Page 37 of No Darker Temptation

“Technically an abandoned luxury apartment complex. And technically,” he reaches inside his coat and produces a thick blue envelope which he extends to me. “It’s yours. But I’m hoping you won’t mind a roommate."

I open the documents inside with trembling hands. It’s in Spanish and most of the words are too difficult for me to understand. One thing that cannot be mistaken is my name on what appears to be a deed for the property.

“I…” I blink and the edges of my vision blur. Suddenly, the papers in my hand are too precious, too delicate to be touched. “I’ve never owned anything before.”

My life has been a series of hand-me-downs. Used toys, borrowed clothes, old books, cracked phones, inherited apartments. I’ve never complained about it or languished over the things I didn’t have or couldn’t change. This has just been my life and instead of hating it, I’ve found ways to improve it. Busting my ass in school to be better, smarter, and more talented than the rest. Making it by the skin of my teeth, one scholarship piled on top of the other. Every penny I’ve ever earned or scrapped together was counted and set aside because I wasn’t going to let a simple circumstance of birth keep me from living life to the fullest.

It's what led to all the traveling. I’ve always been determined to build myself the life I wanted to live.

But this? This is…it’s more than I could’ve conjured up for myself. More than I thought I needed or deserved.

Alejandro tucks a wave of red hair behind my ear. “I can’t tell if you’re stunned, mortified, or a mix of the two.”

“It’s too much.” I shake my head. “I can’t⁠—”

“You left your entire life behind for me. You’re in another country, on another continent, surrounded by people you can’t communicate with because you don’t speak the language. How—” he stops himself and looks at me, really looks at me, and despite the half-darkness I can see the fire in his eyes, hear the conviction in his voice as he speaks. “Dee, it’s not about the house. We could live anywhere. It's about having a home, together. Something that’s yours and mine from the moment we step through the door. I want a life with you—I want everything on earth with you. This is just the beginning.”

I hold the papers against my chest. “Is this real? Is this what you want?”

When he leans down to kiss me, it feels like the beginning of the rest of my life.

“Nothing has ever been more real.”

LIFE TOGETHER

Alejandro

June

The sun hasn’t yet fully risen when a strange sound pulls me from sleep.

Instinct has me reaching for the gun in the nightstand’s top drawer but it takes all of ten seconds to realize the sound was coming from my phone. An incoming call sent it vibrating across the nightstand where it eventually fell on the floor beside the bed. I reach for it, careful not to wake Dahlia, and see my brother’s name flash across the screen.

“What is it?”

“Abuelo needs us. Meet me at the lounge in an hour.”

He hangs up, leaving me little room to ask questions.

I put my phone down and try to rub the exhaustion from my eyes. Never a moment’s peace.

I ease my arm out from under Dahlia’s head and lay her to rest on the pillows. During the night, the blanket slipped down her figure and she has both arms crossed over her chest as if to stay warm. I press a kiss against her bare shoulder and bring the blanket back up to her chin.

Careful not to trip over the luggage we still haven’t unpacked from our last trip, I make my way to the bathroom and get ready for the day.

Renovations in the house are still ongoing but the important rooms are already finished. Mainly the main foyer, side entrance, kitchens, living and dining spaces, and lastly, the master suite. The original hardwood floors and coffered ceiling were restored as well as the arches over the wide stained-glass windows on the east and north wall. Within the interior trim of the west wall was an early nineteenth century mural Dahlia spent almost six weeks restoring by hand. Her fingertips were stained with paint for days after she finished.

I can’t take credit for a single thing in this room. It’s beautiful without being overwhelming, warm and cozy without being suffocating. Dahlia has an eye for color and somehow manages to take darker shades like sage green, espresso, and garnet red, and make them feel bright. She mixes in accents of gold, dandelion yellow, and purple to add dimension to the space. Over the fireplace hangs a large mirror with a gilded frame. Our nightstands are a rustic shade of yellow with painted orange flowers and the bed sheets are red and purple under a white gossamer canopy held up by a four-poster bed.

We each have our own dresser and Dahlia’s vanity is by the window. The shelves are cluttered with knick-knacks, picture frames, and a few house plants in pots she painted herself. In all my life I’ve never slept in a room that felt so much like home. It’s a feeling I can’t quite describe and only ever came remotely close to when the whole family lived together in Rio Grande before Dad died.

She puts all she has into the little details. As I rinse the shaving cream off the edge of my razor, I see the olive green and turquoise blue tiles she spent two weeks scrubbing and regrouting. Like clockwork, she was up at sunrise and worked until I forced her to go to bed, insisting that the tiles could be saved and she’d rather try than rip them out. And she was right.

By the time I’m done, the sun is creeping across the bedroom. I walk around the bed and sit on Dahlia’s side. Her head is tilted and that sea of red hair falls over half her face, glistening like rubies in the sunlight. She forgot to braid her hair last night and waves tumble past her shoulders and down her back. I often wonder if it’s overwhelming to have that much hair.

But it’s beautiful. So beautiful that if she ever thinks of cutting it, I might have to intervene.

“Dahlia.” I brush my knuckles across her cheek. “Mi amor.”