointing and chronically allergic to stability.
I walk inside his bedroom. The light from the full moon beams through a large window, guiding our movements. Santiago carries Marko to the bathroom and helps him brush his teeth.
The aesthetic of the room fits the owner, with dark colors and few mementos. His space lacks anything to help me understand the man who lives here. It’s honestly rather sad. I find Santiago’s room nothing like my bedroom at home that bursts with everything I love in the world. Growing up in a foster home made me appreciate every inch of space, making every place I live in a home.
A masculine four-poster bed dominates the middle of the room with its huge mattress. I resist the temptation to jump on it and test the springs.
“Sleepover?” Marko mumbles, his eyes drooping.
“You’re sleeping with me tonight.” Santiago helps him get settled into the middle of the bed, the dark covers swallowing him.
“Chloe. Stay.” Marko pats the bed next to him.
My eyes snap from the bed to Santiago. He doesn’t bother looking at me, instead choosing to focus on his hands. Thanks for nothing.
“Uhm. I’m going to sit on the living room couch for an hour just in case you need me.” I move to make my exit.
“No,” Marko whines.
I struggle to resist. Damn kids with their tiny frowns and sad eyes. How can anyone ever say no to them?
“Do you mind?” I look over at Santiago.
Please mind. Say this is a bad idea and let’s call it a night.
He shakes his head.
Bastard.
I grumble to myself as I tug at the laces of my sneakers and rip them off. Climbing into Santiago’s bed is nothing short of an experience. The mattress is made of a foam voodoo, and I sigh as my body sinks into the cushion.
Santiago is going to have to hire a crane to lift me out because I’m never leaving this bed.
Marko snuggles into my side and places his head on my chest. “Mommy holded me like this.” He plucks my hand and places it on his back. “Tio. You too.” He does the same patting of the bed that sucked me in.
Santiago stares at me and visibly swallows.
I grin. How do you like it now, traitor?
His hands clenc
h in front of him, forming two tight balls.
“Tio,” Marko speaks louder, his voice croaking.
Santiago drops his head, letting out the longest breath.
“It’s fine. This bed is big enough to fit a whole family,” I offer, hoping to ease his discomfort.
He climbs onto the bed and turns his back toward us. Distinct clicking sounds break the silence as he works to remove the straps of his iWalk. He places his sock covering on the nightstand with a shaky hand.
My heart aches at his distress. I want to say something to make him feel better, but I’m not sure how he will react.
Santiago’s muscles strain as he gets situated under the covers. I keep my eyes focused on his face to offer him some privacy, but not enough that he thinks I’m turned off by him. I refuse to go down that path again because I won’t survive kissing him again. The only one we had is forever ingrained in my memory, with my lips tingling at the idea.
Marko grabs my hand and links it with Santiago’s. An electric feeling spreads across my skin from the contact. Santiago flexes his hand before tightening his grip on mine. Does he feel the same kind of connection between us? How can he not? It’s like sparks shooting off our skin whenever we touch.
“All better. Like Mommy and Daddy when I is scared.” Marko pats our united hands.
I crack a smile at Marko trying to recreate what makes him comfortable.
It doesn’t take long for Marko to fall asleep on me. He eventually lets out soft snores as he breathes in and out.
“Thank you for coming to save the day. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Santiago’s eyes remain focused on the ceiling.
“You’re welcome.”
It feels like ten minutes before he says anything again. “You could’ve said no.”
“I know I might have some cons, but I’m not exactly evil.”
“Just lethal.” A faint smile crosses his lips.
I let out a low laugh.
Santiago turns his head toward mine. “I’m sorry I lied to get out of going on the boat with you.”
My eyes find his. A spectrum of feelings pours out of him from one single look. Pain. Sadness. Regret. It’s the same look I recognize in myself throughout the years. Seeing it on someone else hits me in a different way, forcing me to empathize with him.
I shelve the desire to say something snappy back at him about liars always apologizing. Instead, I let out a heavy sigh. Marko doesn’t flinch when my chest moves.
“I regret lying to you,” he whispers. “In the end, it was all for nothing. I let my own insecurity rule my behavior, and it didn’t even matter. I upset you by wanting to prevent you from seeing exactly what I showed you tonight. Except this version is way worse.”
“Why?” One word, a bunch of different questions that need an answer. I attempt to pull my hand out from his grasp, no longer needing to pretend for Marko’s sake.
Santiago holds on. “I was nervous for you to see me in nothing but a swimsuit and my leg.” He pauses. “No one sees me that way except my family. When I invited you to go swimming, I didn’t realize my mistake. Everything felt so…”
Natural. I want to fill in the word for him, but I stop myself. My heart cracks for this man who struggles to come to terms with himself. Low self-esteem is a tough battle. His confession hits me differently because he looks like an Adonis in every sense of the word. Yet again, Santiago reveals another layer of himself I can’t help appreciating.
How can someone who looks so perfect be so flawed?
“I don’t care about something like a prosthetic leg, but you refuse to accept it. Your injury doesn’t define you. Your decisions do.” I shut my eyes, wanting to escape his gaze. Yet everything about our proximity has my body aware of him in ways I wish weren’t possible.
Silence cloaks the air. His grip on my hand loosens, and I slip out of his grasp.
