He tugs on my ponytail. I smile up at him because somehow it’s become our thing.
How can he be so hot yet so cute at the same time? Troubling.
“Don’t think too hard. You’ll be stuck battling the ‘what if you dos’ and the ‘what if you don’ts’ instead of living in the moment. Call me if you need my help again. I’ll be around.” He gives me one last cocky smile before disappearing below the deck.
I let out a deep sigh.
I’m so royally screwed, by the F1’s American Prince no less.
I can lie and pretend I’m a mature woman. I can say I’ve kept it cool in front of Noah and my brother. But I haven’t. Why bother lying when I suck at it anyway?
My butt plants itself on the bench inside of a local priest’s confessional. My mother loves how I’ve found time to go to church while in Monaco. The priest wishes me lots of luck with my life and tells me to go to Mass more. It feels good to let it all out, even to a man of the cloth, like my own therapist on the road. I’d describe the experience as cathartic. No shame as I spill my guts to him, letting it all out in a confessional booth.
Surprisingly, he sends me off with three Hail Marys, two Our Fathers, and a bottle of holy water to cleanse myself whenever I have impure thoughts. Confessions come with goody bags—who knew?
I start a new Avoiding Noah campaign. It goes strong for two days, thanks to Sophie’s obsession with lists and plans.
Two long days. If anyone understood the amount of effort it takes to avoid him, they would be impressed. He and my brother have to do everything together in Monaco since a united team looks great to the public.
I spend a lot of me-time in our Monaco hotel avoiding parties and cocktail hours. To pass the time, I book myself a massage. It doesn’t yield the same physical reaction as Noah’s back rub, but I attribute it to having a woman massage therapist. She doesn’t physically do it for me. Santi covers the cost, but unbeknownst to him, he basically rewards me for my good efforts of avoiding Noah. I take one for the team here.
I would count my evading techniques as successful, at least until my brother asks if I can attend a fashion show that apparently is a big deal. An A-list event I should be grateful to have an invite to.
Santi makes me watch him practice his runway walk to make sure he looks good. He loves the limelight, but not this kind—with the expectation to model. And I do not blame him at all. If I did a show like this, I would definitely fall flat on my face before rolling into the pool.
“Do you really need me there?” Please say no. I can only execute so much control around Noah. And once you add a tux element into the mix, it’s a recipe for disaster.
I feel like my brother sets me up for failure here.
“I never thought I’d have to convince you to go to this. Everyone wants a ticket.” He pouts at me, a bit extra for his standards. It impresses me yet flusters me all the same because he uses my own strategies to get me to agree.
I can’t get out of this when his words sound absolute. So I engage in the next step of a desperate woman’s plan.
I bargain.
“Can Sophie come—if she doesn’t have an invite already—because I don’t want to be alone during it.” I don’t trust myself, I mentally add before putting my two hands together in a silent plea.
He texts away on his phone, searching for the answer to my question, unable to resist my charm.
“All right, I got her a ticket too. But you both have to behave because I won’t be out there protecting you from the old men.”
“But I’ve always wanted a sugar daddy!” I whine while throwing my hands up in the air.
He throws a pillow at my face. Santi may have won this battle, but I’ll win the war.
15
Maya
“I can’t believe you scored us tickets for the fashion show. It’s one of the biggest events of the year.” Sophie bounces up and down in a chair. We went on a shopping spree earlier to buy dresses for the event because she claimed what we had wasn’t enough.
“Oh, believe it. We better finish getting ready. The car’s coming in twenty.” I don’t feel guilty about using Sophie as a cockblocker because her enjoyment rubs off on me.
Two birds, please meet my one stone.
I run a hand down the silky material of my blue dress. Looking at it now, I realize the blue matches the color of Noah’s eyes.
Fuck me. A fashion equivalent of a Freudian slip.
I grab my heels and book it out of the hotel room, wanting to get this night over with.