Page 40 of Winning Match
I shake my head. “I have to meet these ladies.”
Her eyes warm. “They’d love you.”
“How come your best friends are in their eighties?”
Marlowe sighs. “They were my grandmother’s childhood girlfriends. The four of them were inseparable. Dorothy and Gladys’s husbands were in the military and Judith never married. My grandma, Beth, was alone a lot when Dad was young because Grandpa worked long hours building his business. And so, my grandma, Gladys, Dorothy, and Judith became their own family—pitching in to help with child-rearing, with cooking, with taking care of each other if one fell ill. They were their own village.”
I take a bite of my mac and cheese, noting the wistful expression that ripples over Marlowe’s face.
“My grandmother passed a few months before I was born. It was sudden—and very unexpected. Mom was always close to Dad’s parents, as hers passed when she was young—before she even married Dad. The Sewing Circle stepped in without asking. They were my surrogate grandmothers from my first breath—taking turns sleeping at Mom and Dad’s house during my first few weeks. When my mom passed, I was eleven years old. It felt like the house collapsed around me. Grandpa and Dad did their best, but they were committed to Prescott Sail, even more so with Dad serving as COO by then. The Sewing Circle, their children, were my family. They saw me through the hardest days of my life.” She bites her bottom lip the way she does when she’s unsure, shrugging slightly.
“They must love you very much,” I say, my throat tightening. I didn’t expect Marlowe to be so forthcoming, so goddamn sincere. So real.
She smiles, her face brightening. “I love them, too. It’s hard knowing that all the important people in my life are much, much older than me. I can’t even think about…” She trails off, and I know she’s thinking about a day in the not-so-distant future when one of her beloved family members passes.
“Do you take care of them?”
“When they need it.”
“And your grandpa?”
She sighs. “It’s mostly my dad. He has early onset Alzheimer’s, and his cognitive decline has been difficult.”
Shit. Her words land like a fist to my gut. How much loss and heartache can one woman take? Process? And manage?
“I’ve been serving as the de facto COO for almost a year,” she says quietly. “Business has been tough on top of all the personal challenges. My grandpa is almost eighty-five and the CEO. It was understood, widely accepted, that Dad was going to step into the roll. Now…” she sighs heavily. “Well, I need to secure José Costa as a client. It’s more than just generating business. I, my family, we need this, Ale.”
Reaching across the table, I thread my fingers with hers. Her words, the sincerity behind them, settle over me. I asked her to be my fake girlfriend to save face in front of my father. She’s asking me to literally help save her family business. Her future. Her family’s legacy.
I feel nauseous as I understand how high the stakes are for her. Brushing my thumb over the backs of her knuckles, I promise, “I won’t let you down, Marli.”
A small smile curls the corners of her mouth, and she nods. “Thank you.”
Her appreciation burns through my chest. I don’t deserve it. I haven’t earned it.
But fuck me if I don’t want to give it to her. If I don’t want to be worthy of her.
I nod and release her hand. We finish our lunch, and I pay for the furniture, bedding, and kitchen items Marlowe selected. I arrange for everything to be delivered in a handful of hours, promising to stop by Marlowe’s place with dinner—pizza and beer—and a drill to speed up the process of building her bed.
I drop her off at her place and head home for a few hours to kill time.
But instead, I research José Costa. I learn about his business interests, his lifelong passion for sailing, and the elite sailing team he owns in Spain. As much as I perform the research because of my bargain with Marlowe, a part of me wants to make this acquisition seamless for her. Easy. One less thing for her to worry about and take care of.
So, I call the man who can provide the most insight, even if it comes with a hidden cost.
I call my father.
11
Marlowe
“I’d like us to be friends,” Ale says, his voice solemn, sincere, as he drops the hex key on my new desk.
“I—what? We are friends.” I spin around in my new bedroom, taking it all in. “This looks really good!”
He snorts and closes the lid on his power drill. I have a new queen-sized bed with cream and white bedding. A nightstand that doubles as a bookshelf. And a new desk with an adorable sage green lamp. The space is clean and tidy and…perfect for me.
“I’m glad you like it.”
