My life had transformed in a matter of days. A week ago, I was in the States, giving notice at my job and packing for an extended trip. Today, I’m on Reese’s arm, standing in a lavish ballroom, wearing a red cocktail dress, having a conversation with an Italian megastar whose name eludes me at the moment. I’ve met so many new people in such a short amount of time, it feels like my head is spinning. I plaster on a smile as Reese and the charismatic man discuss topics beyond my comprehension. But I guess I’ll learn. At least, I’m trying. Being catapulted into Reese’s world has opened my eyes dramatically. In the U.S., he’s popular. In Europe, he’s revered as a god. Racing is like a religion, and the people occupying this room are deities.
I continue to smile and nod as the handsome, olive-skinned man throws amicable digs at Reese in this thick Italian accent.
“ . . . And I say . . . What is this? The Phantom. He smile. He never smile.” He laughs. “And now, I know. It’s you.” He addresses me. “You cause . . . How you say? Shit-eating American?”
Reese shoves the man good-naturedly. “Shit-eating grin. The expression is shit-eating grin.”
“I still no understand.” He speaks with his hands. “Why would you eat shit and grin?”
The three of us simultaneously crack up. He has a point.
“Vanni!” someone calls from across the room. That’s it! Giovanni is his name. I file it away for next time.
Vanni waves in acknowledgment.
“I must go, bella.” He kisses my hand. I don’t think a man has ever kissed my hand. “It was a pleasure. Keep making him eat shit.” He winks and gestures at Reese.
I giggle. “Promise.”
“Amico.” He slaps Reese on the back and walks away. Most of the people in this room are from a foreign country. Well, foreign to Reese and me. Only a handful of Americans are in our presence. The majority of the conversations I overhear are in different languages. Being surrounded by so much culture is an enlightening experience.
Reese’s flashy life is so distracting; I nearly forget about the pain. But it always creeps back up on me. Losing Dev. The wound is still bloody and fresh, but I remind myself this is what he wanted. He walked away.
I would have loved them both for the rest of my life.
I refused to choose, so he did it for me.
I go to fiddle with my necklace, the diamond butterfly Dev gave me for Christmas, but when I touch my throat, it isn’t there. I never took it off before, but when Dev decided he’d had enough, and Reese proposed, I decided it was time to retire it. I left it in my condo along with any other reminders of him. But no matter how hard I try to forget, one look at Reese can awaken the memories. Though their personalities are different, their facial features are exactly the same. I’m living in a sweet hell. Loving one man unconditionally, while resenting his twin at the exact same time.
Reese hasn’t brought up the marriage proposal since we arrived in Argentina. He sounded like he was serious, but I wonder now if he’s having second thoughts.
“Want to get some air?” Reese asks as he grabs two glasses of champagne off a silver tray as a waiter walks by.
I nod. Air sounds great. We make our way out the French doors to the large balcony overlooking the resort’s magnificent pool, the turquoise water glowing brightly under the dark night sky.
“Doing okay?” Reese asks, sidling up beside me.
“It’s a little overwhelming,” I admit.
“You’ll get used to it. It’s an adjustment.”
I nod, downing the champagne hastily. “I’m doing my best.”
“You’re doing fantastic. Everyone loves you.” He steals a kiss.
“I’m glad I’m not spoiling your image,” I half joke.
“Kayla, please. In that dress, you couldn’t spoil a damn thing.”
“So you do like it.” I ruffle the hem. “I was wondering. You didn’t comment when I put it on.”
“I love it, but it’s missing something.”
“What?” I frown. I spent all day shopping for this dress. I thought the elegant yet sexy beaded slip dress was perfect.
“Close your eyes.”
I hesitate.
“Go on, close them,” Reese encourages.
“Fine.” I drop my lids.
“Okay, open them.” I flutter them open to find he’s holding out both hands. Fists closed. “Pick one.”
I eye him speculatively, deliberating which one to choose.
“You better pick right. You only get once chance,” he warns, looking delicious in a crisp white dress shirt and black pants, a watch the size of Mars shining on his wrist. “C’mon, I can’t hold my arms up all day.”
“Ugh, I hate being rushed.” I choose the right hand prematurely.
“You sure?” he questions impishly.
“No. But that’s the hand I picked.”
Reese smiles, turning his fist over. I inspect what’s resting in his palm.
“Go ahead take it.”
I pick up the coiled silver chain and dangle the necklace between us.
“Is that . . . ?” I study the charm.
“A heartbeat. Well, a replica of my heartbeat from the monitor. When I was in the hospital.”
“How . . . ?”
