Chapter 11
chapter eleven
LEO
Three days. I can do three days living in the same house as Marisol, especially in a house this big.
At least…that’s what I thought when I went to sleep last night knowing she was in a room far enough from mine that I couldn’t hear a peep.
But then I walked into the main bathroom this morning looking for deodorant, and instead, I found Marisol’s dusty pink lace bra hanging from the hook where her towel is supposed to be.
That towel is currently lying discarded on the floor next to the shower, but my gaze doesn’t linger there, no.
It is stuck on the lingerie staring me in the face.
I try not to let my mind wander, but I can’t help it, not when I know exactly what Marisol would look like in something like this. Being one of the most popular models in the country and doing bikini and lingerie shoots on the regular will do that.
A spear of possessiveness strikes me, because I’m not the only man in the world to have seen those pictures, and a small part of me is even angry that I wasn’t the one behind the camera.
How would she pose for me? Would she look through her lashes at me, or would she smile wide?
“Are you ready yet?” Marisol’s voice echoes down the hall, snapping me out of my daydream.
“Jesus Christ, Romano,” I mutter to myself in the mirror. “Yeah, one sec!” I yell out before stooping down to douse my face with cold water.
Thoughts like that won’t do me any good. Not when this is all for show.
I dry my face quickly before making my way down the long hall, collecting my keys off the side table on my way past.
“God, anyone would think you’re the cover girl with how long it takes you to get ready,” Marisol says as she hauls open the gigantic front door and heads straight for my car.
But I hesitate for a moment before following her—even though I know it’s going to earn me another roll of her eyes—because that throwaway comment takes me right back to last night when she came out of my room, drowning in my sweats.
She looked adorable, better than she’s ever looked in a skintight dress. She looked like mi—no. Nope.
I feel a muscle pinch in my jaw as I try to cast the thought from my mind, pulling the door closed behind me and making my way to the car.
“I can’t believe we’re about to go watch a couple of dudes beat the shit out of each other.”
A laugh forces its way from my throat as I slide into the driver’s seat. “You know, sometimes you talk like you spend every day on a work site, not a runway.”
She shakes her head beside me, a small smile gracing her lips. “I grew up with all of you, remember?” she says. “I don’t think I was ever a pleasant young girl. Besides, I haven’t been on a runway in a while.” She goes quiet as I back the Impala out of the driveway, her energy falling.
“Was that your favorite part?” I ask.
She lifts her gaze and her brows. “The runway?” I nod. She scoffs. “No. I mean…I liked the idea of debuting the pieces, and I love the chaos backstage, the buzz,” she says. “But I kind of hated all the eyes.”
A frown pulls at my brows. “But…at the risk of sounding like an idiot male, isn’t that the point? I mean, you’re a—”
“Model.” She nods. “I know. But it’s different doing a shoot versus walking down a runway.
” I stay silent, giving her the space to elaborate.
But I don’t fail to notice the way she fiddles with those rings of hers.
“With a shoot, there are endless photos taken, sometimes hours worth of perfecting the right shot, and at the end of everything, the photos are put out, and yes, people online are going to say what they are going to say, but I basically do a social media detox for the first two weeks when a new campaign comes out.” My mind runs as we wind our way through the streets, heading for Main.
“But on a runway,” she sighs, “you’re entirely available for scrutiny.
I mean,” she cocks her head, “it’s not like anyone heckles you or anything, but it’s the whispers and the pointing.
They could be talking about the fashion piece, or they could be talking about you.
It could be positive, it could be negative.
Nine times out of ten, you will never know, but for someone like me it can be… daunting.”
I don’t ask her what she means by someone like her, because I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she is only confident about herself when she has spent hours getting the perfect photo, and once it is undoubtedly edited to oblivion before it’s released.
Even then, I don’t get the impression it’s confidence, rather simply acceptance, which seems absurd, because ever since the day I met her when I was nothing more than a kid, I’ve thought Marisol was the kind of beautiful that makes you feel completely inadequate.
“I suppose it’s nothing compared to standing in a ring, listening to a crowd of people encouraging the man across from you to send a knockout punch your way, though,” she deflects.
“Just because there’s no one shouting in your face for your downfall doesn’t make the gut punch any less painful,” I say as we pull into a spare park on Main.
