by Lauren Asher
“Tell me more about that then.”
I rear back in my chair in surprise, banging my head against the headrest like a dork. “What do you want to know?”
“For starters, how did you get into that kind of hobby?”
“Well, I used to have some anger issues.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” He attempts to keep a straight face but laughs anyway.
“It’s true.” I punch him in the arm for emphasis.
He only laughs harder.
“So my social worker took me to the hobby store one day after an incident.” I shiver at the reminder of the day I lost my mom, my home, and my last ounce of innocence. “She told me I could pick anything from the store, but I had to agree it would be my outlet for my emotions rather than anything physical.”
“And what made you pick that?”
“She thought it would help for me to stab something. The needle seemed like a safe option.”
Santiago’s laugh bounces off the roof of the car. “I would’ve never guessed you had this much pent-up aggression.”
“I was pretty mad at the world as a teenager.”
His smile drops. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what is.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make everything seem like it’s okay?”
I shrug. “Because it is. I can’t do anything to change the past, so why continue to let it bother me?”
He nods and focuses his attention back on the road. The lakeside town disappears as we drive through the winding roads toward Monza.
“Are you any good at it?” He breaks the silence.
“Embroidering?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not one to show off, but I’m wearing one of the pieces I made now.” I point down at my embroidered T-shirt. It’s a basic pocket tee, with a bunch of multicolored dainty flowers designed above the pocket. It was a total nightmare to design, but I love it all the more because of how hard it was to make.
“Wow. I thought you bought that.”
I shake my head, hiding my smile. “No. I like designing pieces like this.”
“Have you ever thought of selling them to the public?”
I snort. “Not really. I’ve never had the time or money to start my own Etsy shop.”
“Would you be interested? If you had time, that is?”
I pause and consider it. Thinking up designs feeds the creative side I’ve neglected throughout the years while overworking myself. I love the thrill I get when drawing out my creations on the fabric and bringing them to life. The peace from the process and the sense of accomplishment once the piece is done is another bonus.
I love it all. From beginning to end.
“I mean, in a perfect world where I had limitless money and didn’t have to work as much, sure. But the world is far from flawless, so I’ll stick to the things I know will support me.”
“You should consider making more time for your hobby.”
“Why?”
“Because if you love something enough to smile like you are right now, then you should pursue it before it’s too late.”
I press a hand to my lips. “I don’t have the time.”
“And you never will if you keep finding reasons not to.”
Whoa. Here I’ve been pushing Santiago out of his comfort zone, only to have him do the same. Santiago is embroidering himself into my skin like the designs I love so much, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do about it.
25
Santiago
I regret agreeing to visit my family at the Monza track. It takes everything in me to step out of my car after the road trip from Lake Como. The valet workers don’t leave me with much of a choice as they take over, grabbing our luggage from the back. I pull my cap low on my face as I take a deep breath of the fresh air.
Chloe exits the car with a huge grin plastered on her face, staring up at our hotel with wonder. “Oh my God. Look at this place! It’s even cooler than your house, and you live in a castle!”
I never noticed the details of this older hotel when I stayed here with the Bandini team. Looking at it with Chloe goggles, I appreciate the architecture and classic design.
She blinks up at the building. “Wow. It reminds me of the Biltmore Estate.”
“The what?”
She lets out a sigh. “Oh, forget it. Sometimes I forget you’re not from America.”
I open my mouth to respond, but something catches my eyes. A bystander pulls out their phone and snaps a picture of us. I’m tempted to call them out on their lack of privacy, but Chloe pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Do you think it’s haunted?” She pokes my chest.
I release a shaky breath, ignoring the interested onlookers. “No. At least I hope it isn’t. We better check in before a mob starts forming.”
Chloe scans the entryway, her eyes stopping on the fans who’ve gathered near the lobby. “You know, there’s one thing learning you’re famous, but then there’s a whole other thing experiencing it firsthand.”
“This is nothing,” I mumble as I direct her toward the concierge desk.
“They’re taking video of you! That’s so creepy.”
I’m thankful for the jeans covering my leg. Nothing about my fans’ scrutiny makes me feel good, but I can’t do anything about it while we are out in the open. “Ignore it. You’ll get used to them by the end of the weekend.”
“I don’t know if that’s something I want to get used to in the first place.” She purses her lips.
The employee checks us in, her gaze focused on me. She drops our key card twice before I reach over and pluck it from her trembling hands with a thank you.
My skin itches as people’s stares heat the back of my neck. “Let’s go,” I grunt, stealing Chloe’s attention away from a fancy painting she was ogling. With fidgety hands, I grab onto our luggage and lead the way toward the elevator.
We enter a waiting car. The doors shut, and I exhale.
“Are you okay?” Chloe tilts her head at me.
“I just want to get to the room and relax.”
