by Lauren Asher
“She does a bunch of travel and lifestyle videos. I didn’t connect Santiago’s name and hers when you mentioned him! Oh my God. Noah fucking Slade!” Brooke screams a string of words into the phone. “That’s it, I’m packing my bags. You need a partner-in-crime, and I straight up just need a partner. They have to have some hot, famous friend for little old me.”
I laugh up to the ceiling, loving Brooke for erasing my concerns about seeing Santiago tonight. “If you come here, you’ll never leave.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
16
Chloe
Tonight is nothing like my last visit. For starters, Marko abandons me the moment I step into the house. He sits on the living room couch with his eyes glued to the television. His absence makes Santiago’s presence that much more daunting, like a dark force swallowing me whole. I, for one, am afraid of some unsupervised time with the tall man who checks all my boxes and then some.
He leads me into his luxurious kitchen. The smells coming from the stove and oven have me salivating. It’s nothing I’m used to.
Santiago knowing how to cook completely disarms me in a new kind of way. I lean against the counter, captivated by him cutting up onions like he’s a hot Spanish version of Gordon freaking Ramsey. His arms flex with every movement. The five minutes I spend drooling on the counter solidifies my commitment to binging every cooking show available on TV. Screw Love Island, I’m here for the kitchen island.
Thank God I have him locked down as a fake boyfriend. He shouldn’t be allowed in the dating world with talents like his.
I laugh to myself at my possessiveness over something unreal.
He looks up from the cutting board. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say to his straining bicep.
He tightens his hold on the knife, forcing the muscles in his arm to flex.
My cheeks warm as I lift my gaze, catching his eyes. “I didn’t know you could cook. Like really cook, you know, with fancy knives and real vegetables.”
“I’m almost scared to ask what you mean by ‘real vegetables.’” He fake shudders.
“Hey, don’t judge. I’m not talented in the kitchen so I make do with the frozen stuff.”
“Frozen stuff? Why would you do that?”
“Here’s a rough summary: I burn bread.”
The laugh he lets out makes goosebumps spread across my skin. “That’s like my sister. She couldn’t find her way through a kitchen if you gave her step-by-step instructions and a video tutorial.”
“I’d burn the guide and call for takeout. It sounds like the safest option for everyone involved.”
“Are you willing to learn?”
“To cook?” I ogle him while licking my bottom lip. The idea of Santiago teaching me something domestic has me practically panting.
His eyes darken as they drop to my tongue. “Can you stop doing that? It’s distracting.” He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, drying it.
I choke on my inhale of breath. My fingers clutch onto the counter as I fight hacking up a lung. “What?”
“Do you want to help me?” He ignores my question and points to the ingredients covering the counter.
“Really?”
“I’ll consider it my duty to society. We can’t have you out in the world eating frozen vegetables and risking the lives of others by burning bread.” He smirks.
I flash him a smile, enjoying his lightheartedness. “If I went back to America knowing how to make anything besides instant Mac and Cheese, I think my best friend, Brooke, would personally send you a gift basket.”
Santiago chuckles, rough and warm. “Do you know how to peel potatoes?”
I nod. “Brooke and I attempted a few too many unsuccessful holiday dinners.”
He passes me the peeler and the bowl of potatoes. “How about you do that while I finish up here?” He resumes his chopping.
I work at the pace of an arthritic grandmother, not wanting my time with Santiago to end. The way he completes tasks takes the definition of food porn to a whole new level. He moves along, working on different ingredients with such ease. I’m seriously tempted to fan myself with an oven mitt.
I grab another potato from the bowl and get to work. “What are you making for dinner?”
“Empanadas because they’re Marko’s favorite, and other tapas for us.”
Seriously, this man is a whole other level of irresistible. He cooks, he babysits, and he’s grumpy. My kind of kryptonite.
“Wow. Most kids like pizza and chicken nuggets, yet he likes fancy-sounding Spanish food.”
“Empanadas are anything but fancy.” Santiago laughs.
Way to make yourself sound classy to a millionaire, Chloe. “Oh. Right.” I ignore the heat crawling up my neck, hoping Santiago misses it.
Based on how his smile grows larger, I can’t count myself as that fortunate. His stare zaps my skin to life. “I can see why you think that based on how many ingredients we need. It’s my mom’s recipe. She taught me this one when I was a little older than Marko.”
“Really? Your mom is a smart woman, training you from a young age to be ideal husband material.” The words escape me before my filter intervenes. I’d smack myself if I didn’t have my hands occupied.
“More like I would beg Mami to teach me so I could steal pieces before dinner. But I won’t lie, it does come in handy though when I’m trying to impress a beautiful woman.”
Of course he cooks to lure in unsuspecting women. Why would I think I’m such a special snowflake that he cooks with?
“Has anyone told you that you have an extremely expressive face?” He points the tip of his knife in my direction.
If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d consider it serial killer scary. “No. Why?”
“Because your smile dropped after I spoke. I should be clearer. I’m impressing you through empanadas, tapas, and good wine.”
