The Spanish Love Deception

by Elena Armas

  “Anyway”—I cleared my throat—“Gerald doesn’t like me being where I am, and it has nothing to do with me not being an American or me being younger than him. But that’s how the world works, and it will work that way until it doesn’t anymore.”

  More silence followed my words.

  I peeked at him, curious to know what it was that he was thinking that kept him from lecturing me or telling me that I was whining or if he did not care what I had to say. But he only looked mad. Again. His jaw was all bunched up, and his brows furrowed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the intersection that signaled my street. “Oh, take the next right, please,” I instructed Aaron, taking my eyes off him. “It’s at the end of that street.”

  Aaron followed my directions in silence, still looking like he was bothered by something I had said. Thankfully, my block came into view before I was tempted to ask.

  “There.” I pointed with my finger. “The building on the right. The one with the dark red front door.”

  Aaron pulled up and stationed the car on a free spot that had somehow been magically waiting right in front of my door. My gaze followed his right hand as he killed the engine.

  Silence engulfed the confined space of the vehicle.

  Swallowing hard, I looked around. I tried to focus on the characteristics of the brownstones of this borough of Brooklyn, the few trees scattered along the street, the pizzeria on the corner—where I usually picked up dinner when I was feeling lazy. Or just hungry. I focused on everything, except the way in which the silence pressed on me, the more I waited inside the car.

  Fumbling with my seat belt and feeling the tops of my ears heat for no reason, I opened my mouth. “All right, I’m going to—”

  “Have you thought about my offer?” Aaron said.

  My fingers froze on my seat belt. My head lifted very slowly until I was facing him.

  For the first time since I had placed my drenched ass inside, I let myself really look at Aaron. Study all of him. His profile was lit by the dim glow coming from the few lamps perched on my street. The storm had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come.

  We found ourselves pretty much in the dark, so I couldn’t be sure if his eyes were the deep shade of blue that usually told me he was serious and all business—which I hoped wasn’t the case—or that lighter blue that preceded a battle. The only thing I could notice was how his shoulders seemed tense. A little wider than usual. They almost dwarfed the otherwise spacious interior of the car. Hell, looking at him now, his whole body seemed to do exactly that. Even the distance between his seat and the steering wheel was overly wide to accommodate his long legs. So much that I bet a person could easily fit in there.

  By the time I found myself wondering what he would say if I jumped on his lap to test my theory, Aaron cleared his throat. Probably twice.

  “Catalina.” He drew my attention back to his face.

  “Do you …” I trailed off, a little shaken by the fact that my mind had taken me to Aaron’s lap. I am ridiculous. “Do you want to pee or something?”

  Aaron frowned and rearranged his body in his seat, angling it toward me. “No.” He looked at me weirdly. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but why do you think I want to?”

  “You are parked in my street. In front of my building. I thought maybe you needed to use the bathroom. And I hoped it wouldn’t be number two, honestly.”

  I watched his chest inflate with a deep breath and then release all the air out.

  “No, I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

  His gaze studied me, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was there, inside his car. And in the meantime, I wondered exactly the same thing.

  My fingers finally made work of the seat belt, snapping it free as I felt his eyes boring holes into my side.

  “So, what’s your answer?”

  My whole body froze. “My answer?”

  “To my offer. Have you thought about it? And please”—dammit, that word again—“stop pretending you don’t remember. I know you do.”

  My heart tripped, tumbling down for a horrifying second. “I’m not pretending,” I murmured, doing exactly what he had asked me not to.

  But in my defense, I needed to win some time to figure this out. How to … deal with the situation. And more importantly, to figure out why.

  Why was he offering? Why was he insisting? Why was he going through the hassle? Why did he think he could be the one to help me? Why did he sound like he meant it? Why …

  Just why?

  Expecting a sarcastic comment, or a roll of his blue eyes at me playing dumb, or even him to retract his words because I was being difficult on purpose and he never had patience for that, I braced myself. But of all the things I expected him to go with, he went with the only one I wasn’t ready for.

  A defeated sigh left his lips.

  I blinked.

  “Your sister’s wedding. I’ll be your date,” Aaron said. As if he’d be willing to repeat himself as much as he possibly could as long as I gave him an answer.

  Or as if he were offering something simple. Something that would obtain a straightforward answer that didn’t require much consideration. Something like, Would you like dessert, Lina? Why, yes, of course. I’ll have the cheesecake, thank you. But Aaron’s offer was everything but simple and as far away from cheesecake as one could get.

  “Aaron”—I shot him a look—“you can’t be serious.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  How about everything? “Well, for one, you are you. And I am me. This is us, Aaron. You just can’t be,” I repeated. Because he couldn’t be.

  “I’m perfectly serious, Catalina.”

  I blinked. Again. Then, I laughed bitterly. “Is this a joke, Blackford? I know you struggle with that, and let me tell you, you shouldn’t go around, making jokes without a real feel of what’s funny and what’s not. So, I’m going to help you here,” I looked at him straight in the eye. “This is not funny, Aaron.”

  He frowned. “Not joking.”

  I kept staring at him for a long moment.

