It’s seven-forty-five and dark, the air taking on a crispness that makes everything go silent in Florida. Rafa knocks on my door, probably thinking that arriving early will throw me off-balance, that I won’t be ready. But tonight, I am.

I fling open the door and grin at the look of surprise on his face.

“Well,” he says, walking in and glancing down at my two suitcases. “I think this is a first, you being ready on time. Are you really all packed, or is there more?”

“I am, and there’s not,” I reply triumphantly.

He stuffs his hands in his jeans pocket and inhales big. I suspect he’s trying to control his urge to touch me. I’d purposefully put on my most formal, sexy dress: a black strapless number that wraps me tight. It’s not too risqué—I’ve never been one to dress too provocatively outside of the bedroom and prefer leggings and long tunics—but it does show off my curves if I do say so. I’m also wearing the black heels again and am hoping those will come off first because my feet are beginning to resemble ground hamburger.

Although, if I know Rafael, he’ll want me to keep them on.

I look him up and down and scowl. “You told me to dress up, and you’re in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket.”

“I changed my mind about going out to dinner. We’ll eat at my place.”

“You cooked? In a hotel? How?”

“I’ve got a few other surprises for you.”

He grabs my hand and draws me close, sending my heart rate spiking. His nose presses against my neck.

“Tell me the surprises,” I demand, pretending to squirm away. He pulls me closer, and I hum and buzz like a bee finding a flower for the first time.

“You’ll see. Dios, you’re wearing the perfume I love. What’s it called? Cake? Sugar? Pie? I haven’t smelled it in years. I want you to wear this from now on. I might have to buy you an extra-big bottle so you don’t run out.” His nose is now next to my cheek, and I grin.

“It’s called ‘Let Them Eat Cake.’ I’m glad you still like it. I’m going to change into something more practical if we’re not going out.” Here I give a little snort. Why should I torture my feet when he’s totally comfy in sneakers?

He hugs me even tighter, and his hands drift to cup my ass. “No. Don’t change. I want to look at you for a few hours in that dress before I take it off.”

I sigh dramatically, but inside I’m thrilled. Sometimes our push and pull frustrated me, but tonight, it’s turning me on. I point to my bags. “Fine. There’s my stuff. I’m going to sit in the car.”

I hand him my keys and stalk out of the house. It’s finally turned cold for Florida, and I shiver as I settle in the passenger seat of his Tesla sports car. The car is fast, expensive, and electric. Kind of like Rafa himself.

It now feels like second nature to sit in the Tesla, and I have to warn myself to not get too accustomed to this luxury.

I idly wonder when Rafa started caring about the environment enough to buy an electric car.

My teeth chatter. I’m such a Floridian, unable to handle any temperatures that dip below seventy degrees. But I’m not about to put on a jacket, even if I am wearing a skimpy dress. I look good, hotter than I have in months. Years, even.

Rafa scowls as he slides into the driver’s seat, then shrugs out of his jacket.

“Here. Put it on.”

“We’re only going a few blocks. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not starting this car until you put it on. It’s cold.”

He’d always chided me for underdressing in cold weather. Arguing with him now will get me nowhere. I wrap myself in his jacket, inhaling his scent. I’m suddenly slippery in between my legs. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I’d been wet since he walked in my door.

“Speaking of familiar smells, I notice you’re still wearing Balenciaga.”

He nods and wears a self-satisfied grin as we drive the short distance to his hotel, his hand on my knee the entire time. My body thrums with pleasure and anticipation of what the rest of the night will bring, while my mind is filled with doubts. How can this ever work? How soon will he make love to me? How can I keep my cool and not plead with him to stay with me the rest of our lives?

I’m startled when, instead of turning on the hotel’s street, we pull into a section of the city known for its gorgeous, historic architecture. He makes a right into the driveway of a mansion, stops the car, and takes out his phone. He taps on the screen and the iron gate opens.

I gasp. This is one of the biggest and showiest Mediterranean revival mansions in the entire downtown area.

A Spanish palace fit for a pirate king.

“What’s this?” My voice is incredulous. “What happened to the hotel suite?”

Rafael stops the car. “I felt like renting something a little more luxurious. I was driving by the other day and noticed it was for sale. No one’s shown any interest in buying it, so I made the owner an offer and gave him ten thousand for the entire month. I thought it would better suit my needs. Our needs.”

Our needs. His words reverberate through my body.

“It was already staged for show, fully furnished. All I had to do was show up with my suitcase. Wait till you see it.”

As I step through the heavy wood door into the courtyard, I realize what he’s doing: he’s forcing me to play house with him, forcing me to see what life would have been like if I’d stayed with him. My heart slams against my ribcage, not from desire, but from fear.

