Chapter 101
His expression hardens–just a flicker. “Trust me, that won’t be hard. That guy’s practically a scandal waiting to happen. Almost got busted for steroids a while back. The league covered it up, but it’s all there, buried deep enough for someone smart to find.”
I lift my head, my pulse picking up. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yup. And don’t even get me started on the NDAs. Last year alone, he had more women sign silence agreements than most people date in a lifetime.” His thumb brushes my collarbone, gentle again. “Even if you hadn’t said anything, I was already on it.”
My lips twitch. “Really?”
Liam grins, then reaches up to pinch my nose. “I was just waiting for you to catch up, genius.”
EMILIA
Evening rolls in faster than I expect, and somehow – I’m actually having fun. More than fun, even. I’m smiling. Laughing. And I don’t even have to pretend.
At some point, Liam convinced me that a walking tour was a brilliant idea. And annoyingly – he was right.
“The scenery here is unreal,” I whisper, eyes soaking in the golden sky, the cobblestone path, the way the light hits the buildings just right. What I don’t say is that he’s half the reason
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everything feels beautiful.
He leans down to answer, voice close to my ear – always my right ear. Ever since I told him I’m half–deaf in my left, he’s never once stood on that side. Never had to be reminded.
“Better than wasting daylight in the shade, huh?”
“Not a chance.”
We were able to find a store to get dry clothes, thankfully my old ones weren’t exactly favourites of mine.
Actually, I think the shirt was a gift from Zane. Good riddance.
“You can never let me win, huh? If it really is such a burden, we can go back to the beach.”
A pout. “But then we’d have to walk there, too.”
“Smartass.”
I laugh, but I’m too busy staring at him to fully commit. The new outfit I picked out for him is doing way too much. Black fits him like it was made for his skin, for his frame, for the way he
moves. The shirt we found was a size too small, thanks to those obnoxiously broad shoulders of his.
It clings. In the best way.
Truly, a public service.
He stretches his arms above his head, and I swear my soul leaves my body for a second.
“You’re staring,” he says, catching me mid–eyes–glued–to–his-
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biceps.
“You wish,” I shoot back, but my face is already hot. And he knows it.
He leans in again, smirking. “You picked out the shirt, Emilia.”
I lift my chin. “So I wouldn’t have to suffer through your terrible fashion sense.”
He grins wider, and God – it’s so unfair how pretty his smile is.
“You wound me,” he says, mock dramatically, hand over his heart. “But I’ll forgive you. Because right now? You look really happy. And beautiful. But you always look beautiful, that isn’t surprising.”
My chest squeezes. Hard.
I look away first. But not before he reaches for my hand. Not before he intertwines our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He squeezes my hand softly, and I squeeze back, trying not to melt into the pavement.
We end up ditching the tour completely – because of course we do. But just as we turn the corner, we spot the camera crew
from earlier. And they spot us, too.
Liam freezes. “Abort mission.”
“What?”
“Run.”
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“What?!”
“Run!”
I’m already laughing as we bolt in the opposite direction, hand in hand, weaving between tourists and lamp posts like we’re in a romcom chase scene. He’s faster, obviously – because
professional athlete – but he keeps pace with me, pulling me gently along.
We duck behind a building and he huffs out a laugh, hair a little messy, eyes sparkling. “I think we lost them.”
“Pretty sure one of them tripped over a baguette,” I say, breathless and grinning.
He throws his head back and laughs — full, real, boyish. “That’s going in the highlight reel.”
Before I can ask what highlight reel – or what that even is –, he straightens up and gestures dramatically toward the street.
“Taa–daa,” he says, like a magician unveiling his grand finale.
A horse–drawn carriage pulls up right beside us.
My jaw drops. “You did not.”
“Oh, but I did,” he says, proudly, helping me up like some kind of fairytale prince. “When in Europe, right?”
“We’re not in Europe, Liam.”
“Details, Emilia. Details.”
The rider turns around to ask something – then freezes mid-
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sentence.
His eyes go wide. His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.
“You’re…” he blinks hard, stammering in accented English. It’s similar to Tessa’s when she’s mad. So Russian, I guess. “You’re Liam Calloway.”
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Chapter 102
