“Murph—”
“Oh, so we’re back to Murph now, too, are we? And just when I was going to give you a certificate of approval for being able to pronounce my name.” She uncrossed then recrossed her arms, foot tapping rapidly against the wooden floor, hands balled into little fists. “May as well get to the point, Santi, and just spit out what you really want to say—the wedding’s off.”
“No!”
They both froze at the hoarse passion in his voice. “No, Saoirse. That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Would you mind, then, please, telling me what the blue blazes is going through that pea-sized brain of yours because I’ve had just about as much disappointment at the altar as a girl can take. I will not be humiliated a second time. Especially if the blasted thing isn’t even meant to be real!”
Santi’s heart shot out searing rays of pain in his chest. He didn’t want to cause her pain. The total opposite, in fact. Every time her face lit up when he appeared from around a corner, or she laughed at one of his ridiculous jokes, she made the world—his world—a better place to be. But he needed to restart or reboot or wipe the slate clean or whatever the hell a man did when truth and honesty and love needed to be at the fore of everything he was feeling.
“This isn’t coming out the way I meant.”
“You think?” Saoirse bit back. “As a breakup conversation it’s going pretty well from where I’m standing.”
“Saoirse, please. I’m juggling a lot of things right now and I just want to make sure I get all of them right. If you hadn’t noticed, the whole feelings thing isn’t really my forte.”
“I could’ve told you that for nothing,” Saoirse replied, a bit of the anger slipping away from her c’mon-I-dare-you-to-just-say-it stance. “But what’s that got to do with, you know...” She flicked her thumb in the direction of her bedroom. “Not good enough for you, am I?”
“That is definitely not the problem, mija,” Santi replied, suddenly seeing the conversation from her perspective. Another knock back. Another hurdle to leap to turn the tables in her own life.
“What is it then?”
Oh, Dios. Was that a wobble in her voice?
“C’mere, you.” Santi opened his arms and gestured for her to come to him.
“I’m not budging or letting you lay your sexy hands on me until you explain what on earth is going on with you.”
“I just want to square things with my brothers. And with you...”
Her eyebrows lifted expectantly, emotion shining brightly in her eyes.
“Men can’t multitask,” he finished pathetically.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re saying if you sleep with me, you’ll be so busy being bewitched by the wonders of my good self you won’t be able to sort out your relationship with your brothers?”
“Precisely.” He heaved a sigh of relief, only to catch the unchecked roll of Saoirse’s eyes. He’d bought himself a bit more time. Time to set things right. For all of them.
“For the record...” Saoirse crossed to him and gave him a narrow-eyed stare “...men are stupid.” She zeroed her pointy finger in on his chest and gave him a much-deserved jab in the solar plexus. “Enjoy the guest room, muchacho.”
SAOIRSE CLIMBED OUT of the ambulance feeling like cement was setting in her bloodstream. Another day of pretending. Another day of hiding the fact the very fabric of her well-being was being torn apart the further Santi drifted away from their little cocoon of 24/7 togetherness.
Stocktaking with the brothers. Dinner with the brothers. Stopping in for a chat with the brothers. A nosy around the fancy clinic to see how far they had all come.
If she could just meet the blighters she wouldn’t care! It was everything Santi had wanted and her heart was soaring for him. With him. But being held at a very obvious distance was taking its toll. Especially with the rapidly approaching courthouse date. This was her future after all.
And his?
Well. He was finally getting what he’d come home for. Closure. Peace. Family.
And the fact she didn’t factor into any of it was becoming clearer by the second. It didn’t stop her from wanting to fight it, though. Didn’t stop her from knowing she’d met The One.
She pulled open the back door of the ambulance and raked around for the cleaning supplies.
“Are you coming back tonight? For dinner?” Saoirse feigned utter disinterest in Santi’s answer, but when she didn’t even get one she chalked the moment up on her growing list of lovelorn-wife moments. Even she hated the sound of her own voice when she sounded all fake cheery.
When they’d kicked this whole thing off? She’d swept away a mountain’s worth of concerns. They’d had fun! They’d had sex! They’d worked together and been brilliant because whenever they’d done anything together it had been better!
Those together moments were dropping like flies.
It was now glaringly obvious that Santi’s offer of marriage was just what he’d said: a favor. Something to keep him in Miami until he was drawn back into the bosom of the Valentino clan.
Or...hard chest.
Or...whatever it was four brothers did whenever they made peace.
Eat buckets of Helibanas and leave their fake fiancées in the wake of their happy-families parade?
It was looking that way.
Her whole swooping-heart, pitter-pat, pulse-racing thing was just a problem she’d have to sort out on her lonesome.
She stopped her frantic scrubbing of the ambulance door and turned to face a freshly materialized Santi, who was looking at her curiously. He’d been doing it more and more over the past few weeks.
Weeks racing past so fast she could practically hear them taunting her.
Her visa was painfully close to expiring. The unspoken-of wedding was a looming issue on the horizon, no longer the brightly glowing thing she’d been anticipating.
Work had become her go-to companion. She’d used every excuse in the book to rack up extra shifts. Needing a new race suit, needing a new carburetor. Needing an engine rebuild. Suffice it to say her car was taking a pounding on the racetrack these days.
She turned around to see his eyes still solidly locked on her. Paranoia was beginning to set in. Sure, she’d put on a couple of pounds over the past few weeks but that had been comfort eating. Completely understandable considering the circumstances.
“What are you staring at? Haven’t you any work to be getting on with?” She shooed him away, quickly going up on tiptoe, trying to check out her reflection in the ambulance window to see if something was smeared on her face. The day had been a particularly messy one and all she wanted right now was a hot shower. She scrubbed at her face even though she saw nothing, and looked back toward Santi.
He was leaning against the ambulance with his legs crossed as he filled out the mileage log. It shouldn’t look as sexy as it did, but the pose never failed to make him look like Mr. January straight through to December.
A hot shower with a certain someone might make scrubbing off the day even more pleasant to look forward to.
“No, sorry.” He scuffed his boot against the tarmac and looked back up at her. “Previous plans.”
“Oh, cool.” She plastered on her I’m-so-happy-to-hear-it