“The question then,” she said, “is what are you going to do next?”
CHAPTER 13
Sloane
Gloom shrouded the Castillo estate for the next twenty-four hours as the patriarch hovered on the precipice between life and death. The staff worked more slowly, the family talked more quietly, and the sunshine streaming through the windows dulled the second they hit the mansion’s dread-laced air.
I stayed out of everyone’s way except for Xavier’s.
I didn’t deal well with broody billionaires, nor was I particularly good at comforting people. However, I couldn’t bring myself to let him wallow alone, which was how I ended up searching the mansion for him with reinforcements in hand.
I had some free time—I’d finished the press statement last night, and no major outlets had picked up Perry’s piece about my misadventures in Spain. I wasn’t a celebrity, but the lack of response was suspicious. Nevertheless, I took it as a gift from the universe; I had enough real problems without creating hypothetical ones.
I finally found Xavier camped out in the den with an ESPN documentary about the world’s top athletes. One of his arms draped across the back of the couch while the other held a bottle of the Castillo Group’s signature drink.
Tousled hair, cashmere sweats, three-hundred-dollar T-shirt. That was the Xavier I knew and didn’t quite love.
Something akin to relief stirred in my chest. At least he wasn’t acting totally out of character.
“Sorry, Luna, you’ll have to find another TV for your rom-coms,” Xavier said without looking away from the screen. “This one is occupied.”
“I know. I didn’t come to watch a movie.” I sat beside him and unloaded my armful of goods on the coffee table. “I came to see you.”
His gaze flicked to me with apparent surprise before it cooled again. “Why?”
“You need to eat.” I eyed the empty beer bottles scattered around us. “And drink something without alcohol.”
“You came to feed and hydrate me?” A thread of amusement ran beneath Xavier’s otherwise dubious tone.
“Like you’re a pesky pet I got stuck with. Here.” I shoved a bottle of water in his hand and a plate of homemade empanadas in his lap.
He hissed and quickly lifted the plate off his legs, only to drop it back just as fast. “Jesus, that’s hot.”
“Then you should eat them before they burn your favorite appendage,” I said innocently.
A hint of laughter pulled on his mouth, and he wiped at it with his hand before he picked up an empanada. “Doris’s specialty and my favorite. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. I saw you weren’t eating, so I asked if she’d make some food for you, and she produced those.”
With my admission came the tiniest tremor—a frisson of electricity that hummed between us and swallowed the lightheartedness in the air.
Xavier’s hint of laughter disappeared. Warmth rushed to the pit of my stomach, and I unconsciously shifted beneath his burning gaze.
“Thank you,” he said, a strange note in his voice. “That was… very thoughtful of you.”
I replied with a stiff smile, hoping he didn’t see the blood rising to the surface of my skin. It occurred to me that I might’ve been the only person who’d checked on Xavier’s well-being since he arrived—everyone else was too busy or didn’t care—and the realization sent a conflicting rush of emotions through me.
He was an adult. He didn’t need someone looking after him, but I felt gratified when he ate the empanadas and drank the water without complaint anyway.
“How many do you represent?” Xavier tilted his chin toward the screen, where a gallery of superstar athletes flashed in between clips. They represented the best and brightest of every major professional sports league in the Western Hemisphere: NFL. NBA. MLB. Premier League. La Liga. So on and so forth.
I crossed my legs, still a touch unnerved by my reaction to him earlier. That’s what happens when I don’t get enough sleep. “One.”
A deep baritone recounted the meteoric rise of Asher Donovan over footage of his teen and early club years, culminating with the legendary halfway line goal against Liverpool that’d catapulted him into a household name.
I glanced at Xavier as the screen flipped to headlines about Asher’s record-setting transfer to Blackcastle.
“But you knew that already,” I said.
His mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Sure. As long as I’m still your favorite.”
Despite his disheveled appearance, he smelled like soap and fresh laundry. He reached for a napkin, his leg grazing mine, and heat traveled from my thigh to my stomach.
“Try one.” Xavier used the napkin to pick up an empanada and handed it to me. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had one of Doris’s empanadas.”
I took a tentative bite. Flaky, tender butteriness melted in my mouth, followed by a rich explosion of flavor. Ground beef, tomatoes, onions, garlic. Perfectly seasoned and perfectly balanced against the dough.
“Wow,” I said, slightly stunned. It’d been a while since I’d eaten something so simple yet so good. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Told you.” Xavier’s dimples made a surprise appearance. “Have another one. She loves making them. Says it’s soothing.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Did you eat lunch or breakfast?”
No. “I brought the food for you.”
