Page 82 of Winning Match
Luckily, he grunts in response and passes the phone to Grandpa, who sighs heavily.
“How’s it going, kid?” Grandpa asks and I know he’s asking more about how I’m handling Dad forgetting who I am today than inquiring about business with José Costa.
“I’m fine.” My voice is clipped.
“Oh?”
I sigh, not wanting to share that I’m frustrated and upset and confused by Alejandro’s recent actions. For over a week, he’s been MIA—leaving for the stadium before I wake in the morning and coming home after I’m already asleep. Other than leaving money on the console table for groceries and miscellaneous errands and occasionally texting to check in, we’ve slipped more into the role of roommates than lovers. Hell, at this point we’re more like strangers than friends.
I thought discovering who was behind the break-in of my apartment would bring us closer together. But learning that it was a jealous ex-lover of Ale’s only added distance between us.
Did sleeping together ruin everything?
Now that we hooked up, is he ready to move on? He got what he wanted, got me out of his system, and is over it? Over us?
I sigh. After my birthday, I thought we were entering new territory. That we would finally have a conversation about our future—about our relationship—instead of hiding behind the ruse we’ve clung to since we entered into our agreement.
I thought the tables were turning—but obviously, I was wrong.
In two weeks, I’m supposed to return to Rhode Island. The timing is lining up perfectly with Costa’s order and the business deals we’re arranging.
In two weeks, Ale and I are supposed to have an amicable breakup—citing our work commitments as the reason why we’re ending our relationship—and remain good friends.
But it doesn’t feel amicable. It feels devastating. It cuts me to my core.
And worst of all? His coldness blindsides me more than Gerard’s betrayal. In fact, my hurt over Gerard pales in comparison over the pain I feel from Ale’s aloofness.
“Marlowe?” Grandpa presses.
Shit, I forgot I was on the phone with him.
“I’m fine,” I gentle my tone. “Just…tired. Homesick,” I toss out because every time I speak to my father, I feel nostalgic. Sad. And guilty.
“You’ll be home soon,” Grandpa says. Then, as if knowing I need to hear it, he adds, “The Sewing Circle is counting the days. Gladys is trying new banana bread loaf recipes for you to taste test.”
“I can’t wait.”
“Me too. I miss you, Marlowe.”
“Two more weeks.” The reminder causes a wave of pain to blaze through my chest. Two more weeks until I’m no longer a part of Ale’s life.
“Two more weeks. Great work on the Costa account. You did a phenomenal job. Once you’re back and the deal is finalized, I’d like to announce to the team, to our clients, that you’ll be stepping into my role as CEO. It’s time, Marlowe.”
I gasp. “Grandpa, I?—”
“You’re ready, kid. Trust me. I couldn’t have done this any better than you. You’re ready,” he repeats, as if knowing I need to hear it twice.
“Are you, are you sure?”
“Positive,” he promises. “Enjoy your last two weeks in Spain.”
My stomach twists and a lump gathers at the base of my throat.
My time in Spain—a place that once felt colorful and hopeful—is nearly over. And I don’t know how to reconcile my feelings over moving home with leaving Ale.
“’Bye, Grandpa.” I end the call and toss my phone down.
Then, I make a snack, sit in the living room, and turn on La Isla de las Tentaciones.
