Page 7

Grace

Marlon’s probably already gone.

I haven’t heard from him since last night, and I don’t need to. That call from his manager? It was everything. Everything he’s worked for, everything he’s dreamed of. I’d be selfish to expect him to stay here—for me—when a career-defining fight is waiting for him in Chile.

But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The truth is, I wanted to believe I was smarter than this. I told myself from the start that Marlon was temporary—a fleeting thing I could enjoy while it lasted. I thought I’d kept my heart out of it, that I could walk away without a scratch.

God, I was such a fool.

It’s laughable now, really, how blind I was. The way he made me feel safe and seen. The way he’d look at me like I was something rare and precious. The way he fit into my world so seamlessly—talking to my parents like he’d known them for years, brushing his hand against mine under the table, kissing me in a way that made the rest of the world fall away.

I didn’t guard my heart. I handed it to him on a silver platter, and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

Now he’s gone, and the next time I see him, it’ll be on TV, in some glossy, high-profile fight broadcast to millions. He’ll be larger than life again, out of reach. And I’ll be here, in this little Italian restaurant, pretending like I’m fine.

“Grace, order up!” The cook’s voice booms from the kitchen, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I blink, realizing I’ve been standing in the middle of the dining room holding an empty water pitcher like a complete idiot. Shaking myself, I set it down and head for the pass.

The cook slides a plate of spaghetti carbonara onto the counter, his sharp eyes narrowing at me. “You okay, kid? You’ve been off all day.”

I nod quickly, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it, I can tell, but thankfully he doesn’t press. “Table twelve’s waiting,” he says gruffly, gesturing to the plate.

“Got it,” I mumble, grabbing the dish and weaving through the tables toward a young couple in the corner. They look so happy, so in love, and it’s like a knife twisting in my chest.

I turn away quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat as I head back to the kitchen. I’m being ridiculous. It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into with Marlon. It’s not like I didn’t know he’d leave.

But somehow, knowing doesn’t make it any easier.

By the time the afternoon rush starts to wind down, I’m running on autopilot. The ache in my chest has dulled to a low throb, and I’m grateful for the small reprieve.

The lull in the afternoon crowd means I can finally take my break. I grab a lukewarm cup of coffee from the back counter and slip into the staff room, collapsing onto the worn-out sofa. It creaks under my weight, but I barely notice. My body might be here, but my mind is somewhere else—or maybe with someone else.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting out a slow breath. I try to picture him already in LA, probably going over fight strategies or getting prepped for some glossy promo shoot. He’d look good, of course—he always does. But now, instead of smiling at me, he’d be flashing that grin at cameras. The thought stings, even though I tell myself it shouldn’t.

The bitter coffee burns as I sip it, but I welcome the distraction. It’s better than thinking about him.

When my timer goes off, I force myself off the couch, rinsing out my mug in the sink before heading back to the dining room. The second I step out, Brodrick waves me over from behind the counter.

“You’ve got a table,” he says.

I frown. “What? I just got off break.”

“Yeah, well, they refused to take anyone else.” He smirks like he finds this all very amusing. “Said they’d wait however long it took for you to come back.”

My stomach flips. There’s no way—no way—it’s who I think it is.

I grab my notepad from my apron pocket, my hands suddenly clammy. I try to reason with myself as I make my way over. Maybe it’s some regular customer who liked the way I remembered their drink order. Or someone too picky to risk a new server.

But deep down, I know.

And then I see him.

Marlon is sitting in the same corner, one arm draped along the back of the seat, looking like he owns the place. He’s traded his workout clothes for a dark hoodie and jeans, but he still looks maddeningly good—like he could’ve stepped out of one of those promo shoots I just tortured myself imagining.

He notices me before I can duck away, his eyes locking onto mine. His lips curve into a warm half-smile, and just like that, the air seems to shift.

I stop in my tracks, my heart slamming against my ribs. He shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed to be on a plane.

“Hey, Grace,” he says, his voice cutting through the din of the restaurant like it’s meant just for me.

I don’t know what to do—run, yell, cry? I settle for the only thing I can manage: I walk up to his table, gripping my notepad like it’s some kind of shield.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to sound calm. Instead, my voice comes out breathy and uneven.

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. “I wanted to see you.”

I blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. “You’re supposed to be on your way to LA.”

His smile falters for a second, but then he shrugs. “I was. But then I realized something.”

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at the sight of him. “And what’s that?”

“That I’d be an idiot to leave without telling you how I feel.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch. I stare at him, my brain scrambling to process what he just said.

“You…” I trail off, shaking my head. “What are you talking about?”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I’m talking about the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. On the drive back to the hotel, while I was packing, even when I was booking the damn flight—I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it felt to leave.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but the words won’t come.

