𝐸𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓇
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A hotel.
Wow.
This man can't even pull off a good surprise or a date.
We're entering the luxurious realm of a five-star hotel, the place looks breathtaking, with its exquisite architecture and lavish interior. The view from the flour-to-ceiling windows is mesmerizing, offering panoramic views of the city skyline. The staff is here and there, making sure that every guest's needs and desires are met with utmost excellence.
I'm sure if I ever want to stay just one night here, I'll need to walk by that grand entrance with one kidney.
With a warm smile, the lady at the front desk greets us, ensuring a seamless check-in process. Rafe takes care of it as he starts speaking with her in Spanish, not giving me any chance to comprehend what they are discussing. Her smile is wide as she nods along, making my curiosity grow even stronger.
Wait, is today the day?
He brings me to a very fine hotel -somewhere I surely can't afford on a regular basis- and blinds me with how magnificent this place is, just to have a one-night stay.
You horny stupid Rafael.
I thought you were some kind of a gentleman who will keep my secrets in a safe place, give me a sense of security and make me rethink my judgment of love, but here we are.
So I'm assuming you brought me here to jerk me around with what I'm sure is an eye-rolling and toes-curling fuck that I'll never forget, Rafe?
I mean I wouldn't mind, but—
What the fuck I am saying? I surely mind! I only have sex with someone I genuinely care about and have a meaningful connection with.
I don't hook up around with anybody. Such physical activity or whatever you want to call it is something special, intimate, and reserved for those who hold a special place.
It's not just some sexual encounter, it's making love.
"Mi sol?" his voice calls out, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. I look up at his face, noticing a hint of concern in his eyes, "Are you fine?"
No, I'm not.
I'm not you ducking piece of shit. You thought I'm a gold digger who can easily be swayed by a spontaneous luxury place and sexual encounters. I trusted you, you bastard, I do. I thout you'd lost your mind, but you didn't actually have it, because from the start you think by your tiny one-inch dick.
I wanted to say that, I wanted to say more and roast him with every fiber of my being, spelling out any inconvenient vocabulary I know.
But I didn't. Instead, I said.
"Why are we here?"
My question intensifies his grin as he leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I focus on the dark shades of his brown eyes, trying to maintain composure and hold back composure.
"You will see," he whispers, his voice filled with anticipation.
The worry crumbles in my chest, making me feel uncomfortable next to him. I turn, eyeing the entrance of the hotel, already seeing myself running outside like a free pigeon, escaping without looking away, going to my home and disappearing from the world of Motorsports, I'll even kill anybody who will come to me and talk about it. I won't let any chance to remember the dickhead right next to me.
But I don't.
Something in me tells me to not do it as I hold on the little hope I have that I misjudged Rafe. I mean, I trusted him with my deepest secrets, hopes and fears. He showed, not once, nor twice but several times, that he cares about me and my well-being. I'm sure a person who did so won't have any intentions or taking advantage of me.
I'll hold on that but I'll stay vigilant.
"This way, Mr. Alvarez," the hotel staff members says, showing us the way to our destination.
"Let's go, mi sol," he whispers in my ear, his hand finding its place on my lower back as he guides me. His palms against my skin send a shiver down my spine, making the spot feel electric and warm.
I try to collect my thoughts, but images of how good that hand will be somewhere else, bring out the best of my pleasure as he looks up at me, desire making his eyes darker as he leans in closer, his warm breath hitting my soft spot as—
Please Ele, you'll be rapped and you're thinking how good it will be to get fucked by a devilishly handsome man?
Get back to yourself and maintain your thoughts, your head should be clear so you can focus on trying to escape, using the few self-defense techniques you know.
"Good to see you, Eleanor."
And my heart stops.
All my previous thoughts are drown away and surprise fills every fiber of my being as I am taking aback by the voice I just heard call me.
In a state of shock, I look up from the ground, crossing my fingers that my ears didn't deceive me and that I heard that voice correctly.
I look at the familiar face standing before me, smiling boradly as he greets me by name. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my legs turning to jelly as I try to find my voice.