My heart goes into overdrive, racing in my chest. “Really?”
He winks. I blush. The cycle repeats itself.
I clear my throat. “So, where is the wine you speak of because I could use a glass right about now?”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Not until after the pointy objects get put away.”
We work side by side, with Santiago explaining each step of the process. Together, we make a batch of empanadas. The ones I created are a bit wonky and stuffed to the brim, but Santiago laughed and cooked them anyway.
Santiago works on a couple of his tapas while I chug a glass of wine.
Marko comes when Santiago calls his name. The three of us sit together and eat, acting like some happy little family I have only experienced in Santiago’s presence. My youth didn’t include anything close to this. But instead of the typical coldness seeping through my veins at the idea of my past, a shot of something warm spreads through my chest.
Oh God. Don’t go getting attached to something you can never have.
I push aside the thoughts and focus all my attention on Marko. He distracts me with his babbling about all the fun stuff he did with his uncle today before I showed up.
“What are you doing next, Marko?” I look over at him.
“Mommy and Daddy take me racing.” He makes a zooming noise resembling a car as he flies an empanada into his mouth.
“Racing? Wow!” I laugh at the sight of him. The kid is so stinkin’ cute, I want him to stay for another week.
“They’re off to the next Prix once Maya picks him up tomorrow and joins Noah. They’ll spend the summer traveling around with the team before Marko starts school again.”
“That’s fun! Where are they going next?”
“Monza for the Italian Grand Prix.” He speaks low.
Marko claps his hands. “Yes! Italy! Daddy wins!”
I smile. “How do you know?”
“He’s the bestest.”
Santiago’s smile drops. The change is dark and unmistakable. Memories have a way of torturing us all, no matter
the time or place.
I hate the look that crosses his face. Thinking with my heart rather than my brain, I blurt out something crazy because I want his sadness to disappear. “So, Santiago, what are your plans next week once Marko leaves?”
A couple of wrinkles mar his forehead as his eyebrows pull together. “Nothing much besides our dinner on Tuesday. Someone is delivering a new car for me to restore, so I guess I’ll work on that over the next few weeks.”
“Oh really? Do you remember that I love fixing cars? It’s a new passion of mine.”
His frown disappears as he cracks a smile. “Yes. I remember that fact about you. Vintage cars, right?”
“Oh, yes. The older the better.” That sounded like the right thing to say.
His smile turns into something downright devious. “Weird. I love vintage cars too.”
I press my palm into my chest and fake my shock. “Would you look at that? Who knew we had that in common! I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I joined you then to repair whatever car you picked?”
His guarded eyes meet mine. “Why would you want to do that?”
Yeah, Chloe, why? I remain calm and collected despite my racing thoughts. My actions barely make sense to myself, seeing as we never discussed spending time together outside of the ruse. But I can’t resist wanting to remove the sad look in his eyes when he thinks about his family racing without him. Even if it means letting my guard down.
17
Chloe
“I guess I better head out.” I intertwine my fingers and rock back on my heels.
With Marko asleep in his bed and all the dishes put away, it seems like the right time to go.
“Do you want to stay a little longer? I can open another bottle of wine?” Santiago rushes to get the words out, his voice hesitant yet hopeful.
Oh God. Is he nervous? I attempt to get a word out, but nothing passes my lips. Me, speechless. Brooke would laugh her ass off at the idea.
“No pressure. If you can’t because you have to go to work early tomorrow, then don’t worry about it,” he rambles on.
Screw him for crawling under my skin and making himself at home. I can’t resist nodding my head, agreeing to some one-on-one time with him. It’s as if he emits pheromones, trapping me with muscles, a sexy Spanish accent, and timid smiles.
Santiago leads us back into the living room before he leaves to grab a bottle of wine. My eyes land on the label when he enters the room again. It’s the same brand I fawned over during dinner, claiming I’ve never had anything that good since I usually purchase anything with a “buy one, get one free” label. The fact that he grabbed another of the same brand has me nearly falling over from swooning too hard.
Santiago takes a seat on the couch, saving a bit of space between us. I’m thankful for it because I’m seriously doubting my self-control around him tonight. He’s acting too sweet for my taste.
He passes me a full glass of wine. His hand brushes mine, sending a current of energy up my arm.
I rip my hand away. “What car do you plan on restoring?”
“A 1951 Jaguar C-Type.” He smiles to himself.
“Sounds...luxurious?” The only thing I know about cars is how the ones with the loudest muffler usually signal how there’s a man with a small dick nearby.
He laughs in a way that has my toes curling inside of my shoes. “Based on how it looks now, you wouldn’t say that.”
“Really? Why buy it then?”
“Because the fun is in fixing it up.”
“How long have you been doing this hobby?”
He looks away. “Since I could afford it.”
I try to hide my surprise. “And when was that?”
“When I made it with racing. Before that, it was a struggle for my family to make ends meet. All of this”—he waves around the room—“took hard work. My parents weren’t exactly financially set in life. At least not until I fixed them up with enough savings to live the rest of their lives comfortably.”
