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“Why can’t you just tell them it’s what’s best?”
“Did that work when your parents hid the truth about your father?”
“No.” Sparks of pain flicker in her eyes before turning away. I stand not stopping until I’m behind her. I wrap my arms around her waist.
“I can’t step on my father’s toes because he’s the man of his house. I can’t freak my mother out by telling her the details of the threat. But I won’t let my status as a businessman ruin their lives. It’s not fair to them, they didn’t ask for this.”
“I admire your commitment to your family. But what does this have to do with me?”
"You'll buy me a little time. I'm hosting a family Christmas gathering at my place. We'll attend a few Christmas parties. In exchange, I'll mentor you. You'll work in my New York office and get hands-on experience. Then I can help you strategize on a potential rollout approach for Platinum Prestige."
I turn her around to face me.
“Will you please come to New York for the rest of December as my fiancé? That will give me three weeks to have a full security system places on their home. I can hire a detective to investigate the threat. And you can experience a big Dominican Christmas.” I used to tell her about them every year. Now, she can experience it for herself.
“How long do you think I’ll need to work at your office?”
"Give me six months, and I'll make you a beast in international strategy and negotiations. And I'll have time to introduce you to some vendors with offices in New York."
She sighs. "Start a fresh pot of coffee, and I'll make breakfast."
I step back unbuttoning the cuffs of my sleeves. I roll them back, watching her. Alexandria believes we can't pick up where we left off. But from the looks of things, the core of who we are remains the same. I'm still ready to storm the castle, and she still folds into herself to address the world. It's part of her charm and her flaw. I'd rather make as much noise as humanly possible.
I put on a fresh pot of coffee. I ask for a knife, and she points to the drawer near the refrigerator. I slowly chop the onion and tomatoes. I don't cook, but I'm an excellent sous chef.
In the end, our love was the casualty of her desire to peacefully reach a solution with her family. And in my youth, I chose her happiness over my own. So, I packed up my bags and moved to New York.
I place the bushel of cilantro on the chopping board. “Do you think we would have been married by now had I stayed?”
“You can’t ask questions like that.” She glances over her shoulder.
“Why not? We didn’t break up because of infidelity or because we fell out of love with each other. We were kids trying to figure life out.”
“And I let my family drive you away.” I hear the slight break in her voice before she returns to scrambling the eggs.
I stop chopping and take a moment to look at her. Her squared shoulders, the hard scrape of the spatula across the skillet, the pain in her eyes. These are all the signs I didn't notice before. I thought leaving was best. Family first is how my parents raised me, and I wasn't family. I couldn't love her and be the source of such pain.
“Was I wrong?” I ask. The smell of fresh spices and bacon fills the air.
“Wrong about what?”
“Leaving you.” I lower the knife to the cutting board. “I didn’t care that they disliked me. The fact that they didn’t know how to cherish you and protect you made me feel responsible for the wedge. I didn’t want to be the reason for their callus behavior towards you.”
“That’s in the past.” Her onyx eyes shut me out.
“Not if it keeps us from moving forward.
Was that distance always hidden in her voice? This awakens more questions within me. Questions I didn't consider in my youth like the reason her parents had such strong objections to our relationship. Then I assumed it was the differences in our bank accounts.
Alexandria was born a millionaire. I was born with only my name. I never questioned it further, and she made no attempts to disprove my assumptions. But judging by the tense stance of her posture and her tone, I can't pursue those questions today, not if I want her to let me in.
I move in her silence. The light chopping sounds and the sizzle of the bacon are the only indications that I'm not alone. I get a good look around. There's no Christmas tree or lights. The house is deathly silent.
And between kissing her and asking her to marry me, my fake proposal and her real "no" hit on my old insecurities. That I'd never be good enough for her. That I wasn't worth choosing, worth her love. I left, but she never once called me. The threats against my parents and her first phone call to New York brought me back to Austin.
I’m still in love with her.
Shock crashes through me, and I fold forward, thankful her back is turned. I slowly exhale the mounting pressure around my racing heart. I grip the edge of the island as my heavy-lidded gaze examines her profile.