"Ronan Mencken," I whisper his name as I'm out of breath, bringing my hand to my mouth in disbelief.
He chuckles, amused by my reaction. I couldn't feel myself when I screamed out his name again in pure excitement and joy, jumping up and down like a giddy scholar.
"Ehm," I clear out my throat, fixing my attire, "My apologies," I manage to say, trying to regain my composure.
"Please join me," I can tell my ears are betraying me because there is no way that Ronan Mencken is actually inviting me to join him.
Ronan Mencken, a previous Ferrari driver who made me fall in love with the world of Formula 1. He is the real deal, the embodiment of speed, skill and passion on the track. Meeting him was a dream, but he retired before I even began my career as a Formula 1 reporter. I wanted, as a young girl full of passion and dreams, to one day hold an interview with him, to ask about his experiences and insights on the sport. His retirement was very disappointing, making my dream impossible to come true.
But here I am, standing in the middle of the hotel restaurant, completely taking aback not by the fact that he knows my name, but by the fact that he's inviting me.
I turn around, my eyes meeting Rafe's as he smiles at me, a pure smile that reflects his genuine happiness for me. "Go ahead," he whispers approvingly.
I embrace the opportunity, not losing no more time as I join Ronan in his table, still in disbelief that this moment is actually happening.
Rafe joins us too after sharing a brotherly hug with Ronan, him congratulating him on his home race win with a clap on the back. Rafe smiles at him thankfully and takes a seat beside me as we settle in conversation.
"So Eleanor," Ronan begins, his tone congenital and inviting, "Rafe told me you are an F1 reporter."
"Yes, I am," I answer, trying to hold back my excitement, "I'm sorry, all of this is just so overwhelming to me- but in a good way," he giggles and. Rafe smiles, noticing my nervousness, "It's truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Mencken."
"Oh, please Ele," he interrupts shaking it off, "Ronan will be just fine."
I hold onto my purse, secretly pinching myself under the table to make sure I'm not dreaming. I didn't just meet my favorite driver, he didn't just invite me, but he also asked me to call him by his first name.
I'm dizzy.
I'm fainting.
I'm on the floor.
I'm dead.
"Good evening," the waiter interrupts bringing me back to reality, "May I take your order?"
"Good evening," Ronan starts politely, "we would love to have the chef's specialty for tonight, please. Something very special and indulgent to celebrate an unforgettable moment."
The waiter smiles and nods, noting down our request before he leaves again, allowing us to continue our conversation.
"I'm sure as an F1 reporter, you have numerous inquiries about my career and experiences in the sport," Ronan says, leaning in with noticeable enthusiasm. I purse my lips, trying to maintain my smile as I nod. "All my time is yours, m'lady."
Now he's calling me m'lady.
Do you hear something?
THE BELLS OF THE CHURCH SINCE IT'S MY FUNERAL!
I smile widely as I lean in toward Ronan, feeling a mixture of excitement and gratitude, him listening intently to my questions and sharing anecdotes from his racing career.
I wish this moment never ends.
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Reread that. I said I wish. Because apparently, my moment came to an end. But I must admit that I enjoyed every single second of it, as Ronan was very polite and not miser with his time and attention.
I was in heaven.
I'm still unbelievably stuck to those hours, still not believing that I had the opportunity to meet Ronan, talk with him, and be done with him. The adrenaline still pumping in my veins as Rafe drives me to the apartment where I'm staying lately.
The ride is so calm, with him focusing on the road and me trying to maintain my smile, a smile that didn't break for the entire evening and stayed etched on my face even now.
"How?" my excitement push me to blurt out, breaking the silence in the car. Rafe glances at me with a gentle smile as I speak again, "How did you just do that?"
"A call," he answers, as if it's that simple before he continues, "Ronan was here for the Spanish Grand Prix and I happened to have connections with him before he retired," he stops at the red light and turns to give me his full attention, "I thought it would be a good surprise knowing how much you admire him."
"You know me?" he nods in response, my grin widening, "Oh no, you don't, Alvarez."
"Oh yes, I do, Lopez."
"Then tell me something about me that you know."
"Me quieres, pero te estás conteniendo."