  Nope. No. He couldn’t not be joking. He couldn’t be serious either.

  Bringing my hands to my tangled and wet hair, I shoved it back a little too briskly. I was ready to get out of here. And yet, I remained rooted to the place.

  “Did you come up with any other options? A better option than me?”

  Both his questions hit the mark I assumed he’d aimed at because I felt my shoulders fall in defeat.

  “Do you even have any other options?”

  No, I did not. And the fact that he was being so blunt about it didn’t feel all that great either. My cheeks heated, and I remained silent.

  “I’m going to take that as a no,” he said. “You have no one.”

  And that felt a little like a kick to the stomach.

  I tried really hard to keep the hurt off my face—I did. Because I didn’t want Aaron Blackford to get a glimpse of how pathetic and silly his words had made me feel.

  How lonely I must be when my only option was a colleague who didn’t even like me all that much in the first place.

  But he wasn’t wrong. And as much as it hurt to admit it, at the end of the day, I had no one else. Just Aaron Blackford. He—and only he—completed my list of options. In a world where I’d consider taking him to Spain as my made-up boyfriend, that was.

  Unless—

  Oh my God. Holy shit. Did he notice—understand—what happened back in my office? That I accidentally told my mother that my boyfriend’s name was Aaron?

  No. I shook my head. No way. Impossible.

  “I don’t understand why you are doing this,” I told him with what I was sure was the most sincerity I had ever spoken to him.

  He sighed, the air leaving his body almost softly. “And I don’t understand why it’s so hard to believe that I would.”

  “Aaron�
�—a bitter chuckle left my lips—“we don’t like each other. And it’s okay because we couldn’t be any more … different. Incompatible. And if we barely manage to share a space for more than a handful of minutes without bickering or wanting to bite each other’s heads off, why in the world would you believe this was a good idea?”

  “We can get along just fine.”

  I bit back another laugh. “Okay, that was actually funny. Good job, Blackford.”

  “Not joking.” He scowled. “And I am your only option,” he shot back.

  Maldita sea. He was still right about that.

  My back leaned against the closed passenger door as he continued delivering blows, “Do you want to attend that wedding alone? Because I’m the one who can fix that.”

  Ugh, he truly believed I was that desperate and resourceless.

  Yes, a voice said in my head. Because you are both those things.

  I shook my head, desperation inflating inside my chest and pushing me to consider this crazy alternative that involved him.

  “Okay,” I said very slowly. “Let’s say I entertain this ridiculous idea. If I accept your offer and let you do this, what’s in it for you?” I crossed my arms, noticing how my still-wet clothes were sticking to my skin. “I know you, and I know you don’t do stuff just for the sake of it. You must have motivation. A reason. A goal. You must want something in exchange; otherwise, you would never help me. You are not that kind of person. At least, not with me.”

  Aaron’s head reared back, almost unnoticeably, but I was sure I had seen it. He was quiet for a long moment, and I could almost hear the wheels in his head turning.

  “You could do the same for me,” he finally said.

  The same? “You’ll need to be more specific, Blackford. Is your sister getting married too?” I paused in thought. “Do you even have siblings? I don’t know, but, well, I guess it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. Is there a wedding you want me to go to as your date?”

  “No,” he answered. And I didn’t know if he was talking about having siblings or not. But then he added, “Not for a wedding, but you could be my date.”

  Be his date?

  Why did it sound so … so … different when it was him asking me? Why did it sound so freaking different when Aaron was the one needing someone and not me?

  “I—” I stopped myself, feeling self-conscious for a reason I didn’t understand. “Do you need a date? Like”—I pointed a finger at him—“you? A woman to be your date?”

  “I don’t intend to show up with a chimpanzee, like you suggested. So, yes, a woman.” He paused, that scowl taking shape slowly. “You.”

  My lips snapped closed and then opened back up, probably making me look like a fish. “So, you want me”—I pointed at myself—“to pretend to be your date?”

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I interrupted him, the question bursting out of me.

  “No, I don’t.”

  I watched his eyes close for a heartbeat, his head shaking once.

  “Not even a casual someone you are seeing?”

  He gave me another shake.

  “A fling?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “Let me guess. No time for that?” I regretted it as soon as it had left my lips. But frankly, I was curious. So, perhaps, if he answered, I wouldn’t regret the question completely.

  His shoulders shrugged lightly, his back relaxing slightly. Just as if he had accepted that he’d have to give me an answer or I’d press for one. “I have time, Catalina. Plenty of time in fact.” Even in the darkness of the car, I saw those ocean-blue eyes of his pin me down with an honesty I hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m simply saving it for someone who’s worth it.”

  Well, that was incredibly smug. Sort of conceited too. And shockingly, kind of … sexy.

  Whoa. I shook my head. Nope. The only S-word Aaron Blackford could ever be thought of was … sarcastic. Scornful. Secretive. Stoic. Maybe even sour. But not sexy. Nope.

  “Is that why you don’t have a date already?” I managed to ask him next, feeling the need to sound indifferent and cold. “Because your standards are as high as the sky?”