“I needed to see you, Grace. I needed you to know before anything else happened”

My throat feels tight, and I can barely breathe. “Know what?” I whisper.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine where they rest on my notepad. It’s such a small gesture, but it’s enough to make my walls start to crack.

“Know that I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. “Not if it means losing you. I’m not going through LA. I’m going to house my truck with the local mechanic and I’m flying out straight from the next airport over to Chile tomorrow morning. But, that’s only if you want to go with me. If you want to stay here, we’ll stay and I’m retiring.”

And just like that, the floodgates open. I’ve spent hours convincing myself that this was over, that I’d never see him again, and now he’s here, telling me he’s staying.

“Marlon…” I start, my voice trembling, but he cuts me off.

“I know it’s a lot, and I know I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m here, Grace. And I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to and you’re by my side.”

I stare at him, my heart hammering in my chest, and for the first time in hours, I feel something other than pain.

Hope.

I know what I need to do.

“Marlon,” I say, my voice steadier now, though my heart is still racing, “you can’t give up Chile. You’re not ready to retire. You and I both know that.”

His face falls, and the hurt in his eyes nearly breaks me, but I keep going because he needs to hear this. “The fact that you’d even offer—that you’d choose me over everything you’ve worked for—it means everything to me. But I can’t let you do that. I won’t let you do that.”

His brows furrow, his hand tightening slightly over mine. “Grace—”

I shake my head, cutting him off. “No. Listen to me. This is your dream, Marlon. And you’re so damn good at it. I won’t be the reason you walk away. But…” I take a shaky breath, my chest tightening. “If you’re serious—if you really want me by your side—then I’ll go with you.”

His eyes widen, the disbelief and relief warring on his face. “You’d—”

“Yes,” I interrupt, the word leaving me in a rush. “I’ll go with you to Chile. But we have to go now. I need to pack, and I need to say goodbye to my parents.”

A slow, breathtaking smile spreads across his face, and the tension I’ve been carrying all day finally starts to ease. “You don’t know how much that means to me,” he says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Before I can respond, he stands, pulling me into his arms. The restaurant fades away, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversations muffled as he holds me close. His scent, that mix of soap and something uniquely him fills my senses, and I feel the tears sting my eyes.

“I’ll make this work,” he murmurs against my hair. “I promise.”

I pull back just enough to look up at him, a watery smile on my face. “We’ll make it work,” I correct, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is slow and sweet, his hands cradling my face as though I’m the most precious thing in the world. My arms loop around his neck, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. The cheers and whistles that erupt around us barely register, but when we break apart, I see the restaurant is watching us. Some customers are clapping; a few of my coworkers are grinning like they’ve just watched the finale of their favorite rom-com.

My cheeks burn as I bury my face in Marlon’s chest, but I can’t stop smiling.

“Damn, Grace!” one of the hostesses hollers from the pass. “When were you gonna tell us you were dating a celebrity?”

I groan, my embarrassment doubling, but Marlon just laughs, his arm tightening around me. “Guess the secret’s out,” he says with a wink.

Before I can respond, my manager appears, his arms crossed but his expression warm. “So,” he says, drawing out the word, “does this mean what I think it means?”

I nod, still a little breathless. “Yeah. I—I’m leaving.”

He tilts his head, a knowing smile on his face. “I figured as much. Heard the whole thing.” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth to explain, cutting me off. “Don’t worry about it. You’re young, Grace. You should be out there living your life, not stuck here serving spaghetti.”

His words hit me harder than I expect, and my throat tightens. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He waves me off, his tone gruff but kind. “Don’t thank me. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it, okay?”

“I will,” I say, my voice firmer this time. “I promise.”

With that, he claps Marlon on the shoulder and heads back to the kitchen, muttering something about not letting the place fall apart while he’s gone. I blink back the tears threatening to spill and turn to Marlon.

“Let’s go,” I say, my resolve strengthening. “I’ve got some packing to do.”

He grins, grabbing my hand as we head for the door. The second we’re outside, the cold air nipping at my cheeks, I feel like I can finally breathe again.

We’re doing this. We’re really doing this.

The weight I’ve been carrying for days lifts just a little, and as we walk to his car, I squeeze his hand.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his voice teasing but his eyes warm.

I nod, smiling up at him. “With you? Always.”

The drive to my apartment passes in a blur and the packing goes even faster.

“We have some time before your parents get home and we go see them,” Marlon says, leaning back slightly. His gaze catches on my lips, lingering there for just a beat too long, and it makes my breath hitch. “And even more time before our flight tonight.”

“Oh!” I exclaim, the realization hitting me. “I need to book a ticket!” I smack my palm against my forehead in frustration, but Marlon quickly catches my wrist and gently removes my hand, his warm fingers curling around mine.

“I booked you one while you were packing,” he says with that easy, self-assured grin of his, pulling my hand to rest against his chest. The warmth of his body radiates through his shirt, and I feel my pulse quicken under his touch. “How about we do a little something to celebrate?”