He shrugs. “I was bored and took a video of it one day.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he admits. “Anyway, it’s been sitting on my phone for ages, and I wanted to make you something special. Something one of a kind. And I came across this website that made these necklaces. I thought it was perfect.” Reese clasps the chain around my neck without needing me to turn around. I touch the diamond squiggles, my emotions teeming.
“It’s definitely one of a kind.”
“Just like you.” He kisses me softly. “Every beat of my heart belongs to you. And now, the whole world knows it, too.” He presses his finger on the necklace.
Jesus, this man. He knows just how to destroy me.
“I love it. Thank you.” My response is breathy, laced with adoration.
“You’re welcome.” He drops another kiss on my lips. “Do you want to know what’s in my other hand?”
“I don’t know. Do I?” I ask suspiciously.
“Open it and find out the answer to your own question.” He places his closed fist directly in front of me. I have to pry his fingers open, and when I finally do, I gasp.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Yup.” He raises my left hand and the ring at the same time. “I asked you to marry me, and you said yes. I’m making good on our agreement.” He slips the enormous diamond ring on my finger, and I petrify. I stare at the square stone in awe. It’s absolutely stunning and feels surprisingly perfect. I don’t mean by the way that it fits either—I mean by the emotion it evokes. A sense of harmony and fulfillment. Completion.
It’s so much, so fast.
“Think I need more champagne.” I laugh, overwhelmed.
“So let’s steal a bottle and go back to our room.” He slides his hand up my thigh dragging the hem of my dress with it. “I’ve been dying to get at you all night. Those heels are driving me crazy.”
“Reese.” I grab his wrist as he grabs my ass. I don’t want him giving the entire party a show. “About that. How do you think you say condom in Spanish?”
“Condom?” He curls his lip. “Since when do we use condoms?”
“Since I took my last birth control pill before we left and realized I didn’t have another pack.”
I was in such a rush and such an emotional wreck when I packed, the last thing on my mind was refilling my prescription.
Reese ponders our predicament thoroughly. “Fuck it. We get pregnant, we get pregnant. I don’t have an issue with it.”
“Excuse me?” My jaw drops.
“Kayla, we’re getting married. We’re bound to have children eventually. What’s the difference if it’s sooner rather than later? I was thinking we could get married next month while we’re in France. Le Mans is a spectacular city. It would be unforgettable.”
“Next month?” I nearly fall over. “Don’t you think that’s moving a little fast?”
Reese’s face lights up with a cocky smile. “Baby, don’t you know by now? I do everything fast. Well . . . ,” he backpedals. “Almost everything.”
“I think I definitely need more champagne.” I swallow the rest of my glass in one gulp.
“Don’t stress, baby.” Reese runs his hands over my hips. “What’s that saying? All we need is love?”
“I think that’s a Beatles song.” I correct him.
“Well, regardless. It’s true. As long as we have each other and an abundance of love, we can handle whatever or whoever comes our way.”
I’m utterly flabbergasted. When we left the hotel room, the last thing I ever thought we’d be talking about is kids and how much Reese is in favor of having them.
“I . . . ,” I bat my eyelashes dumbfounded.
“You . . . ,” he attempts to draw out my response, “ . . . are all about getting married next month and making a baby?”
“I’m all about more champagne.”
“Kayla!” He tickles me.
“Reese!” I squeal, pushing him away. “Are you sure this is what you really want?” I ask in all seriousness.
“It’s more than want. It’s need.” He grips my sides. “I need you.”
This is crazy. It’s so fast, but I can’t resist him. Or deny him. The thought of carrying his child makes me giddy.
“Okay,” I eagerly agree.
“Okay?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Yes. Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s get married, and let the chips fall where they may,” I allude to conception.
“Really?” It’s Reese’s turn to be shocked.
“Having second thoughts?”
“Hell, no. I’m trying to decide which position I want to impregnate you in.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I snicker. “There’s going to be alcohol, right?”
“If you want.” He pulls me into his arms. “I’ll pour it all over you, and then lick it off.”
“Mmm. What are we waiting for then?” I slide my arms around his neck.
“Not a goddamn thing.” He drags me toward the closed French doors before enthusiastically bursting through them. “We’re getting married!” he announces to the whole room. I want to die right on the spot. Cameras flash and people clap as we work our way through the crowd.
I’m a walking ball of embarrassment from all the attention. It doesn’t affect Reese in the least bit.
He steals a bottle of champagne from the bar as we leave. I know, right here and now, my life is about to take a hard turn, and the only thing I can do is gather all my courage and slide through.