The Spanish Love Deception: A Novel

Aaron was never late. He wasn’t programmed for that kind of careless behavior.

I knew because I had been trying to be painfully earlier than him to every single appointment our calendars had in common for a little more than one year and eight months. Which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t coming.

He had seen reason and realized how ludicrous our plan was.

My plan, which he had agreed to.

Or was it the other way around? At this point, I didn’t know anymore.

Not that it mattered if he wasn’t coming.

Because that was the only reasonable explanation as to why I found myself in the middle of the Departures terminal, under the huge panel that displayed the status and times of all the outgoing flights, cold sweat running down my back and no one by my side. At least, not the surly blue-eyed man who should have been here right about now.

Gaze roaming around, I let that sink in.

I am on my own.

A wave of sheer panic curled its way down my spine. Something else too.

Something that tasted a lot like betrayal. Which didn’t make sense really. When it came to Aaron, I wasn’t entitled to feel betrayed. Or abandoned. I also didn’t want those emotions wreaking havoc in my head. Or my chest. Not when I was more than able to understand why he would get cold feet.

This whole thing was crazy anyway. Total nonsense. So, why would he go through with the insane plan I had concocted?

My eyes landed on the suitcase and the weekender bag pooled at my feet as I tried really hard to shove away the way I was feeling.

You are fine, I told myself. Ignore that stupid, crushing sensation you have no business feeling and go check in your bags.

The last thing I wanted to do was board that plane alone, but I would do it. I would face my family—and Daniel and his fiancée and the past I had left behind—and the consequences of my lie with my head held high. And I’d do it on my own as much as I had allowed myself in the last forty-eight hours to trust I’d be doing it with someone by my side.

Dios. How had I let this happen? How had Aaron Blackford made himself indispensable in my life?

Bracing my hands on my hips, I remained where I was for what I promised myself would be one last minute. And just to be thorough, I vowed to myself again that I’d be fine.

The pressure building behind my eyes? Nerves. Going home had always filled me with equal parts of joy and remorse. With as much nostalgia as the pain that came with the memories. That was why I didn’t go back all that often.

But that did not matter. I was a big girl. Before Aaron, the plan had always been to do this on my own, so that was what I’d be doing.

With one shaky exhale, I emptied my head and chest from every thought and fleeting emotion, and I let my arms drop from my hips as I reached for my bags.

Ya está bien. Time to go. Hell waits for no—

“Catalina,” a deep voice I’d thought I’d never be glad—not just glad, but also relieved, happy, freaking elated—to hear said behind me.

Closing my eyes, I gave myself a moment to get rid of the swirl of overjoyed and inappropriate emotions I had unsuccessfully tried to push away less than a heartbeat ago.

Aaron is here. He came.

Swallowing hard, I pressed my lips together.

I’m not alone. He is here.

“Catalina?” he called one more time.

Turning very slowly, I couldn’t stop my mouth from finally shaping into what I knew was a wobbly smile. One that probably gave away every single emotion fighting to burst out of me.

Aaron’s frown welcomed me, and I swore I had never been so happy to see that stubborn knot that wrinkled his brows together.

He came, he came, he came.

He tilted his head. “Are you o—”

Before he could finish formulating that question, I landed on his chest with an oomph. Then, I wrapped my arms around him the best I could. “You came.” The words were muffled against the soft fabric of whatever he was wearing. His chest was warm and wide and snuggly, and for a second, I didn’t want to give a damn about how I had plunked myself onto him or how embarrassed I’d be about it later.

Because for better or for worse, I was hugging Aaron.

And he … he wasn’t returning the embrace, but he was letting me. With his arms hanging on his sides, just where they had been when I launched myself at him. His chest wasn’t moving much either. It felt a lot like hugging a marble sculpture, unyielding and hardened under my cheek, only that it pounded with a heartbeat. The latter being the only sign that I had not shocked him into cardiac arrest.

Because besides that, Aaron remained completely still.

Taking one step back very slowly, I gazed up.

Okay, so he looked like a statue too. Perhaps I had broken him with my hug.

That would explain why he was barely blinking as he stared at me for a long moment.

Time in which the last minute started settling in. Desperately, I searched my mind for something to say, anything to excuse my brief and temporary madness that had resulted in me launching my body at his. I came up empty.

