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“Hi, nice to meet you,” I say, remembering Isla talking about Veronica last night. The sisters look damn near identical, aside from Isla’s curvier features and the fact that Veronica’s hair is a lot shorter and a lighter brown than Isla’s.
“I honestly cannot even begin to explain what happened last night.” Isla stares at her sister with an exasperated expression on her face. “I just—”
“You don’t need to explain unless you want to, honey. Your mother and I told her what you told us.” Isla’s dad gets up from where he was sitting and makes his way over to us.
“Ed Robles, nice to meet you.” He sticks his hand out and I grasp it, noticing his firm grip. “Thanks for getting our girl home safe and for your help last night. Isla told us about that.”
I’m not a father, but I could only imagine if I was one. Something happening to my daughter would be my worst fear and after last night, I sure as hell wouldn’t trust a guy like me, no matter if I helped her in that situation or not.
“Bordeaux Daniels, sir. I was just glad to be there with her.”
Ed gives me a small smile, and I realize the only feature Isla seems to have from Ed is his nose. The rest is clearly all from her mother because she doesn’t look like Ed at all. He motions me over to Mrs. Robles, who is setting a timer on the stove. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? We’ll have more than enough,” he says. “This is my better half, Maria.”
For the first time since we walked in, Mrs. Robles stops what she’s doing and takes my hand in both of hers. She’s beautiful. It isn’t hard to tell that her side of the family’s genes are strong. She’s got long dark hair pinned back in a tight bun, and the same honey-colored eyes as Isla.
“Nice to meet you,” Mrs. Robles says with a genuine, light tone.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Robles,” I tell her, meaning it.
“Call me Maria. Mrs. Robles is my mother. Don’t age me.” She snickers and goes back to what she was doing.
For the first time, I’m questioning why Robles is their last name, and my expression must speak volumes because Ed speaks up, sitting back down with his wine as Isla pours wine into three glasses, which I assume are for her, Veronica, and I. “I know you’re probably thinking it’s strange that we all have my wife’s last name. It’s not exactly customary for a man to take his wife’s name, although it does happen on occasion.” He sips from his glass. “I never really had a family, so when I met Maria, her family became mine. It almost felt like it would have been a disservice to all of us for her to take a man’s name that I never even knew.”
And with that, I realize that there seems to be quite the common denominator between Ed and myself.
* * *
When Isla walks me out of her house, I know I can either let this be the last time I see her for quite a while or I can take this situation into my own hands. I want her all to myself, all the time. Now that I’ve had a taste, I crave more of her.
It’s clearly time for what’s been weighing on me since Carleeta’s phone call to be talked about, but I don’t want to ruin this. I tried to tell her on the way home, but every single time I thought maybe this is the time, I noticed she was dozing. How could I wake someone up when they looked that gorgeous while sleeping?
“When will I see you next?” She looks up at me, the porch light the only thing illuminating her face.
My chest pangs with guilt. “I actually need to talk to you about that…” I watch as her gaze widens. The smell of freshly cut grass wafts through the air and fireflies swarm between us. This would be perfect if I wasn’t leaving. “I’m leaving to go back on tour,” I tell her, not wanting to draw it out more. “I have to go get all the final details Monday morning, but this leg of our tour has been set in stone for a while. I’ll be gone for at least three months. It’s a short tour, but it doesn’t feel like it now.”
Disappointment reflects in her eyes, and I try to backtrack, not wanting her to be upset. There’s nothing I can do, of course, but I want one more night with this woman. One more night before I’m sent back out into the world to entertain and be Hellfire’s test dummy.
Before she can ask anything about the tour or say how she’s feeling in this moment, I continue, “Would you wanna see my favorite place in the entire world?” I hope to God she says yes.
I watch as she swallows back something—tears or words she doesn’t want to say, maybe?—but then she nods. “Of course, I do.”
Twenty-Six
Isla
Yugen (n.) a profound awareness
of the universe that triggers feelings
too deep and mysterious for words.
___________
We agree to meet the next night—at Bordeaux’s favorite spot in the world. I’ve been counting down the minutes ever since. When my Uber pulls up to the location Bordeaux texted me on Michigan Avenue, I realize it’s a recording studio. I’d been trying to guess where I was heading the entire time, thinking maybe the record shop or Iconic, somewhere sentimental to him at first, but we turned in the opposite direction. I should have guessed a recording studio. Although, Bordeaux has barely spoken about his music since I’ve met him. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s on his break and doesn’t want to think about his job, or if there’s more to it. All I know is that I want to know more.
I pull open the door of the studio and see the entire place illuminated by nothing but candles. No lights are on, but the place is lit up enough for me to see a jaw-dropping space where I’m sure some of music’s greatest talent has graced. Gorgeous mahogany wood meets crown molding, two crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, the candlelight reflecting off the prisms. Bordeaux stands with a huge smile on his face. I love that smile of his, sexy and confident, stretching the width of his handsome face.
“Welcome to my favorite place in the world,” B says, crossing the room to me. He has to skirt around the candles that are sitting quite literally everywhere, from tabletops to the floor. “Hopefully we don’t burn the place down, but I was trying to set the mood, you know?”
