Page 38 of Winning Match
“Right,” I murmur, knowing my sister Carla would do the same.
When I asked Marlowe to be my fake girlfriend, I anticipated renting her an apartment on a quiet street where she could take walks in Jardín del Turia, an urban park that curves through the city, visit coffee bars, and shop.
But this… I shake my head, sighing. At least she made a friend in Bianca. Save for a college roommate she’s mentioned once or twice, all her friends seem to be card-carrying members of the senior citizen crowd.
“This is everything,” Bianca says brightly, entering the apartment and placing a small box alongside her purse on the kitchen counter. She surveys the space and smiles. “Luca, there’s a few photos and a mirror I need you to hang for me.” She gestures toward the hallway.
Luca nods and follows his sister to her new bedroom.
Marlowe stands at the entrance of the apartment, her expression thoughtful as she looks around the space. Her hair is pulled back today, her fingers nervously plucking at the hem of her tank.
For a blink, I wonder what would happen if I crossed the room, cupped her cheek, and kissed her. Anything to replace that lost, anxious expression on her face. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want Marlowe—and not just physically. It’s alarming how twisted up I am over her thoughts and feelings. So much attention zeroed in on a woman I hardly know.
“You coming in?” I keep my tone light.
She blushes and dips her head, stepping over the threshold and closing the door.
“I can take you shopping for furniture and?—”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she cuts me off, waving a hand, but I note the dip between her eyebrows. She’s nervous. Stressed.
“It’s not a problem. I know this is temporary, but I still want you to be comfortable here,” I try again. Any other woman would jump at the chance to spend money. My sisters included.
I have to practically beg Marlowe to make this easier on me when I already feel guilty asking her to pose as my girlfriend. When I already feel ashamed that deep down, part of my motivation stems from my desperate attraction to her.
There are plenty of women willing to accept the role I proposed and the one woman who wouldn’t make it fucking unbearable for me—who I want with a recklessness that unnerves me—doesn’t want it.
“Bianca mentioned there’s an Ikea…?”
I sigh. I would deck the place out in luxury furnishings if that’s what Marlowe wished for and yet, she suggests the simple, affordable, straightforward option.
It’s so at odds with her wardrobe—today she’s dressed neatly in a pair of jeans, a cream-colored knit tank, sensible mules, and a vintage Loewe purse hanging off her shoulder.
If I wasn’t raised by my mother, I wouldn’t be so well-versed in fashion. But even a cursory glance at Marlowe highlights her impeccable taste and high standards.
And yet… “We can go to Ikea.”
She grins, her eyes flashing. “I love the Swedish meatballs.”
I snort, feeling some of the tension I’ve been carrying around leave my body. “Let’s go. We’ll get everything you need. And I’ll take you to lunch.”
She beams. “Will you help me build my new bed?”
“Of course,” I say, affronted. “Whatever you need, Marlowe, I got you.”
Her expression turns serious. “I’m just, I’m not used to this.”
“To someone looking out for you?” A pang cuts through my chest.
She shrugs, biting her bottom lip. “I’m usually the caretaker.”
“I get that.” While I’m hardly a caretaker, I am the sibling caught between everyone in my family, and as the eldest brother, a lot of responsibility falls on my shoulders. “But who’s taking care of you?”
Marlowe’s eyes hold mine and sadness flashes in their depths.
I mentally punch myself. The last thing I want to do is make her sad. Or homesick. Or turn this thing between us into a serious relationship when it’s supposed to be a surface-level, mutually-beneficial, temporary solution. I might lust after Marlowe, but rationally, I know there’s no future for us.
“Venga. Let’s get you some Swedish meatballs,” I say, just to remove that crestfallen look from her expression.