He finally broke the silence. “You thought I wasn’t coming.”

A part of me didn’t want to admit it. Even when it was pretty obvious.

Aaron continued, accusation in his voice, “You hugged me because you thought I wasn’t coming.” His gaze was searching. As if he couldn’t believe or understand what had just happened. “You’ve never hugged me before.”

I stepped further back, fumbling with my hands and feeling a little overwhelmed by the way he was looking at me. “I don’t think it computes as a hug when one of the parties remains like a wooden stick, Captain Not So Obvious.” I decided right then that in my head, it hadn’t been a hug. “Plus, you were late, and you never are, so what did you expect me to think?”

As I backed away some more, putting the right amount of space between our bodies, my gaze finally managed to take him in completely. From head to toe. And … yeah, from toe to head too. Because the soft fabric that had been pressed beneath my cheek a moment ago was a plain white cotton T-shirt. And the legs that had remained unmovable under my hug attack were clad in faded jeans. And the—

Are those tennis shoes on his feet?

Yes, they totally were.

I had no idea what I had expected him to wear, but it surely wasn’t that. I hadn’t been prepared for the image of Aaron standing in front of me in something that wasn’t the long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked in his dress pants that I knew him in.

Aaron looked relaxed. Normal. Not like the aloof stainless steel–working machine I was around at work. The one that screamed at you to keep your distance.

No. Ironically, what I wanted was to press my cheek against his chest again. Which was absolutely ridiculous. And dangerous too. This new version of Aaron was just as dangerous as the one that smiled and laughed. Because I liked it. A little too much for the well-being of our plan. Or mine.

“Catalina,” Aaron called, forcing my gaze to return to his face.

Cheeks heating, I pretended I hadn’t been ogling him. And appreciating what I ogled.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you were done with that?”

Mierda. “Done with what exactly?” I scratched the side of my neck, trying to conceal my embarrassment.

“Panicking. About me not coming. Are you finally done with that? Because I am here now, just how I said I would be. And I wasn’t late. You just happened to be shockingly early.” He tilted his head slightly and then added, “For once.”

Eyes narrowed, I checked the time on my phone. “Fine, you might be right.” I returned my gaze to his. “For once.”

The right corner of his lips tipped up. “Good. So, now that we have established that,” he started, and I did not like one single bit how smug he looked all of a sudden, “do you think you are done looking at me like I have grown a second head too? Because I’d like to get going.”

Busted. “Yep,” I squared my shoulders. “Done with that too.” I reached for the handle of my carry-on suitcase. “I just didn’t know you owned normal clothes.”

Aaron cocked a brow.

My treacherous eyes swept him head to toe again. Dammit, he looked really, really good, all cozy and comfy.

I shook my head. “Come on, Mr. Robot. We have bags to check in,” I told him, forcing my eyes away. “Now that you are here and all.”

Reaching for the weekender bag—which was filled to the brim—I lifted it off the floor, hung it off my shoulder, and tried to walk with as much grace as I could while probably looking a little bit like an overloaded Sherpa.

In one long stride, Aaron caught up with me. I watched his eyebrow rise as he gave me a sideways glance. “How long are you planning on staying in Spain?” He eyed my two pieces of bigger than strictly necessary luggage. “I thought we’d be flying back on Monday.”

“And we are.”

Eyes wide, Aaron made a show out of looking me and my luggage up and down. “That’s how you pack for three days?”

I quickened my pace while I tried really hard not to assplant on the terminal’s polished floor under the weight of the bag on my shoulder. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Instead of answering, his hand on my arm stopped my course. Without giving me a chance to complain, he delicately snagged my bag and placed it on his shoulder.

The physical relief was so immediate that I had to stop myself from moaning in response.

“Jesus, Catalina,” he huffed, looking back at me, horrified. “What are you carrying in here? A dead body?”

“Hey, this is not a regular weekend visit to the fam, okay? Stop luggage-shaming me,” I said to the scowling man walking beside me. “I had to fit loads of stuff. Makeup, accessories, hair dryer, hair straightener, my good conditioner, lotion, all the dresses I’m taking, six pairs of shoes—”

“Six pairs of shoes?” Aaron croaked, scowling even harder.

