“I’m glad you called. I’ve missed you. Please try to talk to your grandmother about your fake engagement. It’s better to confess before things get out of hand.”
“I’ll try,” I say before hanging up.
Heath places his hands on my shoulders, looking at me. “Did we have a breakthrough?”
“I think so.”
“I’m glad,” he says before taking my lips and kissing me hard. It’s a way to make me feel less lonely—cherished. I take it. I love the way he makes me feel—whole, safe, and me.
And I’m beginning to worry about how my heart is starting to respond to him. But I can’t help myself. I’m addicted to the peace I feel when I’m like this, melting into a kiss and letting him take charge of me.
Chapter Thirty
Atzi
During college, I worked at a bakery close to campus. The owner was a classically trained pastry chef who worked a lot with chocolate. We had a deal. She trained me while I gave her discounted chocolate.
It was because of her that I learned to have baker’s hours. I still follow them most of the time, which means I wake up extremely early in the morning. It also means that these short few days my abuelos are visiting are a weird vacation.
My body is trained to wake up at four in the morning during weekdays. It never fails. These five days, my brain has gone into panic mode since it feels like I’m running late. Today is the fifth day without fail. I sit up so violently in bed that Heath groans and rolls over, shoving his face into the pillow.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer, just goes back to sleep. I lie back down carefully and turn on my side to look at him. Not in a creepy way, but just… to look.
I feel like I haven’t been doing enough looking lately, and now I’m spoiled for time. My grandparents leave in a couple of days, and I don’t know what’ll happen between us after that.
Heath is my best friend, but what we’ve been sharing these last few days is entirely different. I’d be lying if I say I don’t care about it, in truth, I love what we have now.
The way we were before my grandparents was great, but now… He’s so caring and affectionate. The best part is how sexy he is. The guy is a bit dirty and I enjoy it so much.
Sex at night is the best. Well, we have sex whenever we can find the time and the place. We might not be engaged, but we behave like two crazy people, madly in love, who can’t get enough of each other.
If he didn’t look so peaceful sleeping, I would be waking him up to have another go with him. His breath’s deepening into a soft thrum. I lie in bed for a long time before I finally have to concede I am not going back to sleep.
My body is awake and it craves coffee. I slip out of bed and look for some clothes. This is the sixth, maybe seventh, night I’ve slept wholly naked under him. It’s strange, but I’m getting used to it—and him. There are three things I’ll miss the most when this is over:
Sex with Heath.
Multiple orgasms.
His arms holding me tight.
Once I’m presentable, I smile at Heath’s sleeping form. He looks so peaceful and adorable resting. We have one last day to enjoy whatever we’ve created. Today, we’re heading to the vineyard so my grandparents get a tour and introduce them to his siblings.
He made sure his mother is not in Paradise Bay while we’re there. It’s a precaution, to avoid any altercations. The woman doesn’t like me at all. I appreciate him. It’s amazing all of the quiet ways he finds to take care of me sometimes, even when I claim to be independent. It’s always been that way too.
While preparing my coffee, I grab the ingredients to bake cream horns. Grandma likes them, and I want her to be happy while she’s staying with me. So far, things have been going well. More so after the dinner we shared on the first day they arrived. Well, the meal wasn’t a problem but the serious conversations they tried to have with us—marriage, Esme, even children.
Should I tell them I’m not engaged to Heath?
Aunt Cécile sent me a text yesterday with the details of her flight. Of course, she didn’t fail to remind me that the truth shall set me free.
Maybe she’s right, and I work hard to please everyone in exchange for love, but I’m lonely, awkward, and in urgent need of love. She can’t blame me for trying my best to charm all the people in the world. Someone has to like me.
Abuela finds me halfway through decorating my dainty cream horns with a crust of pearlescent candies on the chocolate rim. I pause what I’m doing, quickly prepare a mug of coffee for her, and slide her a plate with one of the already finished cream horns.
I might not be an enthusiastic cook, but I’m a damn good baker. She watches me assemble the rest of the horns with a gentle smile.
“You’ve grown so much in your art,” she says. She always calls my chocolate work “my art” even though it used to make me squirm. “Your parents would be proud. You got so much of both of them.”
“Why did you stop talking to Mom for years?” I almost gasped after I let out such a controversial question, but I only have a day left, and I need to know.
“She lied to me, and at the time, it felt like she was ruining her life by moving in with an older man in a foreign country. Lydia was smart, and could do so many things, but she decided to be an artist.”
“Mom’s still considered one of the best and most influential Latinas in the world. Her sculptures sell for a lot.”
“You’re selling her art?”
I shake my head. “Not the ones I own, but the pieces she sold while she was alive. She was a talented woman.”
“But she was my only child, I wanted a different life for her. If she hadn’t disobeyed me, she would be alive—maybe married to a businessman with many children.”
And I wouldn’t exist, I want to tell her, but I don’t. She doesn’t understand how changing the past would alter my present.
“If things don’t work out with Heath—” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
“They will,” she assures me. “He loves you very much and he’s a doctor. If your art doesn’t pay off, he’ll support you.”
I’m offended by her statement. Heath doesn’t love me, but he’s a great actor. It’s probably all the endorphins from lust keeping him so high that it looks like I hung the moon and the stars. I don’t need anyone to support me. My art sells well. People pay a lot of money for my chocolate sculptures. And if I wasn’t selling them, I have a chocolate empire that thrives.
I understand that she’s in her seventies and comes from a generation that thinks men are the only ones who can succeed, but it’s annoying. My main concern is my future with my family.
“But what if we break up… what would happen?” I insist, and maybe this could’ve been a great moment to say, by the way, this is all a lie.
“Why? Are you two having any problems?”
I shrug a shoulder. “As you know, he’s waiting for his fellowship acceptance. That’s another three years of working ungodly hours. Things can change in a blink of an eye.”
She shakes her head and is about to speak when the sound of the elevator doors opening makes us turn toward the foyer.