Need one last adventure before nine weeks of all work no play.
Dante
I know just the place.
Chapter 31
Dante
The steering wheelyields beneath my grip as I take another turn, the Porsche’s tires creating the precise sound Frankie warned against. The black paparazzi SUV that’s been following us finally concedes defeat.
It’s a thrill driving a fast car with Reese in the passenger seat, pressing her nails into my thigh.
“I think we lost them.”
“Your driving is atrocious, Mr. Hastings,” Ramsey grumbles from the back seat. He’s folded himself into what can only be described as security guard origami, his knees practically touching his ears.
Reese’s laugh fills the car like sunshine. “Oh, come on, Ramsey! That was incredible!”
“Reckless.”
“We could always make you walk,” I offer, catching his glare in the rearview mirror. “Though watching you unfold might take us until next Tuesday.”
“We might need a crane and a team of engineers to extract you,” she teases.
“Or industrial lubricant,” he deadpans, the vein in his neck twitching. “Perhaps some prayer.”
“Look at you, making jokes!” Reese beams at him, and he smirks. The stoic bastard’s warming up to me, I can tell.
“But I have to be the annoying voice of reason here,” she says, scrunching her nose in that adorable way. “Why are we doing our bestFast & Furiousimpression?”
“The photographers already got what they needed at the beach—us running through that stunt routine in between shots. They ate it up. Why not get back to being just Reese and Dante?”
I’ve been mulling it over all day, staying away from the cameras. Coach made his point clear, and as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right about the optics. Ten years of fencing, and though I enjoy being seen with Reese, I need to think long term. I want back on the piste, and bad coverage is a liability I can’t afford. If Coach believes the press hurts my chances, then I need to stay as low-key as possible while still supporting Reese.
It’s all about playing the game we’ve set. Me showing up to her shoot to fit in some extra training? Perfect. Total marketing gold.
And Reese? When she dropped everything to work on her choreography with me. That’s the kind of thing that gets the committee excited—real wholesome, hero material.
But the committee’s so obsessed with their image that even taking her to a bar could blow everything up. Especially with the stunt I’m pulling by showing up to Em’s match. If they catch wind of that, it’s game over for the disciplinary review.
But fuck it. I’m done letting them control everything. I want one night—just one—where it’s us. No cameras, no bullshit. Is that too much to ask?
Reese gives me a skeptical look. “Mm-hmm, if you say so.”
“I want you all to myself tonight, before filming starts on Monday, and the only time I get to see you is during training and our scenes together. Marcus has already been emailing me daily with updates.”
“I’m sure we can sneak in some other training sessions too.” She giggles, touching the pearls around her neck. “But honestly, I do not mind a little spin in this Porsche. Yours?”
“Frankie’s. One of her babies. She treats them better than she treats me, honestly.”
“How many does she have?”
“God, I’ve lost count. But don’t worry, at the Hastings Gala, she’ll give you a detailed PowerPoint presentation about each one, complete with their birthdays and favorite motor oil.”
“I can’t wait to meet everyone,” she says quietly. Her fingers brush past the adorable headband she wore the first time I met her, searching for hair to twist.
She’s nervous. I am too, if I’m being honest. I’ve brought women home before, sure—the usual entourage that orbits around me. But Reese is different.
