Redeemed (Dirty Air Series Book 4)

by Lauren Asher

  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. “W
e?”

  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.

  28

  Santiago

  I survived the red carpet of torture. My head throbs and my palms remain permanently sweaty as Chloe and I make our way through the crowds of people inside the ballroom.

  Rather than focus on their obvious stares, I remain laser-focused on Chloe. It’s not a hard task in the slightest. I’m enchanted by her. Absolutely, utterly captivated by the brunette beauty who emanates warmth and confidence despite her fear of attention. I’d pay for a hundred more gowns if it meant I could see her dressed like this again. The material flows across her curves like water, changing colors depending on the light.

  My attraction isn’t even about the dress she wears or the makeup she put on. It’s more than that. It’s her. Before her, I wasn’t interested in love, but damn if I’m willing to try it now. Our fake relationship has been fun and all, but I wonder if she wants to trade up for the real deal.

  We approach Maya and Noah. Maya wraps her arms around Chloe and snatches her attention away from me.

  “I didn’t say it before, but thanks for coming this weekend. It means a lot to us.” Noah pulls me in for a hug.

  “I wouldn’t dare miss your Bandini send off before you head to the retirement home.”

  He laughs as he pats me on the back and pulls away. “Relax. I still have a handful of races left.”

  “The last few for the rest of your life. How does it feel?”

  “I’m ready to spend the rest of my years with Maya and Marko, traveling and enjoying life. I can’t exactly take my money to my grave, so I might as well use it.”

  My sister lucked out finding someone like Noah. He loves her in the way she deserves, and I can’t help feeling happy for her. There’s no better match for her and Marko.

  “Are you ready to party?” Maya waggles her brows.

  “You’ve watched Bad Moms too many times,” Noah grumbles.

  “It’s one of my favorite movies.” She smiles at Chloe. “But come on, my mom is watching Marko tonight so we can have fun.”

  “How about we start with one drink and see where the night takes us?” Chloe offers.

  “Smart. Don’t let my sister trick you into shots. She’s more lightweight than a feather.” I grin.

  “Stop ruining my fun.” Maya rolls her eyes. “Let’s go to the other bar. The line looks shorter.” My sister locks arms with Chloe and steers her toward the opposite end of the ballroom.

  “They’re getting along well.” Noah nods in their direction.

  “Great.” My throat closes up as I become distracted by everyone surrounding us.

  Partygoers look in our direction and whisper to one another. A few of them inch closer, clearly wanting to interrupt. Their attention stifles me. Without Chloe, the weight of the situation hits me. I’m tempted to walk in the opposite direction of Noah because I’m sure he’s the reason behind everyone’s interest in us. Noah is a bright star who everyone wants five minutes with.

  Noah laughs. “Why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”

  A server walks by and I wave them down, grabbing two glasses of champagne. I chug the first before sipping from the second.

  “Aw, you’re nervous. How cute.” Noah lays a hand on my shoulder.

  “Call me cute again and I’ll punch you.”

  He rolls his eyes. “No one will bother you unless you openly talk to them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we’re surrounded by people who used to work by your side. These aren’t the same people who wrote those nasty articles about you. And if you want me to be real with you, the Bandini crew misses you. They don’t want to scare you away before they have a chance to win you over again.”

  My lungs squeeze as I attempt to take in a few deep breaths. “You can’t know that.”

  He shakes his head. “I do. Me retiring has stirred up quite the buzz. An open seat with Bandini again is a big deal.”

  “The biggest.” I have a feeling I know where Noah wants to take this conversation.

  “I want you to fight for it.”

  Yup. Guessed it. I bring the rim of the champagne flute to my lips and down the rest of the contents in two chugs.

  Noah continues. “This is your chance to come back. There’s no one else I want to take my spot but you. And there’s no one who deserves it more.”

  I clutch onto the empty glass with a tight fist. “I can’t do it.”

  “You can. You only need to get back in the car and try. It only takes one time to let the rush take over and erase your fears. People like us crave that kind of adrenaline, and it’ll never go away, no matter how hard you try. And I’ve h
elped create the technology to—”

  “I love you like a brother for wanting to help me, but I can’t do it. You don’t understand.”

  “Give me a reason why I should drop it. A good reason. Not the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years.”

  “Is there a bigger reason than the fact that I’m down a leg and shouldn’t be behind a wheel in the first place?”

  “Don’t you miss it? Didn’t racing against me yesterday stir up anything in you?”

  Of course it did. The race had me feeling buzzed to the point of feeling drunk without touching an ounce of alcohol. I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I accomplished my fear with Chloe by my side. It reminded me how I miss it more than anything in the world. But missing something I can never achieve again doesn’t serve a purpose.

  Wishing for the impossible is stupid. Chloe would kill me for saying it, but it doesn’t make my words any less true. Wishes lead to disappointment, and disappointment leads to depression, and I’m done battling that darkness. It’s exhausting fighting an invisible war inside of my head.

  “I don’t think I can ever race with F1 again.”

  He nods his head, looking away. “I can manage that.”

  “What?” I rear back.

  “You said ‘you don’t think.’ You’ve spent years saying you won’t, but this is the first time you’re uncertain. That you hesitate when I ask. All I have to do is convince you otherwise.”

  I shake my head from side to side. “You can’t.”

  “Maybe I can’t, but now you have someone worth pushing yourself for. Maybe you want to show her and yourself that you can be the man she deserves. The guy who would go through hell to walk out on the other end victorious. And that’s enough to get you back behind the wheel. I know it.”

  I don’t try to correct him. It’s not like I can reveal that my whole relationship is a farce. And most of all, I don’t know if Noah is entirely wrong. I’ve already accomplished more in the small time I’ve known Chloe than I have in the past few years. But while she makes me feel good, I can’t ignore the feelings growing inside of me.