Page 14 of Winning Match (League Valencia #1)

Ale

I glance around the apartment Marlowe and Bianca are moving into on Calle de Sueca and my jaw pops.

“Shit, they’re going to be in the midst of the party,” Luca mutters beside me as he drops one of Bianca’s boxes on the floor.

“Yeah,” I agree, glancing out the window. A stretch of restaurants, bars, and nightclubs line both sides of the street.

And Marlowe and Bianca will be nestled right in the center.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask my friend. Paparazzi will have easier access to Marlowe and Bianca here, where there’s no space to set up proper security.

He snorts and gives me a look. “Are you?” he tosses back. “Besides, you try telling Bianca she can’t do something. She’ll throw a rager right here in the living room to prove a point.”

“Right,” I murmur, knowing my sister Carla would do the same.

When I asked Marlowe to be my fake girlfriend, I anticipated renting her an apartment on a quiet street where she could take walks in Jardín del Turia, an urban park that curves through the city, visit coffee bars, and shop.

But this… I shake my head, sighing. At least she made a friend in Bianca. Save for a college roommate she’s mentioned once or twice, all her friends seem to be card-carrying members of the senior citizen crowd.

“This is everything,” Bianca says brightly, entering the apartment and placing a small box alongside her purse on the kitchen counter. She surveys the space and smiles. “Luca, there’s a few photos and a mirror I need you to hang for me.” She gestures toward the hallway.

Luca nods and follows his sister to her new bedroom.

Marlowe stands at the entrance of the apartment, her expression thoughtful as she looks around the space. Her hair is pulled back today, her fingers nervously plucking at the hem of her tank.

For a blink, I wonder what would happen if I crossed the room, cupped her cheek, and kissed her.

Anything to replace that lost, anxious expression on her face.

I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want Marlowe—and not just physically.

It’s alarming how twisted up I am over her thoughts and feelings.

So much attention zeroed in on a woman I hardly know.

“You coming in?” I keep my tone light.

She blushes and dips her head, stepping over the threshold and closing the door.

“I can take you shopping for furniture and?—”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she cuts me off, waving a hand, but I note the dip between her eyebrows. She’s nervous. Stressed.

“It’s not a problem. I know this is temporary, but I still want you to be comfortable here,” I try again. Any other woman would jump at the chance to spend money. My sisters included.

I have to practically beg Marlowe to make this easier on me when I already feel guilty asking her to pose as my girlfriend. When I already feel ashamed that deep down, part of my motivation stems from my desperate attraction to her.

There are plenty of women willing to accept the role I proposed and the one woman who wouldn’t make it fucking unbearable for me—who I want with a recklessness that unnerves me—doesn’t want it.

“Bianca mentioned there’s an Ikea…?”

I sigh. I would deck the place out in luxury furnishings if that’s what Marlowe wished for and yet, she suggests the simple, affordable, straightforward option.

It’s so at odds with her wardrobe—today she’s dressed neatly in a pair of jeans, a cream-colored knit tank, sensible mules, and a vintage Loewe purse hanging off her shoulder.

If I wasn’t raised by my mother, I wouldn’t be so well-versed in fashion. But even a cursory glance at Marlowe highlights her impeccable taste and high standards.

And yet… “We can go to Ikea.”

She grins, her eyes flashing. “I love the Swedish meatballs.”

I snort, feeling some of the tension I’ve been carrying around leave my body. “Let’s go. We’ll get everything you need. And I’ll take you to lunch.”

She beams. “Will you help me build my new bed?”

“Of course,” I say, affronted. “Whatever you need, Marlowe, I got you.”

Her expression turns serious. “I’m just, I’m not used to this.”

“To someone looking out for you?” A pang cuts through my chest.

She shrugs, biting her bottom lip. “I’m usually the caretaker.”

“I get that.” While I’m hardly a caretaker, I am the sibling caught between everyone in my family, and as the eldest brother, a lot of responsibility falls on my shoulders. “But who’s taking care of you?”

Marlowe’s eyes hold mine and sadness flashes in their depths.

I mentally punch myself. The last thing I want to do is make her sad.

Or homesick. Or turn this thing between us into a serious relationship when it’s supposed to be a surface-level, mutually-beneficial, temporary solution.

I might lust after Marlowe, but rationally, I know there’s no future for us.

“ Venga . Let’s get you some Swedish meatballs,” I say, just to remove that crestfallen look from her expression.

She calls out to ask Bianca whether she needs anything from Ikea.

Luca bursts into laughter, wheezing so hard, he begins to cough. “Ikea?” he howls. “Have you met my sister? She thinks she’s a member of the royal family and her furniture should be custom-made, carved from?—”

“Oh, stop it,” Bianca cuts him off. She pops her head out of the bedroom and rolls her eyes. “I’m good, thanks. But our kitchen supplies are a little light if you see anything good. Just, pick up whatever.”

“For sure,” Marlowe says easily. But her shoulders tense, pinching together. And I note the stress that tightens her features.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, Marlowe isn’t in the best financial situation and she’s too proud, too hardworking, to admit it. It means I need to tread carefully around her and yet, her evasiveness only makes me want to support her more.

We leave the apartment together and I walk her toward the motorbike I have parked on a corner.

She lifts an eyebrow, her gaze darting from the bike to me and back again. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” I pass her the extra helmet.

“I thought you had some luxury sports car.”

“You didn’t read enough of the tabloids. It was keyed?—”

“When you went on a date with a Brazilian supermodel,” she cuts in, the teeniest sliver of jealousy wrapping around her words.

I smirk. “Yes.”

She narrows her eyes at me and gestures toward my bike. “And this is the consolation prize?”

“This is the easiest way to weave in and out of traffic.”

“How will we get my new bed home?”

I snort. “Don’t you worry about that; I’ll have it delivered.”

She nods but again, a sheen of awareness coats her skin. And I silently swear.

“Marli…” My voice is tense, and she takes the helmet from my hands. “You’re my girlfriend.”

“Fake,” she whispers.

“It doesn’t matter. While you’re here, in my city, in my hometown, I will take care of you. Whether you need me to or not, I will make sure you are comfortable and safe. Do you understand?”

She holds my eyes for a long moment before nodding once. Then she jams the helmet on top of her head, buckles the clasp, and points toward my bike. “Just don’t kill us on this thing.”

“You worry too much.” I straddle the bike and give her a hand as she swings her leg over the seat behind me.

“Tell me about it,” she murmurs as her thighs frame mine.

I grip her thigh in my palm, liking the heat of her body pressed flush against my back.

For a heartbeat, I wish I could tug her onto my lap and kiss her senseless.

Drive her wild and watch her come apart as she straddles me on my bike.

Fuck. I close my eyes and suck in a breath as my blood simmers. “Hold on tight.”

She wraps her arms around my abdomen, her fingers folding right above my belly button. I give her thigh one final squeeze before turning my eyes to the road, revving the engine, and heading toward Ikea.

“Mm, they’re so good,” Marlowe groans as she chews on a Swedish meatball. “I love the consistency of Ikea. It always delivers.”

“I’ve never met anyone who knows the menu by heart.”

“I come here a lot with the Sewing Circle.”

“For furniture?” How many throw pillows and towels are these ladies purchasing?

“Nope, for lunch. Judith is partial to their rhubarb crisp.”

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.