This is a cruel game.

My hesitation is temporarily overtaken by awe of it all: the beauty of the arches and columns, the waterfall flowing into a sparking pool, the separate hot tub flanked by palm trees. Expensive-looking rattan patio furniture dots the large space, and tasteful lights illuminate the foliage, the arches, and the water. There are beautiful details everywhere, including tiled frescoes in blue-and-white Spanish porcelain, potted orchids, and on one wall, a cascade of jasmine that fills the air with a heady fragrance and tickles my nose. The waterfall reminds me of the two-week long vacation we’d taken our first summer together, one that I’d paid for with the money from my part-time job. (It had also been our first fight, because Rafa hadn’t wanted me to pay for anything. I’d ended up winning that fight.)

It was the best vacation I’ve ever had; by day Rafa and I would sightsee and picnic at castles, and at night, we’d make love ravenously in small hostel beds, sweaty from the Spanish heat. Two weeks of bliss.

“It’s like a little Alhambra in Grenada,” I whisper, walking over to the fountain. I sit on a tiled, raised border wall and run my hand through the water.

“The Alhambra.” He smiles wistfully. “It’s true, Justi. I’ve never forgotten that trip, and that’s why I loved this house. I have half a mind to buy it as a vacation home.”

My heart dances at the thought.

Rafa sits next to me. “But I don’t know. I’ve already got places in Miami, Aspen, and La República Dominicana. Do I need another? When would I ever be here? And why?”

My heart fractures in that moment, and I suspect it will be the first of several wounds to come. The cruelty in his words causes my chest to constrict.

Why? For me, you fool. For us.

He takes my hand and leads me into the house.

“Look how beautiful and modern this room is, unlike the rest of the house, which is more traditional Spanish-Mediterranean,” he says.

We stop in the living area, which is decorated sparsely, with only a low-slung, chocolate-colored sofa facing a fireplace and a few other small tables. Since when did Rafa appreciate minimalist décor? He never cared about this stuff in college.

“We’ll get to the upstairs bedroom soon enough. For now, sit here,” he points to two white floor cushions set on either side of the low wooden table in front of a stone fireplace. “I’ll serve you dinner.”

He flicks a switch, and the gas fireplace roars to life in the hearth.

I stare at him blankly.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m just shocked by it all. Maybe shocked that you made dinner. It wasn’t exactly something you did often when we were together.”

His smile deepens to a grin. “Well, I actually ordered out.”

“Figures.” Back when we lived together, right after graduation, I hated that we’d fallen into traditional gender roles. It wasn’t what I’d expected of a relationship. But when he wanted, he’d made the most delicious Cuban food—shredded pork and plantains and flan. God, the flan. He’d been taught by his aunt, a restaurant cook in Miami. He’d lived with her and his uncle when he came to America.

I’m thinking about the flan, and I realize that we’re now staring at each other. I expect him to step forward and kiss me and am surprised when he doesn’t.

So I reluctantly slip off his leather jacket and hand it to him. I immediately miss his smell. He tosses the jacket on the back of the sofa and faces me, rubbing my bare shoulders. “Is it warm enough in here? I can turn up the heat.”

I laugh. He does, too. It’s definitely adorable how he still flirts with me. I hope he’ll be like this all the time, instead of bitter and angry like he was the other night. I hope I’m wrong about this being a cruel game to show me what I missed out on. Maybe this will be a romp, instead. Something fun. Maybe he’s right—we’ll get our fill and end our relationship on a good note.

I glance around. The house is quiet, too quiet. I expect the buzz of people, of help who are paid to handle the daily tasks of a tycoon. Surely he’s brought employees from Miami to assist with his busy schedule.

“Where’s your staff?”

He tilts his head. “Staff?”

“I assume that you have housekeepers and chefs and such.”

He shrugs. “In Miami, yes. I do.”

“And why aren’t they here with you now?”

Rafael pauses a second too long. “Because I want to be alone here. Alone with you.”

I glance down at the table, not knowing what to say. Suddenly it seems too warm, devoid of air.

“I’m going to get dinner ready,” he says in a quiet voice.

I nod and study the table, where a red rose is in a crystal bud vase. A lone wine glass, napkins, and silverware sit precisely nearby. He’s trying to make an impression, that much is clear. I look around. My dilemma now is whether to perch on the pillow and eat in my tight dress or sit on the sofa. I steady myself on the fireplace’s stones and go to take off my heels.

“No, Justine. Leave them on.” The room echoes with his deep voice, and he walks out.