  Aaron didn’t miss a beat. “Is that why you have no one to take to that wedding?”

  “I …” I wished that were the reason instead of plain stupidity and being a compulsive liar with no instinct of self-preservation. “It’s complicated. I have reasons.” I let my hands drop in my lap, keeping my eyes on the section of the console in front of me.

  “Whoever claims to act without having a reason pushing them to do so is lying.”

  “So, what’s pushing you to do this?” I asked him with my eyes still on the dark and smooth material that adorned the interior of the car. “What pushed you to ask me, out of all people, to pretend to be your date?”

  “It’s a long story.” Even if I wasn’t looking at him, I heard his exhale. It sounded as tired as I felt. “It’s a social commitment. I can’t promise you it will be fun, but it’s for a good cause.” He paused for moment, in which I didn’t speak and I limited myself to take in the scarce details he had given me. “I’ll tell you everything—if you accept, of course.”

  My head shot in his direction, and I found Aaron’s blue eyes already on me. They were filled with a little challenge. And a little expectation.

  He was baiting me. Offering me an insight into Aaron Blackford’s unknown—and presumed to be nonexistent—personal life. He knew I’d want to know.

  Well played, Blackford.

  “Why me?” I asked him, being drawn to the light like a stupid fly. “Why not anyone else?”

  His gaze didn’t waver when he answered, “Because if all these months we have worked together have taught me anything, it’s that you are the only woman I know crazy enough to do something like this. You might be my only option too.”

  I wouldn’t take that as a compliment because it hadn’t been one. He had just called me crazy. But shit. Something about it—about the way he had said it, about this bizarre day and this unexpected turn of events in which I had found out he also needed someone, just like I did—seemed to wear me down.

  “You do know that you’ll have to fly to Spain with me for a whole weekend, right?”

  A simple nod. “Yes.”

  “And in exchange, you want just one night? One single night of me pretending to be your date?”

  He nodded again, and this time, something solidified in his stare. In the way his jaw was clamped and his lips formed a flat line. Determination. I knew that look. I had argued against that look on many occasions.

  Then, he spoke, “Do we have a deal?”

  Have we really lost our minds?

  We gazed at each other in silence as my lips played with the answer, moving wordlessly until they didn’t. “Okay.” There was a big chance we had really lost our minds, yes. “Deal.”

  Something flickered across Aaron’s face. “Deal,” he repeated.

  Yep, we have definitely lost them.

  This deal between us was uncharted territory. And the air was suddenly thick with something that made it hard for me to take in a full breath.

  “All right. Okay. Good.” I brushed a finger over the surface of the impeccable dashboard. “So, we have a deal.” I inspected an imaginary dust particle, feeling my anxiety rise with every extra second I spent inside. “There’s a mountain of details we need to discuss.” Namely the fact that he’d need to pretend to be the man I was supposedly dating and not just my wedding date. Or the fact that he’d have to pretend he was in love with me. “But we can focus on you first. When is this social commitment I’m helping you with?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven p.m.”

  My whole body came to a halt. “Tomorrow?”

  Aaron shifted in his seat, facing away from me. “Yes. Be ready at seven. Sharp,” he remarked. I was so … out of it that I didn’t even roll my eyes at him when he continued shooting
orders, “Evening gown ideally.” His right hand went to the car’s ignition. “Now, go home and rest, Catalina. It’s late, and you look like you could use some sleep.” His left hand fell heavily on the steering wheel. “I’ll tell you everything else tomorrow.”

  Somehow, Aaron’s words registered only after I closed the front door to my building behind me. And it was only a few seconds later, right after Aaron’s car roared to life and faded away, that I allowed myself to really process what it meant.

  I’d be going on a date tomorrow. A fake date. With Aaron Blackford. And I needed an evening gown.

  Chapter Six

  I was not panicking. Nope.

  My apartment was a war zone, but I was chill. The clothing explosion? Under control.

  I looked at myself in the generous mirror placed against one of the walls in my studio apartment with what I promised would be the last outfit I tried on. It was not that I didn’t have anything to wear; my problem was far simpler. The root of my predicament—and as of now, the biggest headache of the month, and all things considered, that was saying something—was that I didn’t know what I was dressing for.

  “Be ready at seven. Sharp. Evening gown ideally.”

  Why I hadn’t pressed for more details, I did not have the slightest idea.

  Except for the fact that it was a mistake I was unfortunately familiar with. This was how I approached things. I rushed into them. Reason why I’d somehow managed to weave my existence into knots I didn’t know how to untangle.

  Evidence number one: the lie.

  Evidence number two: what the lie had led to.

  In other words, the deal I had struck with someone I would never, not even in my wildest dreams—no, nightmares—have imagined needing. Or being needed by. Aaron Blackford.

  “Loca,” I muttered to myself as I unzipped another garment. Was it even an evening gown? “Me he vuelto loca. He perdido la maldita cabeza.”

  Slipping out of it and throwing it onto the bed with the rest of the discarded dresses, I reached for my robe. The fluffy pink one because I needed all the comfort I could get and I couldn’t think of any other way to get it. It was either this or stuffing my mouth with cookies.