I stay awake and wait for a reply that never comes. Eventually, I fall asleep to Marko’s steady breathing.
Marko thankfully slept through the rest of the night with no more stomach issues. Somehow, I didn’t suffocate Marko with my usual habit of cuddling someone to death. Santiago kept to his side of the bed, and Marko rolled over to lie on top of his uncle in the middle of the night.
Santiago looks peaceful and unplagued by the worries that force his face into a permanent scowl. It takes everything in me not to watch him snooze, stuck between being a creep and offering the man some privacy.
I pull myself away from the bed, grab my sneakers off the floor, and exit Santi’s room without making a noise. While his confession last night about his reason for lying touched my heart, I can’t find it in myself to speak more about it today. Not when I need time to decompress from the whole experience.
As I walk down the main road, my eyes land on my father’s house. I hate the stupid gate standing between us—a physical barrier as much as an emotional one. It reminds me of my failure and lack of confidence to approach Matteo and be honest.
Here I am getting angry at Santiago when I’m just as much of a liar. A stupid, cowardly liar who can’t face the one obstacle getting in the way of what I want.
But I have a good reason to lie. I’m afraid of being rejected by another parent.
I turn away from the gate, unable to face any more feelings for the day. I’ve reached my limit of bullshit, especially when it comes from my own self.
13
Chloe
I clutch onto the handle of the mop as I swipe it across the floor of the shop. The bell above the door chimes and I turn to face the newcomers.
“Hi, Chloe!” Marko waves. His headphones match his Iron Man costume.
I turn in time, dropping the mop as Marko runs into my arms for a hug. “Hey! I’m happy to see you’re feeling better.”
“No more pukey.” Marko makes a funny face.
“I like your suit. Reminds me of someone I know.” I look at Santiago. He wears a ball cap, hiding his eyes beneath the bill. His T-shirt and jeans mold to his firm torso. Sigh.
He smirks when my eyes connect with his. “Hey.”
Busted. How does one word out of his mouth make all the nerves in my body fire off in unison?
My cheeks heat. “Hi.”
His lip twitches. He sets Marko up at an empty table with his iPad before walking back toward me. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you again before you snuck off this morning.”
He came all the way over here to say thanks? My heart betrays me, racing in my chest. “Yeah. I didn’t want to be late for my shift.”
“I see.” Santiago looks around the empty shop. Matteo is working in the back office, counting supplies since it’s a slow day.
“So...” I rock back on my heels.
“Well, I actually need to tell you something. You fell asleep last night and...” His voice trails off. His eyes slide down my body, and I feel every second of it.
“Well, to be fair, you didn’t say anything for a while and I kind of knocked out.”
He smiles, small and hesitant. “Yeah. About that... I don’t want to have more lies between us. It was fun—and a bit messed up—pretending in front of Maya and Noah about us, but that’s not how I usually am. I swear you’ve seen the worst parts of me.”
“Are you sure there’s a good part?”
He laughs. “Maybe. But really, my sister was excited about the idea of you so I just went along with it. She’s going through a rough time, and I did the first thing I thought would take her mind off things. And to be fair, a fake girlfriend was the first idea I could come up with to explain why there was a stranger in my house. But either way, it’s not right, and I plan on confessing the truth to her once—”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s fine. We can make something up instead. But it should be your last lie.”
“Okay.” Santiago clears his throat, bringing my attention to his thick neck and the muscles bulging out of the back of his shirt. He removes his cap and runs his han
d through his roguish hair. The muscles in his arms twitch, attempting to say hello.
Seriously. Can he please be less appealing?
My eyes slide from his body to his face. “Was that all you needed to tell me?”
“No. I don’t want you to be mad, but there’s something else you need to know about me. I’m hoping my honesty about the situation makes up for the dishonesty in the first place because I like hanging out with you. For real. So, please don’t be too angry, okay?” His voice carries a hopeful note, but his words make me apprehensive.
“It’s not fair to ask someone not to be mad before you—”
“Oh, mio dio, sei Santiago Alatorre!”
Santiago’s eyes widen. “I thought you were alone.” He curses under his breath.
I look over my shoulder to find Matteo’s mouth opening before closing again.
Matteo catches himself. He walks up to Santiago and offers his trembling hand. “You’re here! In my shop! Wow! My family has always been a huge fan of racing, and when we heard you were living here, we couldn’t believe it. Especially since no one has seen you in person. But here you are in my shop of all places!” Matteo’s cheeks turn bright red.
I turn toward Santiago. I look so damn hard at him that I wonder if my eyes will turn into lasers. Who is he and why does Matteo recognize him? And what does Matteo mean about racing?
“A fan?” My voice croaks.
“Let me explain.” Santiago’s eyes snap from me to Matteo and back to me again.
My stomach churns at the look on his face.
Matteo pushes through, clearly not reading the room. “Of course. We’ve been Bandini loyalists for decades.” His face looks like a kid on Christmas morning. This is the most excitement I’ve seen from my father, and it happens to be toward the one person I clearly don’t know much about.
The only thing I do know is Santiago Alatorre is a liar. A big, fat, impossibly handsome liar.
“My son is a huge fan of yours and your brother-in-law. He says you guys were the best duo in years.” Matteo smiles.