“Mmkay.” She rocks back on the heels of her sneakers.
The numbers change at a crawl as the car begins its slow ascent. I tap my fingers against the metal handlebar.
“Do you want to cancel? It’s not too late to turn back now and go home.”
Home. A word like that out of her mouth shouldn’t make my skin heat with a welcome nervousness, but it does. Something deep within me wouldn’t mind taking Chloe home. Anywhere but here.
I shake my head. “No. And based on the amount of photos the fans took, I’m sure everyone will know I’m here by the end of the hour. If I run, then I’ll look like a coward.”
“Or someone who values their privacy.” She shrugs.
Her gesture is sweet, but I couldn’t escape this fate even if I wanted to. The elevator stops, and the doors open to our suite.
“Holy shit.” Chloe’s mouth gapes open as she exits the car, leaving me behind to roll our bags inside.
Lights bounce off the chandelier above our heads, highlighting the expansive space. Chloe runs her hand across a suede couch. I enjoy the look of awe on her face as she takes in everything.
“The only way this weekend can get any better is if you tell me there’s free champagne and chocolate in this room.” She throws herself on the couch.
Her reaction reminds me of my first time experiencing the lux life of Formula 1. I was lost in the luxury of everything, not realizing how easily it could be taken away.
I frown at the idea. Unfortunately, it was. The psychological wound festers into something tangible, with an ache emanating through my body toward my leg. If a phantom pain happens again in front of Chloe, I swear I’ll lose my shit. One time was enough of a blow to my confidence. Two times in one day would be catastrophic.
Inhaling deeply, I turn away toward the door on the opposit
e end of the room. It takes everything in me not to stumble. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Oh, sure.” Her smile drops. “I’ll keep quiet and explore the palace. I mean place.” She laughs to herself.
Another pain shoots through my leg. Fuck. I grip onto the knob and rip the door open. Without looking back, I enter the room, sealing myself off from Chloe’s help.
I refuse to let her see me weak anymore. How can she ever want me if I’m still some struggling cripple who can’t function like a normal man? The last thing I want is for her to see me as anything lesser than.
Dark thoughts eat away at my restraint, making me question if this weekend was a good idea. But like everything in my life, my quick decisions lead to drastic consequences.
I work through the phantom pain on my own. Without my mirror, it takes twenty minutes longer than usual for the exercises and mind games to work. And in Chloe’s absence, I struggle to breathe easier as the pain fades away. I already miss her coaxing me out of my mental cloud of self-contempt like she did this morning.
A realization hits me. I’m becoming reliant on a woman who has every opportunity to walk away. And damn, I want her to stay, even if it’s for a little while longer.
Chloe stares at me, her mouth gaping like a fish. It’s cute. Endearing really.
Yeah, you’re fucked. You think everything she does is appealing.
“You’re telling me that we have to share one bed?” Her eyes bounce between the king-size mattress and my face.
“Yes.”
“And one room?”
“That’s usually how the one-bed situation works. Yes.” I smirk.
“Would it be too much to ask for a second room? You are rich and all.”
I shake with silent laugher. She says the word rich with such distaste, I end up respecting her more for it. “Because that wouldn’t be obvious to my family at all.”
She remains silent, but her eyes remain wide as she checks out the room.
“We’ve already done this once. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Yeah, well, we had a sick child to take care of.” Her eyes darken as they roam across my body.
I grin like an idiot. “And now?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on. Are you nervous to share a bed?”
“No.”
“Excited?”
She scoffs. “Definitely not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You look like someone who takes up the majority of the bed.”
“The horror.” I gasp and press a palm against my chest.
She groans under her breath and grabs her clothes from her luggage. “I’m going to shower.”
“Do you need any help?”
She throws a bundle of socks right at my face.
My laughter is met with the soft click of the bathroom door closing behind Chloe. Warmth spreads through me at the idea of sleeping by her side.
Oh, yeah. I’m absolutely, positively fucked.
Chloe slides into bed after her shower. The darkness hides her face from me, but her hesitant movements have me raising a brow.
“Good night,” she mumbles under her breath. The sheets rustle as she hugs the edge of the bed.
“If you fall asleep like that, you’ll end up on the floor.”
“Better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
She scoots closer to the middle of the bed, abandoning the edge. Her hands fumble in the dark, creating a pillow barrier.
The sight of it has me chuckling up to the ceiling.
She sighs.
“Is this the moment you admit to me that you like watching people sleep?”
“No!” She cackles.
“A secret toe fetish?”
“Oh my God. Stop!” Her giggles grow louder.
“Oh, I know. You snore!”
Her body thrashes as her laughs bounce off the ceiling. “I’ve been labeled a stage ten cuddler.”
My interest is doused by a surge of jealousy that catches me by surprise. “By who?” I attempt with everything in me to keep my voice flat.