My heart flutters and I swallow hard. “What do you have in mind?” I ask, my voice coming out softer than I intend.

His lips quirk up into that wicked smirk that always leaves me feeling weak. “I thought, if you’re ready, I could show you how much I love you,” he says, shifting his hands to my waist. His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a heat in his tone that makes my legs feel like jelly. “How does that sound?”

For a moment, I can’t even form words. He loves me?

My cheeks burn, and my chest feels tight. But I nod, managing a shaky, “Okay,” before his mouth is on mine again, hot and insistent, stealing whatever breath I have left.

His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hips, my thighs—guiding me, undressing me. My pants and underwear slide down in one fluid motion, and I kick them off, shoes and all, with shaky legs. My shirt and bra are next, discarded in a frenzy that leaves me bare before him.

He pulls back just long enough to strip himself, the sight of his body stealing my breath all over again. Every muscle flexes as he moves, his confidence evident in every motion.

“Let’s take this to the bed,” he says, his voice thick with desire. He grabs my hand, pulling me toward the mattress. “I want you to climb on top of me. I’ll let you lead this so we go at your pace.”

I follow his directions, my knees wobbling slightly. I’m hyperaware of every inch of my skin, every charged breath between us. He settles onto the bed, propped up against the pillows, and gestures for me to join him.

I climb onto the bed, straddling his lap with as much grace as I can muster. My knees press into the mattress on either side of his thighs, and I can feel him beneath me, already hard and waiting.

“You’re already hard,” I murmur, reaching down to touch him without thinking.

The soft groan he lets out makes my whole body heat. “You drive me insane,” he says, his head falling back for a moment before his eyes meet mine again, dark and full of want.

“It’s not hard to tell,” I whisper, a nervous laugh bubbling out of me as I lean forward, craving the warmth of his mouth on mine again.

He meets me halfway, our lips colliding in a kiss that’s all-consuming. His hands find their way between my thighs, his fingers gliding against me in a way that makes me gasp into his mouth. My hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, and he chuckles softly against my lips.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek.

“Yes,” I manage, my voice trembling with anticipation. “I don’t…I don’t really know what to do.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just lift up for me.” His hands guide me as I lift myself up slightly before he’s positioning himself against my entrance. “Sit yourself down. Go as slow or as fast as you need.”

I brace my hands on his shoulders and then slowly allow myself to sink down. The stretch as I sink onto him is overwhelming at first with a sharp sting that takes my breath away. But then, Marlon’s thumb finds the sensitive bundle at the top of my core. He starts to make circles as I stop, just a few inches of him in me.

At first, the sting makes me want to give up, but then a warmth starts to spread through me as Marlon’s thumb keeps going round and round. Soon the pain leaves and all that’s left is the pleasure of his touch on me.

He speeds up for a second and a particularly strong wave of pleasure washes over me. I throw my head back losing myself for a moment and my hips move of their own volition. Crying out as the last of him slips inside of me, I can’t focus on any one thing.

“There you go, baby,” he purrs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “Take your time. This is all for you.”

I pause for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him inside me. My thighs quiver as I start to move, lifting myself up slightly before sliding back down.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his hands gripping my hips firmly. “You control the pace. Whatever you want.”

I set a rhythm, moving faster as I get more comfortable, and the way he watches me—like I’m the only thing that matters in the world—makes my confidence soar. I lose myself in the motion, in the way his hands roam my body, in the sounds of pleasure that spill from both of us.

“You’re stunning, Grace,” he says, his voice raw and full of emotion. His hands move up my sides, his thumbs brushing against my breasts before he takes my nipples between his fingers, rolling them gently.

The sensation is too much, and I arch into his touch, my movements faltering as a moan rips from my throat.

“I wish you could see yourself,” he says, his voice dark and reverent. “You’re perfect.”

I can’t form a coherent response. My body takes over, chasing the heat that’s building low in my belly. Marlon’s hands grip my hips tighter, and he starts to thrust up into me, meeting me halfway with every movement.

The angle changes, and suddenly he’s hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars. I cry out, clutching at his shoulders as my body tightens around him.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice strained as he works me closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

His words push me over. My orgasm crashes into me, stealing my breath and shaking my entire body. I can feel him moving inside me, prolonging the pleasure as my walls flutter around him.

“Grace,” he groans, his voice rough as his hips slam up into mine one final time. I feel him release inside me, his body shuddering as he holds me tightly against him.

We collapse together, both of us breathing hard. My head rests against his chest, and I can hear the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, too overwhelmed to say anything else. I lost my virginity and it was nothing I expected and everything I could have wanted.

He strokes a hand through my hair, his touch soothing in the aftermath of the intensity we just shared.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth and satisfaction.