Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

Not thinking out my plans is becoming a pattern, ever since Chloe stumbled into my life. Catching her crying on my cellar floor made my heart twist in a way that had me acting first, thinking later.

The night is everything I expected, which adds to my concern. I should have trusted my instincts and rejected this plan. My gut feeling was right. Chloe’s family is completely starstruck. It was written all over their faces the moment they entered my house. Originally, I chalked it up to my doubts about others’ intentions, hoping

they wanted to get to know my girlfriend too. Instead, they steamrolled over every comment centered around Chloe tonight, focusing back on me.

Chloe is putting a lot of stock into Matteo accepting her once she admits her identity to him. I’m afraid she will only be disappointed if he rejects her. And worse, I’m nervous she won’t have a reason to stay here anymore if he breaks her heart. He’s the one person tying her to this town, and I can’t have him screwing it up. I enjoy her company too much to lose it now.

I was hoping to be wrong about Matteo and his son, but everything that happened tonight proves I’m probably right. And fuck them both if it makes Chloe miserable. So hence, my stupid game. The same one that reignited the fire within Chloe, banishing her tears. Like a champion, she marched through my house and took her seat next to me.

I clutch onto her hand, holding it hostage against the tabletop. She raises a brow at me, and I smile. The tiny voice in my head whispers how lines are blurring and feelings are bound to get hurt. But for once in the past few years of my isolated life, I don’t bother listening to it. I’ve spent far too long being numb. I’m so damn tired of it, I’ll play all these games with Chloe and enjoy our private stakes.

Matteo stares at our hands joined on the table. “How long have you two known each other?”

I blink at him. The asshole finally asks a question about us, rather than just me.

Chloe takes advantage of my silence, shooting me a telling smile. “Oh. Ever since childhood. It was a slow-burning romance of the ages.” She bats her lashes.

Oh, this ought to be good. I lean in closer to her, taking a deep breath of her flowery scent before whispering in her ear. “Whoever gets the most questions out of them about a story wins. Let’s keep it fair and unbiased.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, her body shuddering as hot air escapes my mouth. Her nod of approval starts our game.

Giovanni smiles. “Oh, really? I remember hearing about Santiago’s ex on one of his sister’s vlogs. But no other information came out about her.”

I wince. Everyone was always curious about my ex-girlfriend, but I kept that story locked away with some others. During interviews, I preferred to keep my life private, and reporters took it as something salacious instead of innocent.

Chloe shrugs in a faux-shy way, her long lashes fluttering. “Well, it’s me. This big guy was secretive about it all.”

“Why?” Matteo takes a sip of his wine.

“He was ashamed to tell others how he lost me after I broke his heart.”

I force my laugh into a ragged cough.

“No freaking way! You broke his heart? Why?” Giovanni’s eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets.

“Back when I knew him, he was just a boy with a dream of racing one day. But fame changes people, and I was afraid.” Her lip wobbles.

Everyone becomes enthralled by her story, including myself. We hang on to each new piece of information she shares. I keep a mental tally of each question, with her story of us breaking up earning a total of eleven questions. That’s going to be a hard one to beat.

Chloe gloats like she’s on top of a podium, shooting me a taunting smile. She mouths beat that when her family isn’t looking.

Matteo excuses himself to use the restroom. Giovanni follows him, claiming he needs to go as well. It’s a fitting intermission for our dinner and a show.

I reach out toward her, grazing her bottom lip with my thumb. Her smile drops as her eyes widen.

There’s no reason to get close to her, but I can’t help it. And more importantly, I don’t want to. “Don’t plan your victory parade just yet.”

She rolls her eyes, but her breaths become shallower as my thumb rubs back and forth across her bottom lip. “I can’t see how you’ll beat eleven questions. You count grunting as a second language.”

I laugh, low and rough. “If you knew the old me, you’d take back that statement. I don’t like losing.”

Her eyes soften. “I don’t need to know the old you.”

“And why is that?” My thumb moves toward her cheek, stroking the soft skin.

None of this is fake now. Her reaction, my interest, the way both our bodies respond to each other’s touch. It’s all so fucking real, I can practically taste the attraction between us both.

“Because I find this version of you intoxicating enough.” Her eyes flutter shut as she leans into my touch.