Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(62)

“Let us see!” Maya chants.

I exit the stall, doing a little twirl in my heels.

Maya claps. “That’s the one! Santiago is going to die when he sees you.”

Well, Maya doesn’t have to try too hard to convince me. I may not be the classiest gal to strut the red carpet, but I’ll play the part.

I should be wary of how our performance is becoming much more real by the day. Instead of feeding the mental monster, I chug the rest of my champagne and enjoy my day with Daniela and Maya.

This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to family bonding, and it brings fresh tears to my eyes. And they’re not exactly the happy kind. I traveled to Italy to find my family, but all I’ve done is throw myself into someone else’s.

The worst part is I want more of it. I shouldn’t crave more experiences with Santiago’s family, but I can’t resist. I’ve been denied a family to call my own for years. And my starved heart will suck up any kind of love it can get, even if it’s poison.





I walk into our hotel room after having a spa day with Maya in her penthouse suite. She welcomed me into the life of the rich and lavish with manicures, pedicures, and a private makeup artist before our night at the gala. I never knew joining the dark side meant having champagne and a charcuterie board, but now that I’ve tried it, I’ll never look at pre-gaming the same way again.

“Santiago?” I call out.

No response has me searching the large hotel room. I attempt the doorknob to our bedroom but find it locked. “Santiago?” I tap against the door.

“Give me a minute,” his voice croaks.

Shit, is he having more phantom pains? I press my ear to the door. He mumbles something I fail to catch.

I tap the door again. “Are you okay?”

“Define your meaning of okay?”

“Do I need to bust this door down to save your ass?”

“No. But I might need you to save me from myself because there is no way I can go tonight.”

“Huh?”

The door opens, and I tumble into his room. His hands dart out to stabilize me.

My eyes flit from his tux to his eyes. Damn, he fills out the material in the best kind of way. He looks regal, with his hair slicked back and his face cleanly shaven.

I love everything about his look except for the frown plastered on his face. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know why I thought I could do this,” he mumbles, turning away from me.

“Go to a gala?”

“A gala, seeing coworkers from before, and doing interviews with people asking me too many damn questions. I don’t think I can do it.” He takes a seat in a chair off to the side of his bed. His eyes avoid my gaze as he puts his head in his hands.

“If there is anyone who can do this, it’s you.”

He looks up at me, his eyes plagued with a darkness I hate. My breath lodges itself somewhere in my throat as his eyes roam down my body, taking in every detail. As good as it makes me feel to have his attention, it seems like a distraction for how he actually feels.

His chest heaves as he takes a few deep breaths. “Fuck. Here I am freaking out when I should be commenting on how beautiful you look.”

I take the seat across from him, halting his assessment. “Eh, you have all night to compliment me. You know, at the gala you probably should attend, seeing as it’s honoring your brother-in-law and whatnot. Plus you got all dressed up already. It would truly be a crime against humanity to hide you from the world when you look like that.”

He laughs, but the sound is hollow and unlike him.

I tap his knee. “But it’s okay to be freaked out. I would be if I were in your shoes.”

His brow lifts. “Really?”

“Of course. You’re making a huge, scary sacrifice for your family.”

“What if I don’t want to go anymore?”

“If you don’t want to, then we won’t go.” I shrug. “We can order takeout and binge watch TV until we pass out.”

His lip twitches. “After you spent all that time getting ready, you’d be okay skipping out?”

“Absolutely. I’ll count us even as long as you take a picture of me for my social media page. I’ve never dressed up like this before, so pics or it didn’t happen.” I grin.

“Never? What about prom?”

I shrink back and stare at my hands. “Oh, I couldn’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Because my foster mom didn’t have the money to buy a dress. It wasn’t common for kids like us to go to those kinds of things anyway. But it’s fine because I didn’t plan on winning prom queen or anything.”

Wrinkles mar his forehead as he frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like it doesn’t bother you. It bothers the fuck out of me, and it wasn’t even my prom.”

“What do you expect me to do? Get mad?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Well, I can’t turn back the clock, and I don’t want to.” The last thing I want to do is relive those years of my life.

“You’re right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to turn back the clock, either.” He looks up from his hands, hitting me with a stare filled with mixed emotions.