“Brooke. Supposedly I almost suffocated her in her sleep when we had to share a bed a couple of times. She said I wrapped myself around her like a wet blanket.”
“Is that supposed to be a con?”
“That and a red flag.”
“Well, when it comes to you, consider me colorblind.”
She lets out the most obnoxious laugh that has me grinning. “You’re supposed to run for the hills.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, uncontrolled and unexpected. “You’re strange if you think that’s the case.”
“Well, I didn’t claim I wasn’t weird.”
I point at the poor attempt of a pillow barrier. “You’re also stubborn.”
“I prefer the more positive synonym of tenacious.”
“Okay, Merriam Webster.”
“You’re going to call me another woman in bed? You really are the worst fake boyfriend.” She fake gasps.
I let out a throaty laugh. Something about Chloe makes everything lighter. Better. Happier. I’m tempted to keep poking fun at her just to hear what ridiculousness she spews next.
With each joke between us, her laughs because more unrestrained.
It hits me that playing guitar isn’t the only music that feeds my soul anymore. Chloe’s laughs are the sweetest melody, a harmony of sounds that can’t be recreated by any strings or notes. They fill me with a warmth, banishing the darkness that grew and festered over the years after my accident.
I wake up to a heavy weight against my chest. What’s that?
I open my eyes, blinking away the blurriness to find a mass of black hair against my chest.
Right. Chloe. Shared bed. A failed pillow barrier.
When Chloe called herself a cuddler, she was not kidding. She molds herself to the left side of my body. One of her legs is thrown over my lower half, uncomfortably pressing against my growing erection. Her hand is splayed on top of my chest and her hair is a mass of tangles trailing down her back, tickling my skin.
She smells like daisies and sunshine, and I’m growing addicted to the scent.
I wish I didn’t have to leave, but I can’t have her seeing me without my prosthetic. I’m just not ready for that yet. For a few minutes, I enjoy her presence. Intimacy with her is something I’ve come to appreciate after living many years without it.
Chloe doesn’t even stir as I pull myself from underneath her. She sleeps like the dead and looks good doing it.
Not wanting her to wake up and find me in this position, I move quickly through the motions of putting on my leg. I glance over my shoulder halfway through the process. She replaced me with a pillow, and I instantly regret getting out a bed.
I look back down at my leg. One day I’ll feel comfortable enough to share this part of me with someone else. But today is definitely not the day.
26
Santiago
“Chloe, are you sure that you’re okay with being filmed for my vlog?” Maya looks over at Chloe with her camera clutched in her palm. Ever since I stepped on the empty racetrack, my skin has been clammy and my heart has been beating at a rapid pace.
Bandini employees work in the pit lane. The crew secures spare tires and checks on car parts after Noah’s earlier practice rounds. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the noises and smells of a race day. Besides the occasional crew member looking up at us, everyone keeps to themselves. I didn’t realize how much I missed the energetic buzz of the pit on a race weekend. It’s become a distant memory after all these years.
“Sure! How hard can a race be?” Chloe checks out the sleek Bandini sports car.
A race?!
“Against Maya? Don’t let her fool you. She knows her way around a car better than half the crew.” Noah wraps an arm around Maya’s waist.
I tuck my hand in
the back pocket of her shorts and pull her flush against my side. “Since when did you plan a race?” I whisper in her ear.
“Since your sister texted me this morning asking if I would do a vlog with her. She is very persuasive and I had a hard time saying no.”
“How did you even get each other’s num—” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. You can’t drive.”
“Why?” She shakes her head in a sassy way.
I’d find it endearing under any other circumstance. Now, her defiance annoys me.
“Maya, Chloe can’t drive. She doesn’t have a license,” I announce to the group.
“You suck,” Chloe mumbles under her breath.
I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and lean in to whisper, “My goal is for you to suck, but this is good enough for now.”
Her crimson cheeks are the only response I get.
“Oh. I didn’t realize you just learned to drive. We can do something else. How about an exclusive interview? I’m sure my fans would go crazy to learn more about you.” Maya’s eyes perk up.
Hell no. That plan is somehow even worse than this one.
“That sounds like a great idea.” Noah’s smile grows larger as he gauges my reaction.
Fucker. The last thing I want is Maya interviewing Chloe. It might put our game at risk, and I can’t have that. It’s purely selfish of me, but I want to keep faking it with Chloe. It gives her a reason to stay around me.
I step in. “What about a hot laps match? Noah versus me. I’m sure that kind of vlog would interest your fans a bit more than an interview with Chloe. No offense.” The words slip past my lips before I have a chance to consider the consequences.
Noah stares at me without blinking while Maya’s mouth drops open.
I mean I get it’s surprising but come on. There’s no way in hell I’m letting my sister interview Chloe, but I’m also not letting Chloe behind the wheel of a car worth a quarter of a million dollars.