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“I don’t need you to say anything back, but I want you to hear it straight,” I tell her as I hover over her on my elbows. “I love you, Vicenta, and I’ll never love you less if you share yourself with Romero. You’re mine, even when you’re his.”
When I feel her entrance, I push back inside her heat, taking us both to the cliff where we jump off together.
* * *
“I was right,” Vicenta says with a chuckle as she takes another bite of the food I’ve prepared for her, “but so were you. This is the best chickenmoléI’ve ever had.”
I smile at her, taking a tortilla and scooping up some of the sauce for myself.
“It’s a recipe Romero’s mother used to make us as kids.”
I remember making it for him when she was sick with cancer in the hospital, giving him a piece of her when his heart was broken. He only ever ate it again when I made it, refusing to have a different recipe ruin the memories.
“It’s delicious,” she says around a bite as she wipes the corner of her mouth with her fingertips.
“If you ever want to get Romero to do something for you, this recipe will make good leverage over him,” I tell her, making her grin before a thoughtful look makes her eyes lose a bit of their shine.
After we’re both full, we move back to the sofa. She wears my black dress shirt and I think I would love her entire wardrobe to be nothing but my shirts. She tucks her legs beneath her as she gazes out the window, watching the evening sun and running horses.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask her as I pour us both some champagne.
She takes the glass from me with a small smile before replying, “I’m thinking of what you said.Leverage.”
I feel my brows furrow. “I was only joking. I’m positive you’d never get a refusal from Romero, even if you wanted to take his prized Hayabusa from him.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, I was thinking more about the leverage he used on you to get a month with me.”
Now it’s my turn to look away, resentment making its way back to me in full force. “My mother.”
“Alvaro,” she says after a few beats, taking my hand in hers. “I knew about it and I’m ashamed that I didn’t say no to the plan. I’m truly sorry.”
My head snaps toward her, my eyes locking on hers. “You’ve read the letter?”
She looks sincerely confused. “What letter?”
I don’t know if I’m relieved she didn’t read my mother’s words before me or if I’m disappointed that I can’t avoid reading it myself and getting the cliffnotes from her.
I drink down the entire glass of champagne before standing and walking to where my suit jacket is folded over the back of the stool in the kitchen. When I have my mother’s letter, I move back to the living room and hand it to Vicenta.
“Apparently, Romero has had this letter for the last however many years. It was written by my mother but I haven’t read it.”
She places her glass down and flips the envelope over, reading my name written in Romero’s hand.
“I didn’t know about this,” she says softly. “Why haven’t you read it?”
I sigh and rub my eyes while I tell her the truth, “Because I’m afraid to.”
She sits quietly, watching me as I try to form the words to elaborate my fears.
“Before shedied,” I can’t help but growl, “Romero and I were together in the same way you and I are, but we kept it hidden. We were believed to be best friends—and we were—but we were much more than that in secret. He and I were raised in a world that doesn’t look kindly on same sex relations, unless of course, it’s two women.” I scoff at the hypocrisy.
“Wait, so you two were actually in arelationship?” she asks, her brows folded in confusion. “Romero said he loved you, but he never said you felt the same.”
I scrub a hand across my jaw, a sigh escaping me. “That’s because he knew how it would make me feel. I never wanted anyone to know. I wanted to continue living in our pretend world where only he and I knew the truth, but Romero grew tired of the secrecy. Without telling me beforehand, he came out to his parents and told them about us. I guess he thought they already knew or at least had an idea. How fucking wrong he was. His father forbade him from seeing me and called Marío to tell him what I had done.”
She shakes her head, her eyes glossy. “Whatyouhad done?”
“I apparently corrupted their son, contaminating him with myqueer disease.” I lean forward, showing her my bare back and the scars I tried to cover with tattoos. “My father tortured me for months. He tried beating the gay out of me. After a time, he was satisfied that I would never look at another man that way again. He didn’t realize that there would only ever be Romero that I cared to look at that way. I took Marío’s abuse all with the thought of getting back to Romero and fixing what we had. I kept my love for him as a secret, playing pretend under my father's watchful eyes, but then my mother killed herself.”