Marisol is silent as I shift the car into park and roll the windows up, but when I finally look in her direction, she is staring at me, her brows pulled together like I performed some kind of profound poetry.
I can’t do anything but look back, taking in the small pieces of hair that curl above her ears in rebellion when the rest is pulled so tightly into a braided ponytail at the crown of her head.
Those little curls on each side make me want to pull on them with my little finger and let them curl around my skin.
But a knock on the window has me jumping in my seat.
“Jesus Christ, May,” I mutter as I open the door.
She looks at me with a grin that would challenge the Cheshire Cat’s as our car doors open in musical unison. “Hi, you two.”
Good lord. Why did I think this was a good idea again?
“Ciao!” Marisol bounds around the car to pull May into a tight embrace, and when she pulls back, the smile on her face leaves me paralyzed.
That’s why.
“Dio! Look at you!” May’s expression is all warm and fuzzy as she runs a hand over her pregnant belly. She’s really starting to show now. “When did this happen?”
May quickly quirks a brow at Marisol. “You would know if you ever came to visit!”
I see the flash of guilt Marisol tries to hide as she grabs May’s hands in hers. “I’m here now.”
May nods, sending me a look over Marisol’s shoulder. “That you are. Come on.” She takes Marisol’s arm and leads her across the street, leaving me to hold out a hand in thanks to the car that they didn’t notice had abruptly stopped for them. “Are you excited?”
“To watch someone beat Miles bloody?” Marisol asks. “Not exactly.”
May tsks. “If things go our way, Miles will be the one doing the majority of the beating.”
“Oh, goody!” Marisol raises her shoulders, leaving me chuffing a laugh before I pull the door of the gym open for them. May goes in first, and my hand instinctively finds Marisol’s lower back as I follow her through the glass door.
May heads toward the makeshift stands set up around Luna’s gym, and when Marisol moves to follow her, I delicately catch her hand in mine, stopping her. “I’m going to go see Miles, but I’ll find you soon.”
“Oh—yeah, okay,” she says before turning to look for May, but she’s not hard to find. She sits down between Isla and Marina, with Caio, Rafael, and Heath sitting behind them in the row above, and all six sets of eyes are glued on Marisol and me.
Marisol snorts as she turns back to face me, a slight blush rising on the high part of her cheeks. “They know nothing of subtlety, do they?”
“Not exactly their forte,” I say with a tip of my head. I raise my spare hand, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her small chin. “I’ll see you soon.”
I’m sure I imagine the way she hesitates to drop my hand as I turn in the other direction.
I try to wipe the boyish smile from my face as I push open the door to the guys’ locker room and find Miles pacing as he shakes out his hands. “Hey.”
He turns as he hears my voice, letting out a forceful breath.
“God, is it good to see you,” he breathes.
“You know I love Marina, but her pre-match pep talks really aren’t doing it for me.
” I roll my lips together as he rambles, still pacing.
“Just be careful, Miles,” he mimics. “Duck when they go for your face—or collarbone—or literally any other part of my body.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop moving. “You’re good, man.” He lets out a long breath as he nods. “I mean, you faced Boulder. You can face anyone.”
He hits me with a deadpan stare. “Oh yeah, good ol’ Boulder who nearly sent me into a fucking coma.”
“Pshhh.” I wave a hand between us. “Minor setback. You still faced him, though.”
Miles lets out an exasperated laugh, and that’s exactly what I wanted.
It was almost a year ago now that Miles had surgery on his collarbone after receiving multiple fractures in his boxing match against Boulder, and he’s spent months and months rebuilding his strength so he could fight again. Tonight is his first match since.
“Minor setback.” He shakes his head.
“One that got you your girl.” I raise my brows, and then he’s smiling at me.
If Miles had never gotten injured and been forced to stick around in Ruby Cove for his recovery, who knows whether he and Marina would have found their way back to each other.
I know I wouldn’t have gained a guy I now class as one of my best friends.
So I thank Boulder very quietly in the back of my head sometimes.
The crowd erupts from behind the door, meaning Luna, the owner of the gym, is getting them ready for the match. Miles lets out a nervous breath.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m good.”
