EIGHTEEN
I FIGHT BACK TEARS as I listen to Dad’s voice message. He sounds so sweet and caring – I want to take Lauren’s advice and rush straight home, but there’s no way I can pretend to be cheerful when my life is such a mess. I daren’t even call him back. All I can manage is a text.
I’m fine.
I’ve also messaged Gio to cancel dinner tonight. I said I have a headache, which is true, though I also want alone time to process what happened today, to break it down so I can understand how I feel about all of it, not just the photographer but the article about Iris too. I don’t want to be jealous, and I’m afraid of what it means, that I might be developing real feelings for Gio. I keep telling myself we’re just friends, that the kiss didn’t mean anything, that I’m only confused because I’m attracted to him … but it doesn’t feel true any more.
It’s no wonder my head is pounding. I’m sick of ruminating and I wish Ava were here. I need to warn her about what’s going on with the paparazzi, but she won’t be back for hours.
I’m entering the third hour of lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, when there’s a knock on the front door.
I don’t move, hoping whoever it is will go away, but there’s a second knock, then a third, so I heave myself reluctantly up, wincing as my sore muscles protest, and stagger to the hallway.
One glance through the peephole and I yank the door open in surprise.
‘Gio?’ It’s alarming just how pleased I am to see him. He’s dressed incognito in jeans and a grey hoodie, pulled over his head, but still my stomach flips over. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was afraid that “headache” might be code for not wanting to see me.’ His eyes warm as he glances down at my scruffy pink yoga pants and baggy Pokemon T-shirt. ‘Then I thought if it’s really a headache, it might be OK for me to drop off these.’ He holds out a box of chocolates, tied with a big blue bow.
‘Are these the ones you’re advertising?’ My mouth starts watering instantly.
‘You got me – it’s a pre-release gift box.’
‘Thank you, Gio.’ I’m so touched – I feel a lump in my throat. ‘That’s really thoughtful. Do you want to come in?’
He smiles as I step aside to let him past, his gaze falling on Frankenbike. ‘Hey, is that what I think it is?’
‘Yes.’ I lift my chin proudly. ‘I built her myself.’
‘So you’re biking again?’
‘I’ve just started.’
‘And?’
‘And it feels good,’ I admit. ‘Or it did. I’m kind of achy now.’
‘Maisie, that’s brilliant! I’m really happy for you.’ His smile is so wide it’s dazzling.
‘I’m kind of pleased for myself too.’ I lead him through to the kitchen. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?’
‘No, thanks.’ He thrusts his hand into his pockets. ‘Look, about Iris …’
‘It’s OK.’ I interrupt him because I’ve spent so long analysing my emotions I really don’t want to stir them up again. ‘Like I said, I believe you, so there’s no need for us to talk about it.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. Are you sure?’
I nod as I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and then immediately spring up again. ‘ Ow! ’
‘What’s the matter?’ Gio starts forward in alarm. ‘Did you sit on something?’
‘ Owww! ’ I repeat, clutching at my bottom because I can’t help it. The muscles are so tight and sore.
‘Maisie?’
‘I haven’t been in a saddle for a while.’
‘You mean, you’ve hurt your …?’ He looks down and then presses his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh.
‘Not. A. Word.’ I glare at him. ‘Not one single word.’
‘Sorry.’ He flexes his fingers. ‘Here, let me rub it for you.’
‘What? No!’ My cheeks flame at the suggestion. ‘You are not rubbing my bum!’
‘You misunderstand. It’s massage therapy. I’ll be totally professional. You don’t even have to undress.’
I swallow hard and take a moment to mentally explore the image of Gio kneading his fingers into my bottom. Dressed or not, suddenly my head feels like it’s about to explode.
‘It’s not sexual, it’s therapeutic,’ he continues. ‘I’ll mostly use my elbow – it’s better for deep-tissue massage. I won’t even look, if you don’t want me to. You can blindfold me.’
‘That only makes it more sexual!’
‘Actually, you’re right.’ He scratches his jaw. ‘Sorry.’
‘Let’s talk about something else,’ I say, momentarily forgetting my predicament and sitting down again. ‘ Owwwww! ’
There’s an awkward pause, as I realize he might be right.
‘Maisie?’ Gio’s eyes bore into mine.
‘Fine. But over the clothes.’
‘Whatever the lady wants.’ He points at the floor. ‘Lie down.’
‘On the carpet?’
‘ Si. We need a hard surface.’
‘Fine,’ I say ungraciously. ‘But be gentle.’
Two minutes later, I’m lying face down on a towel, my head resting sideways across my folded arms, while Gio straddles my legs.
‘Ow!’ I yelp as his elbow digs into my gluteus maximus. ‘That was not gentle!’
‘Had to be done.’ He sounds unrepentant. ‘Damn, you really are tight.’
‘I know!’
‘How long was your ride?’
