Page 73 of Risky Match
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze, then releases it. I hear her footsteps fade but don’t watch her leave.
I’m mad at the world. And I’m especially furious with her eccentric chef. I’d bet money that he’s the one who poisoned me. Who knows what he put in that fresh pesto? He probably chopped up random leaves from the garden. It’s just my bad Wimbledon luck that they turned out to be toxic.
I knew playing doubles would ruin my chance to win. If I hadn’t agreed, Bri and Fausto wouldn’t be at my house. And I knew better than to let my guard down. I don’t even believe in relationships. Why did I let myself get close to Bri? This is all my fault.
A twinge of guilt reminds me of Bri’s dream—playing at Wimbledon. She needs me to make it a reality.
But I brush that worry aside.
I held up my end of the bargain. We played a match. We won. She’s fulfilled her dream, unlike me.
I don’t owe her anything more.
I’m done.
25
BRIANNA
After visiting Blake at the hospital this morning, I’ve spent the rest of the day trying to understand what happened. No matter how many times I replay our conversation, it still doesn’t make sense.
When Dr. Shepard said I could see Blake, I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I was excited—relieved, even—to see with my own eyes that he was okay.
I thought he’d be happy to see me. He wasn’t. He didn’t even want me there. That stung. I told myself he was just weak and needed rest. But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure that’s the only reason he pushed me away. Something else felt ...off. I’ve racked my brain for an explanation. Still nothing makes sense.
The good news is that Blake is being released. Josh is on his way to the hospital to bring him home. They should be here after dinner. It’s hard to believe that only twenty-four hours ago we weren’t sure Blake would survive.
I’m relieved he’s recovering quickly, but I don’t know what to expect after this morning’s frosty reception. What if he still doesn’t want me around? How am I supposed to continue investigating him if he shuts me out completely? Not to mention—it’s a blow to my ego. A princess is rarely unwelcome company.
Steeling myself, I walk into the kitchen. Fausto is preparing a salad while Erin and Natalie chat nearby.
Plastering on a smile, I ask, “Should we ask Fausto to make some comfort food for dinner while we wait for Josh to return with Blake?”
“That would be great. I’m starving,” Natalie says.
“Sounds good,” Erin agrees.
I turn to Fausto and ask, “Potresti cucinare spaghetti alla marinara con pane all'aglio, per favore?”
“Sì, naturalmente,” he replies.
Following up, I tell him that we want him to share the spaghetti marinara and garlic bread with us.
He nods, already humming as he scurries around the kitchen gathering ingredients. I smile. The request clearly made his day.
An hour later,the smell of butter, garlic, toasted bread, and simmering tomato sauce draws me back to the kitchen. Natalie and Erin are standing at the kitchen island across from Fausto. I’m jealous when I see that they’re tasting slices of garlic bread while they watch our chef cook.
“Hey! That’s not fair. Where’s my garlic bread?” I ask, pretending to pout.
Erin slides a breadbasket toward me, stealing another piece for herself in the process. Between bites, she says, “This is the best garlic bread I’ve ever had. You need to tell him to make more.” She winks at me, knowing that Fausto understands her English fine.
“Let me try it.” I take a bite. “Mmm. Erin, you’re right. This is fantastic. Fausto,questo pane all'aglio è delizioso. Pane extra, per favore.”
Remembering to translate everything is tedious, but I grew up speaking French, Italian, and English, so it’s not difficult.
“Sì,” he says with a satisfied nod.
“I need to check in with my superiors. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