I nod, giving him a friendly tap on the ass as he walks toward the door. “I’ll see you out there.”
“Alright,” he says as he begins jumping on the spot, shaking out his arms. “Oh, and don’t think you’re getting out of talking about this whole boyfriend situation as soon as I’m out of that ring.”
I flip him off as I push on the door, making my way back out into the now completely full and roaring gym.
A few more fighters have begun training here in the last year, with Miles doing his bit and encouraging some of the young pilots he works with to find a physical outlet—whether that’s fighting or simply strength training.
After a while, Luna decided to upgrade the place and started hosting small local matches to get people involved.
Miles has been helping out, training some of the guys, but today is his day in the ring, and the whole town is here to see it.
I find Marisol in the crowd in an instant, her smile wide as she laughs at something May said. I should be concerned. That girl has no filter, but so long as Marisol is smiling like that, I’m happy.
“Hey,” she says as I find my seat next to her.
Marina leans forward in her seat down the aisle. “How is he doing? Is he okay back there?”
“He’s ready.” I nod. She chews on a hangnail as she nods back. “He’s good, Marina. This guy is no Boulder.”
“I know, I know.” Isla reaches for Marina’s hand, holding it in her lap as Luna announces Miles, and he walks into the ring, his opponent following. He’s a guy of decent build, but he and Miles look equally matched, so it should be a good fight.
“Good lord. He looks good, doesn’t he?” Marina mutters, those nerves quickly transforming into admiration.
Isla looks up to the ceiling. “Ugh, do we have to?”
“Hell yeah, he does,” May says. “That man has always looked good without a shirt, even when we were teenagers.”
Isla turns to her. “Okay, ew. Seriously?”
“Look, just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean that I don’t have eyes.” May shrugs. A frustrated laugh bubbles from Isla’s throat as she covers her eyes.
Marisol giggles under her breath from her seat beside me, and I’m glad to see she’s relaxing, but when Miles throws the first punch, sending his opponent flying backward to dodge his fist, she jumps. “Oh shit.”
The girls’ teasing goes quiet as Marina leans forward in her seat, her hands balled together as she watches the other guy send a kick into Miles’s side, and she flinches.
Isla reaches over, tangling her hand in Marina’s again, and I’m forced to remember the look on Isla’s face when she watched Boulder send blows down into her brother’s face last year. I was Miles’s cornerman. I should have pulled him out sooner, but no one expected Boulder not to stop.
Marisol pulls her legs to her chest and curls into me when Miles’s fist connects with his opponent’s jaw. “Is it over?”
“Far from it, dolcezza,” I say, placing what I hope is a comforting hand on her knees.
“Dio,” she curses, her voice filled with dread as she peeks back at the ring where the boys have found their rhythm, dancing around each other in circles, sending hits back and forth. “Nope.” She turns back to face me in favor of the fist fight. “Not doing it. Tell me when it’s over.”
I chuckle, and I almost feel it reverberate in my throat. As if all my awareness is homed in on where Marisol’s eyes watch me. I want to turn my head to see how close my lips land to hers, but I don’t.
Miles gains the upper hand, and Marina’s knee bounces up and down through my peripheral vision as his opponent slams into the ring.
Miles sends another blow to the side of his face.
The sound of the crowd builds as the other guy gets one up on Miles, until he sends a punch into his side, then his jaw, another to his other cheek, blood flying from his mouth, and then he’s down on the mat.
Marina stands up as Luna walks into the ring, pulling Miles’s hand up into the air to signal he is the winner, and the crowd erupts.
“It’s over,” I say, leaning in close to Marisol, even though I’m sure she could gauge that from the crowd.
She doesn’t look at me, but I see the way her cheeks lift in a smile before she’s pulled into the fray of the girls’ excitement. A single tear slides down Marina’s cheek as she grins wide, relief shining in her eyes.
I reach a hand around the back of the others, ruffling her dark curls.
She laughs before looking back at the ring, where Miles is pointing at her before he makes a heart with his hands.
I laugh when he catches my eye, blowing me a kiss.
I blow one back before Heath’s hand has me looking to where he’s leaning down between Marisol and me, his other hand on her shoulder. “Are you lovebirds ready to celebrate?”