‘About four miles. I didn’t mean to go so far.’
‘But you enjoyed it too much to stop?’ I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘That’s awesome.’
He keeps on applying pressure, rolling his elbow in slow circles that gradually ease from pain into pleasure, while my eyelids flutter closed and I let out muffled sounds of appreciation. I feel simultaneously mortified and blissed out. My derriere has never been so well pampered.
‘How’s that?’ he asks, moving his elbow across to the other cheek and doing the same thing. ‘Does it feel better?’
‘Mmm,’ I murmur in response. It feels better than better.
‘Can I try here? Your back?’ He removes his elbow and taps his index finger once on my lower back.
‘Yes, please,’ I reply.
I moan softly as his fingers slide up my spine to my shoulders, where his thumbs slip beneath the neck of my T-shirt and rub against my bare skin, right across my scar. I thought he hadn’t noticed it in Zandvoort, but I guess he did, because his fingertips linger there, paying special attention to the ridge of tissue. It feels like every muscle in my body is unwinding, like all the knots and stresses of the day are melting away beneath his hands. I’m so relaxed – I’m basically jelly. And then something changes. I don’t know what triggers it, but I’m suddenly aware of my breath coming faster and faster, and all my blood rushing to a spot that is definitely not where his hands are.
‘That’s great.’ I force my shoulder blades together and push myself up quickly, scuttling away from him. ‘I feel so much better. Thank you.’
‘Good.’ He doesn’t move for a moment, then props himself against the sofa, one leg raised. He sounds faintly breathless too, like massage is harder work than I realized. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a rough day, Maisie. Especially when it’s my fault.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ I shake my head. ‘I mean, that tabloid story about you and Iris wasn’t even the worst thing that happened. Some guy was trying to take photos of me at work.’
‘What?’ His eyes flash angrily before he reaches for his phone. ‘Let me text Bo. He’ll deal with it.’
‘So I’ve been given some time off.’
‘Shit.’
‘Plus, I stupidly read some online comments about us, and it turns out … everyone h-hates me.’ I feel a hot pressure behind my eyes as my chest convulses and I burst into tears.
‘Heey!’ Gio drops his phone and shuffles forward, wrapping his arms round me, and I let him because his body feels so warm and comforting and I really need a hug. ‘Everybody doesn’t hate you.’
‘Everybody on social media does.’ I sob. I’m full on ugly crying now, like his massage has broken down all my usual defences.
‘I’m so sorry, Maisie.’ He rests his cheek against the top of my head. ‘I had no idea things were so bad.’
‘They weren’t until today –’ I hiccup – ‘then everything seemed to happen at once.’
‘If it’s too much, I understand.’
I lift my head, even though my face feels hot and swollen and I probably look like an overripe tomato. ‘What do you mean?’
He looks back at me, his expression serious. ‘If you want out of this, it’s OK.’
I inhale so sharply I start coughing. ‘You mean, break up?’ I finally manage to croak.
‘If that’s what you want.’
‘But if we break up, people will assume it’s because of the cheating rumours. Your reputation will be toast all over again.’
‘I can live with that.’ He touches a hand to my cheek, wiping my tears away. ‘It’s better than you being unhappy.’
‘What about the contract?’
‘Screw the contract. It was Bo’s idea anyway.’
I sniff loudly. Maybe we should tear up the contract. We’ve both already achieved what we wanted from this fake arrangement. His seat is safe and my assignment is done. Maybe it would be better if we called it a day. I’m confused enough about how I feel, and I can’t deny all the online comments have really got to me. I don’t want to be bullied or intimidated by trolls or ex-girlfriends, but if we end this now I could go back to being anonymous. I wouldn’t have to keep lying to Ava and my dad. I wouldn’t be stalked by photographers. I could get back to focusing on my degree.
‘Do you want to break up?’ My voice sounds wobbly.
He lowers his gaze to my cheek, slowly pulling away a tendril of hair that’s stuck there. ‘No. What I want is for us to take a holiday. You sound like you need a rest, and my summer break has just started, which means two weeks when I’m not allowed to do anything car-related. Then we can take some time to think about this – about us.’
I catch my breath at the word. It makes us sound like a real couple. I shouldn’t let myself be tempted, but … ‘Where would we go?’
‘Home. My home. I told you, my parents have a villa in Lombardy. There’ll be no cameras, no journalists, no phones if you don’t want one. Just delicious food, great wine, amazing views, a pool, space to think, separate rooms …’
I bite the inside of my cheek. It does sound amazing. Two weeks in close proximity to a fake boyfriend, on the other hand, one I may be developing feelings for despite what we both want, sounds way too complicated. I don’t like the prospect of deceiving his parents either, but since my alternatives are staying in this flat with the blinds closed or a potential breakdown in my dad’s bike shop, there’s really only one answer I can give.
‘When can we leave?’