Page 12 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

I wrinkle my nose. I have a lot to learn, and I know it.

My phone rings in the other room and I drag myself to stand, betting that it’s the Sewing Circle. Instead, my heart rate ticks up.

“Grandpa,” I answer the call.

“Marlowe.” His tone is severe, underlined with stress. He sounds exhausted. “What’s going on? You haven’t answered my last few messages.”

“I’ve been trying to sort things out on my end.”

“And?”

“I can secure the Costa account,” I say with more gumption than I feel.

“You can?” Surprise laces his words. “How?”

“I met someone…”

“Marlowe,” he warns.

“It’s not like that, Grandpa.” I work a swallow, knowing I’ll need to stretch the truth as I navigate my way through this story. “Gerard and I broke up.”

Grandpa sighs heavily and I rush to tell him more, to assure him that I’m not wallowing with a broken heart.

“And then, fate intervened,” I say slowly. Over the next ten minutes, I spin a tale that sounds like a goddamn love story.

A Spanish futbolista who came to my rescue.

A group of friends who cheered me up.

An upgraded hotel suite to make sure I was comfortable and safe.

A dinner invitation to a family gathering.

An offer to connect me to José Costa.

By the time I’m finished, I can practically hear Grandpa nodding along with my good fortune.

“You’re staying then,” he says finally.

“I am, but I’m worried about Dad and?—”

“Don’t worry about your father. I’ll look after him and give Judith a call too.”

I exhale and try to relax. My dad is the most important person in my life, and I hate that I’ll miss out on seeing him for…ten weeks. “I might be here awhile, Grandpa.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “We’ll make it work, Marlowe. You’re doing the right thing, and your dad would want this for you. For Prescott Sail. He’d be proud of you. I sure am.”

Those pesky tears spring forward again, and I blink rapidly to keep them in check. “Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself, kid. And call me from time to time.”

“Promise.”

We hang up and I wander over to the window in the sitting room. Glancing at the cityscape, I press my fingertips to the windowpanes and smile.

For the first time in a long time, I feel empowered. Motivated. Happy. The fact that it took my boyfriend cheating on me and knowledge of the family business tanking to achieve that result isn’t lost on me.

I must be losing it.

Or finding something better.

A bubble of laughter forms in the pit of my stomach and soon, I’m doubled over, hysterics wrapping around me. My chest heaves and tears pinch the corners of my eyes, but the release is cathartic.

As my giggles die down, I pull in a breath and try to regulate my breathing.

I’m going to be okay. Everything is fine. In fact, I like this version of myself. Valencia Marlowe is a hell of a lot more fun than Providence Marlowe.

Once I’m coherent, I dial my bank. When I’m informed that my Prescott Sail business account does not have sufficient funds to fund my life for the next ten weeks, I’m not surprised.

Instead, I’m grateful that I saved a healthy amount of my paycheck over the past few years and nearly all my summer earnings before I graduated college. It’s enough money to cover my time in Spain if I’m smart. And I’m nothing if not savvy, reliable, and determined.

Now, I just need to find a place to live, and I can start shaping a life for myself here. One that fits the new version I’d like to grow into.

As if conjured up by the law of attraction, when I disconnect from the bank—with my personal debit and credit cards available to use in Spain—there’s a stream of new messages waiting for me.

Unknown

Buenas, Chica!

Are you hungover? Still sleeping?

Oops, sorry, It’s B.

Bianca. From the club last night?!

Anyway, I hear you’re staying in town for a while

It was obvious Ale wasn’t going to let you slip away.

I’ve never seen him so into a woman before.

So exciting!!

Any chance you’re looking for a roommate?

I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. I’ve spent years trying to salvage college friendships that faded.

Seeking new friendships that always seemed to allude me.

I’ve always struggled to make girlfriends, save for Hazel and the Sewing Circle, and now, here, in the span of twenty-four hours, I’ve met a kindred spirit in Bianca DiBlanco. We just…clicked.

Without bothering to message back, I press on her number and call her.

“Hi!” she answers enthusiastically.

“Hey!” I grin. “Thanks for messaging. How’d you get my number?”

She snorts. “I made my brother call Ale. He didn’t want to hand it over until Luca swore it was for me to reach out to you.

You should see Luca this morning. He’s been hugging the toilet since he stumbled from bed.

He sounds so terrible that I think Ale felt bad for him and wanted to make sure I stopped pestering him. ”

“That sucks,” I say sympathetically.

“He asked for it,” she replies matter-of-factly. “What are you doing right now? Want to meet for a walk?”

“A walk?”

Bianca laughs. “Yeah. I gotta get out of this apartment and can use the fresh air. Plus, I can show you around. We can walk by the apartment I saw yesterday. I got it! And I could use a roommate if you’re in the market for one.”

“You have no idea how perfect your timing is,” I say slowly, realizing the fairy tale I spun for Grandpa’s sake contained more kernels of truth than I realized.

A window slammed shut last night but holy shit did a door swing wide open.

“Awesome! Where are you staying?”

I tell her the name of the hotel.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes?”

“That sounds great.”

We say goodbye and I disconnect the call. Walking over to my suitcase, I pull out a sundress and sneakers.

Despite the clothes belonging to me, my life no longer resembles the one I knew just yesterday. It’s strange how much can change in a short amount of time.

A new city. A new boyfriend, even if he’s fake. A new life entirely…

I dress for the afternoon, take the elevator down to the lobby, and wait for Bianca. Outside the front entrance of the hotel, a small group of people wait, their cameras poised.

Paparazzi. Holy shit, Ale wasn’t lying.

I avert my gaze and pull in a breath, trying to calm my shaky nerves.

What did I sign up for? What did I agree to?

Bianca strides into the lobby and surprises me with a café con leche.

“What’s this for?” I ask, hugging her hello.

“Just because.” She smiles. “Don’t think I’m super lame but I’m happy you’re staying.”

“Me too,” I agree, masking the pang that cuts through my chest at missing Dad. But this is the better option—for him, for the business, for all of us. “What do we do about this?” I gesture toward the paparazzi.

“Oh.” Bianca flicks a wrist. “You’ll get used to it. But don’t worry, they’ll take a few photos and we’ll be on our way.”

I blow out a breath. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she promises. “I’ll take care of it. Usually, if the guys aren’t with us, we’re not interesting enough to hold their attention.”

“Good,” I say, relieved. Then, I link my arm with hers. “Want to show me our new place?”

“Yes!” she squeals as we step into the sunshine.

Just like Bianca promised, the paparazzi take a handful of photos and ask questions, which Bianca expertly navigates before pulling me away from the hotel. But I only relax once I look over my shoulder to confirm none of the paparazzi followed us.

On the way to our new apartment, Bianca points out attractions like La Lonja de la Seda, the beautiful building that signifies the end of the silk market from the 1400s and the incredible Central Market where vendors sell everything from coffee and nuts to fresh fish and meat.

As we enter a trendy neighborhood, Bianca gushes, “This is Ruzafa. Our place is two streets away.”

I look around the funky neighborhood, the clusters of restaurants boasting various cuisines and fun coffee shops. “B, when can I move in?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Nope!” I turn my face toward the sunshine and pull in a breath. Another piece of this new, complicated puzzle clicks into place and I breathe a little bit easier.