I gather up courage as the song continues because I want to let her know. Because I never want another day to go by without her hearing it.
“I love you.” My voice rasps over the music.
Maya always looks beautiful to me. But the moment I admit I love her? She gives me what is hands down the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen, one meant only for me.
I keep saying that. But I’ll never forget this one.
“I love you, too.” Her voice carries over the sweet melody.
I pull her in close after she says the three words I’ve wanted to hear for weeks, committing the moment to memory.
33
Maya
Brazil. Home of Noah’s beloved Adriana Lima.
I’m joking. No more bitter feelings about that comment since Tequila Talks was a few weeks ago. I’m more mature than that. Plus, Noah loves me. Back in the ballroom, he caught me off guard, looking excited to say those three words. Now he never goes a day without saying them.
Lying to my brother about my current whereabouts fills me with dread. I let him know this morning that I was flying to Brazil earlier than expected with Sophie, telling him we want to explore Rio de Janeiro together before the next Grand Prix. My lie isn’t too far off from the truth. See, I am in Rio de Janeiro…but I’m actually here with Noah.
Shocker. I know.
But we have a week off between the last race and the Brazilian Grand Prix. We came to the country early, enjoying the trip he planned. He shows me how he cares, doing sweet things that make me appreciate him even more. Like buying me one of every candy bar when I got my period and sex was off the table. Or how he made sangria when I felt homesick, which led to us getting drunk and playing another round of two truths and a lie.
I carry my camera around while we wander through Brazil’s streets, filming private moments of us. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of a big city. Noah shows an interest in my camera, asking people to take photos of us, claiming he wants memories of our first trip together. He hates every camera except my own. I can’t imagine being famous, not being able to enjoy fundamental privacy.
We both dress up, currently incognito because avoiding fans has become our new day job. I don’t want pictures of us out there on the internet. At least not identifiable ones, so I put myself in charge of the outfits.
“Is the fake mustache really necessary? It’s kind of itchy.” Noah scratches his face for the fourth time today. I hate to say it, but mustaches don’t suit him, especially not the handlebar kind.
“Stop your complaining. I’m the one wearing an Albrecht team shirt. They’re like the worst in the whole F1 circuit so I got the short end of the stick.”
His throaty laugh makes me chuckle along with him.
Noah taps the brim of my hat. “I told you to wear the wig instead. You refused.”
“It’s hot outside and wigs get scratchy.” I don’t even know why I bought that atrocity. It makes me look like a porn star, and not exactly the well-paid kind.
“We’ll have to save it for another day.”
Noah’s heated smile sends a shiver down my spine. He kisses my neck at the bottom of the Christ the Redeemer steps, people pushing past us, grumbling in Portuguese.
“You have lots of kinks. I’m not sure I would’ve agreed to this relationship if I had known all this beforehand.” I step away from him and give him a one-armed shrug. His sexual appetite alone leaves me sore for days because once is never enough with this man.
He smacks my ass while we climb to visit the statue. By the time we reach the top, my lungs ache and my legs wobble.
“You never look this sweaty after sex with me. Am I not working you hard enough?” Noah’s smile matches the mischievous shine in his eye.
I shoot him a half-assed glare. “Not all of us like to visit the gym at five in the morning. This is the most I’ve worked out all year.”
He shakes his head at me. “Don’t discount all the times I’ve fucked you. Better than any cardio you’ll do at a hotel gym.”
“Look at you solving all of my problems.” I genuinely smile up at him.
My phone rings, vibrating inside of my leggings’ pocket. I may not work out but at least I look the part.
“Let me take this. It’s Santi.” I walk away before Noah protests. He stays put, checking out the view while I sit on a bench.
“Hola, hermana. You forgot to check in earlier.” Santi’s voice carries through the small speaker.
My hand holding the phone shakes as uneasiness settles in my stomach. “Sorry about that. We got busy.” Not a lie per se.