“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know that about you.” That small fact about himself has me looking at him in a new light. Maybe we have more in common than I initially thought.
“If you google me, it’s probably one of the first things that shows up.” He shakes his head. “Wait. Don’t google me. That’s never a good idea.”
Well, technically I didn’t google him.
His eyes narrow as he scans my face. “You did, didn’t you?”
I glance away, melting under his scrutiny. “Umm...not me. Brooke did though. But she didn’t tell me much.”
“What did she say?”
I look everywhere but the source of my embarrassment as if his eyes can detect my thoughts. “Just that you have a net-worth comparable to a small country.”
“That’s it? Okay, that’s not too bad.” He scrunches his nose in an adorable way. Good God, adorable? Chloe, please rein in your ovaries. They’re wreaking havoc on your brain.
“Mm-hmm.” I grip my wine glass and chug half of the contents in one go.
His head tilts, and a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “I like how you can lie to everyone but me. It’s rather endearing.”
“What?” I sputter.
“I’ll give it to you. You’re impressive at lying. To my sister, my brother-in-law, your father. It’s something that caught my attention about you. But when I have you on my own, you give everything away. So, I’ll ask you one more time. What did your roommate say?” The authoritative tone in his voice has my lower half clenching.
“Brooke told me that you have a huge dick worthy of poems.”
Santiago’s head drops back as he lets out a roar of laughter. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Google me all you want. The naughtier the articles, the better, please.”
I lean over and give him a shove. My hand lingers on his forearm before I tug it away, chiding myself for being touchy. “Hey. I didn’t research you. Brooke did.”
“Brooke is my new favorite person. Maybe I’ll be the one to send her the thank-you basket, instead.”
My eyes flick from his face to his jeans, curiosity eating away at my politeness. “So, you’re not denying it then?”
“A man would be stupid to deny those kinds of claims. Especially if they’re true.”
Oh. My. God. I squirm in my seat. Now I have an idea of what he’s packing under those jeans and it has my mind reeling.
He pours himself a bit more wine before topping my glass off. “Now that you know a secret of mine, it’s your turn.”
“A secret? You’re the one boasting about having a steel pipe for a dick. That’s not a secret. That’s a fact.”
Santiago’s face turns red as he laughs harder than I’ve ever heard him before. “Tell me a secret anyway. I feel like I’m at a loss here.”
“Secrets take trust, and I don’t trust you.” My smile drops.
“What would it take you to trust me?”
I sigh. “That’s a loaded question since I don’t trust people easily. Skip.”
His brows furrow. “Why don’t you trust others?”
“Why don’t you trust others? You’re the one who lied to me about your identity for two weeks. That decision doesn’t scream trust,” I snap.
Santiago’s eyes widen.
Shit. I mentally sheath my claws. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s fine. I’ll admit that wasn’t my finest moment. As far as trusting others...I’ve met some of the nastiest people who feed off fame and failure. Seeing the worst in humanity has me understanding the value of people who I can trust.”
His answer is far-fetched compared to mine, with his life in the limelight, yet we have similarities I can’t deny. Ones that are fundamental, no matter one’s circumstance.
“I’ve seen the worst in people too. And they tend to have a way of disappointing me. Instead of getting my feelings hurt by trusting the wrong person, I’d rather not do it at all.”
“What about Brooke?”
“Exception to the rule.�
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“So, you’re willing to break yours about trust then?” His eyes take me prisoner as a smile graces his lips.
“Maybe. Depends on the person.”
“That’s good enough for me. Plus, maybe you learn how being around bad people gives you the ability to appreciate the good ones.” His gaze lingers on my face in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable.
I don’t like the easygoing feeling spreading through my body from his words. Nope, nope, nope. I survived years of foster care because I didn’t fall for flowery words and empty promises. I’m the one who likes to be in control of how much I share about myself.
His eyes soften. “You might not trust me now, but you will eventually.”
“That’s quite the claim coming from you.”
“I’m not one to state things I don’t mean. If it takes you some more time to open up, that’s fine. I’m not exactly going anywhere.” He points to his iWalk. “Plus, we have a car to fix up together. You already offered your services.”
My heart warms at the notion. It’s the first time he’s openly addressed his injury without an ounce of contempt. His reaction has me smiling.
“Why do you even want my trust anyway? That’s not a requirement of fake dating.”
“Because some people in life are worth the extra effort.”
My breath catches at his words. I thought it would be fun to drag the hermit out of his shell, but it turns out he’s working his own magic on me.
He has me hoping that he proves me wrong. And that in itself is the most concerning thing about him.
“Chloe. I need you to come to my house right now and save me. My mom is on her way,” Santiago whispers into the phone.
That’s not exactly what I expect to hear come out of Santiago’s mouth the moment I answered his phone call.
“Huh?” I rub the sleep from my eyes after my afternoon nap. Work today completely wiped me out because Matteo finally asked me to help him with some rush orders after a swarm of tourists showed up at his shop.