“Yes,” I answered quickly, my gaze hunting for the right check-in counter. “One for each of the three different outfits I need, plus the pertinent three backups.” I paused, thinking of something. “Please tell me you packed at least one backup.”

Aaron rearranged my bag on his shoulder, shaking his head at the same time. “No, I didn’t. But I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand …” Another shake of his head. “You are—”

“Brilliant?” I finished for him. “Astute? Gifted in the art of packing? I know. And I hope you have enough clothes in that tiny suitcase you are carrying.”

“Ridiculous,” he murmured. “You are a ridiculous woman.”

“We’ll see who’s the ridiculous one when something accidentally happens to your shirt, tie, or suit, and you have to wear one of my dresses to the wedding.”

A grunt reached my ears. “Six pairs of shoes,” the scowling man in casual wear muttered. “Ridiculous woman packing her own weight in clothes.” He went on, almost too low for me to make out.

“If it’s too heavy for you, you can give it back. I was doing fine myself.”

His head shot in my direction, giving me a look that told me that wasn’t an option.

Sighing, I accepted the help. “Thank you, Blackford. That’s very kind of you.”

“And you were not doing fine,” he countered back, making me want to take back my thank-you. “You could have hurt yourself.”

Aaron veered for the left, and I finally tracked down the counters matching the airline we were flying with.

I followed him. “I appreciate the concern, Big A. But I’ve got my own set of muscles.”

He brushed over my use of his nickname. “Of course. You have to be stubborn on top of ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

I had to hide my smile. “Said the kettle to the pot.”

With a last sideways glance, Aaron sped out, letting his long legs carry him away with his small and reasonable suitcase and my ridiculously brimming bag off his shoulder.

From my position a couple of steps behind him, I had no choice but to let my gaze travel down his backside. A not-too-small and certainly not-very-quiet part of me was a little in awe by how his jeans hugged those muscled thighs, which had once propelled him across a football field. That same part got a little louder when my eyes trailed up, catching how his biceps, which I knew had carried a brown melonlike leather ball across that very same field, were bunched as his arm held the weight of my bag.

Ugh. It was terribly disturbing how distracting Aaron’s backside was now that I knew more of him. Now that I knew all these tiny little pieces of his life.

The ones I had found out about the night of the fundraiser, sure. But also those I had dug up when I Googled him.

Yes, I had fallen prey to my curiosity. But just once. I had allowed myself to do that one single time.

And that level of self-restraint hadn’t been easy to accomplish. At least not considering how everything out of my little Google rendezvous had been stuck in the back of my head ever since I indulged. Demanding to be acknowledged more often than I was ready to admit.

My mind seemed eager on not letting go of the pictures of a younger version of Aaron—just as stoic, his shoulders as wide, and his jaw just as hard—dressed in a purple-and-golden uniform that made my heart rate grow a little quicker, only thinking about it. Or the headlines proclaiming that he had been a known name back in that day. But what I’d had more trouble forgetting were the articles—and there had been more than a couple dozen—praising his performance and foreshadowing the player he would become. But hadn’t.

So, why hadn’t he? Why did the press coverage of his football career go for a few years and then stop altogether?

That was something I hadn’t managed to find.

And it only fueled my itch to know more. To learn more about this man I had thought I had all pieced together but that I was learning I couldn’t have been any more wrong about.

As if on cue, Aaron looked back at me. His brows rose on his forehead. “Is something wrong?”

Caught a little off guard, I just shook my head.

“Then, come on. At this pace, we will never make it to Spain.”

“If only I were so lucky,” I mumbled. But then I shot forward, walking until catching up with him.

Once again, Aaron was right.

There were more pressing concerns to occupy my mind with.

Like the plane we would be boarding in less than a handful of hours.

Or the fact that once we did, there was no turning back.

Because we were doing this. We were really doing it, and we had to ace it.

By the time we landed in Spain, my family needed to believe that Aaron and I were happily—hearts bursting, birds chirping, and flowers blooming—in love. Or at the very least, that we could stand each other for more than ten minutes without causing an international war to erupt.

And as much as I had no clue how we would ever manage to do that, I was sure of something. We, Aaron and I, would figure it out.

We had to.