I look out of the window as we roll down the streets, annoyed as always by his use of his native language. He continues to use it, though I asked him to stick to English. His reasons are unknown. Maybe he enjoys seeing my grumpy reaction to it.
"Wait," I start, a reminder popping into my head, "I had to treat you with something, not the contrary."
"You did," his answer confuses me, he turns to notice my confusion and clarifies, "You treated me with your presence and time, mi sol."
"But I'm still the one who benefited the most from it," I say, my voice filled with gratitude as we stop in front of my apartment building.
Killing off the engine, Rafe relax on his seat, laying his head back against the headrest. I watch him as he closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
And the time starts to slow down.
I had just noticed how graceful his features are; long lashes like feathered wings, a strong jawline that exudes confidence, and lips that hold a hint of a smile even in the most casual moments. His dark wavy hair falls effortlessly across his forehead, adding to his alure. The street light casts a soft glow on his face, adding an ethereal quality to his already captivating presence.
I could feel my breath catching in the middle of my throat.
For a moment, I already saw myself goibg against all the rules and thoughts of not not having him, allowing myself to extend my hand to hold his shirt and pull him in, crashing my lips against his, overwhelmed by a surge of desire. I could see him realizing what had happened, cupping my cheek genlty and reciprocating the intense passion in a searing kiss. It was so intense, with both of us succumbing to the power of our connection, that the world around us faded away.
Even as an imaginary scenario, it was powerful, compelling, exhilarating. It was everything but perfect.
But it wasn't real.
"You should go on," he whispers, making me jump as I snap back to reality, realizing that I've been lost in my mind, "it's getting late and you shouldn't be out alone at such a time."
His slight concern of my safety makes my heart warm, sending a sence of comfort and security through me. Something I couldn't feel next to any man before.
"Plus," he continues, lazily tilting his head to get a better view of me, "A family dinner is wait for me." The reminder of the dinner the Alvarez family organizes today catches me off guard, as it slipped my mind.
"Don't worry," he begins again, taking in the hint of disappointment in my face, "I'll be there in the right time and I'll find some excuse for your absence."
a small smile dances on my lips, secretly thanking him for his willingness, the glow in his eyes telling me to stay silent, letting him admire my presence for a few moments.
We're sitting there, in his car, in front of the building, silent and looking at each other's eyes, letting them whisper a thousand unspoken words. It was the second time that I wished a moment would last longer, I wanted to be so selfish as to freeze time and savor the connection, keeping him only for me.
But a world outside that car was waiting, a world that doesn't let us be together, a world where we should keep our places and professional boundaries.
Me as an F1 reporter. Him the Spanish Ferrari F1 driver. It was meant to be this way.
"I still need to treat you with something," I break the silence, mumbling softly, "this one doesn't count.
"You don't need to."
"Why not?"
"Porque lo que sea que te haga feliz, me hace feliz a mí también, mi sol," he whispers gently, his features soften with a tender smile.
"Once I'll get in, I'll download Duolingo," he chuckles at my announcement, "That's it, I can't take it anymore."
We both laugh along, our giggles like melodies blending harmoniously in the confined space of the car. We share another brief moment, embracing each other's eyes. Both of us telling each other to stay, but deep down we know that reality calls us back and we should answer.
"Good night, mi sol."
"Good night," with that I leave the car, something in me hoping that he pulls me back in for one more stolen time together, but disappointment settle as he watches me go. As I walk to the building, I hold on my purse, trying to maintain my racing heart and overwhelming emotions.
But I couldn't.
It was too much for me to handle, it feels like all these years, after not sharing any affection with a man, all my feelings resurfaced at the same time, not giving me enough time to process it, nor holding it back.
I couldn't but live that moment, surrendering to the swarm of emotions englobing me.
I turn around as I reach the door, noticing that he didn't leave yet, probably waiting for me to enter the building safely.
With a little smile, I give him a wave, him return it before I disappear into the building, my chest pounding. As I put my shaky fingers on my chest, I feel the crazy thumping of my heart, like a bird prisoned in a cage, desperate to break free.
You're in too much trouble, Ele. Too much.
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