CHAPTER NINE
I don’t know how to categorize my session today with Dr. Hughes—Bex—other than to say it was refreshing, uncomfortable, and confusing all rolled into one. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is going on with him.
Still, I know I can trust him, and I need that right now. Plus, as ridiculous and insane as it sounds, I really do feel like we’re more friends than patient-doctor. I’d hang out with him even if he weren’t my therapist. Talking to him is easy, and he doesn’t look down on me for my shortcomings. But what I think I like most are those little moments where he allows himself to be vulnerable with me. For example, after our first meeting, he not only stepped up to the plate with an apology, but he revealed a very painful fact about his father.
My doorbell rings, and I look at my watch. Oh no. Gustavo is thirty minutes early. I’m both nervous and excited to see him, but I’m not ready. I’ve decided to skip the makeup, since I don’t really know how to apply it—other than a bit of mascara and lip gloss—but my blonde hair isn’t straightened, and I smell funny. Target had a sale on body sprays, so I bought one. Autumn Holiday. I think it smells like pumpkin pie and gravy, and it’s making my headache worse. Too late to wash it off.
Wearing sweats and a T-shirt, I yank open the door and find Gustavo looking like the embodiment of my ideal Prince Charming: the Latino version with the world’s cutest accent. His short dark hair is messy, his olive skin looks and smells fresh—not at all like a seasonal squash with bird sauce—and his well-proportioned body is accentuated by his snug blue dress shirt and jeans.
“Oh, what is that perfume you’re wearing? It’s making me hungry,” he says.
“I’m glad you like it because I don’t think it’s ever going to wash off. By the way, you’re early.” I grin, because who wouldn’t want to see more of him?
“Sorry. I just couldn’t wait to see you again.” He steps inside and goes in for a kiss.
I turn my cheek. Not that I don’t want him to kiss me—I so, so do—but I’ve never kissed a man or slept with one. And tonight, when the moment is right, I’m hoping to do both. I want to know as much as I can about him, including if we’re compatible in bed, before moving to step three.
I take his hand and lead him to the only piece of furniture in my living room. An antique white couch with a matching chaise lounge. I found it at this cool consignment store for a few hundred, and it called to me. I really don’t know why because it’s not something I pictured buying.
“Hey,” Gustavo points to the new additions to my home, “you got rid of the crates.”
“I wanted to have more furniture by now, but I’m discovering that shopping is not my gift.”
“Mine neither. Which is why my mother does all that for us.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. She decorated all of our houses.”
“All seven?” On our first date, while standing in line for the Devil’s Tail roller coaster, Gustavo told me he has six brothers. He’s one of the middle children at age twenty-six, the oldest being thirty-two. His mother is now fifty, so she started young, but that’s how things were in their small hometown back in Panama.
“Yes. I will invite you to my place next time so you can see. You can also meet Olga.”
“Is that your dog?”
He chuckles. “Olga is my full-time assistant, but she’s also a masseuse, and she cooks food almost as good as my mother. Of course, she makes sure my house is tidy.”
“So Olga is really your…nanny?” I joke.
“No.” He shakes his head. “She’s my personal, full-time assistant, hand selected by my mother, who makes sure we are all properly taken care of.”
I try not to make any facial expressions that will disclose what I’m thinking, but, man, I’m thinking stuff.
“So, exactly how involved is your mother in your day-to-day life?”
He shrugs. “The usual.”
I crinkle my nose. “Honestly, I don’t know what ‘usual’ means.”
He stares for a moment. “I’m sorry. Ob course. Ob course. Those terrible grandparents of yours—it’s easy to forget the things they did to you. You are so…” He waves a hand over my body. “Abundantly educated.”
Why does his accent suddenly annoy me? Ah, because “educated” is not what he meant, and I just don’t have the stomach for playing games.
He goes on, “Let me juss say that my mother is the caring woman I know you will be with your children.”
Really? Because I don’t know anything about what it means to be a mother. I have zero context.
“Does she like waiting on you?” It’s an honest question.
He blinks. “What do you mean? Ob course she does!”
“Oh. Cool.” I bob my head, but in my gut, I don’t feel like waiting on my family is something I could ever do again.
He takes my hand. “Rose, when we have children someday, don’t you want the best for them—to give them everything? Because I know I do.”
I’m on a tight timeline, but he’s moving fast even for me. “Kids, huh? What happened to ‘Let’s just have fun. No strings’?” I tease.
“I meant that. I am a fun, no-strings kind of guy.”
Now he’s just being weird. “Gustavo, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel like you’re talking out both sides of your ass.”
He jerks his head back.
I continue, “For the record, I would never judge you for being unsure of what you want, but I won’t be played.”
He stares for a long moment with those almond eyes. “Rose, Rose, Rose.” He grabs me by the waist and pulls me in. “You see right through me.”
“I do?”
“Oh yes. I meant to convince you that I didn’t care one way or another if you wanted a relationship, but how can any man look at you and not want you all to himself? It’s not possible.”
I come with a treasure chest, and something about this guy is telling me that’s what he’s after. On the other hand, he’s extremely handsome. The full lips, the dimpled chin, the charming smile. If God presented me with a husband catalog and asked me to choose based on appearances, I’d pick this guy. Okay, I’d pick Bex. But Dr. Hughes is not on the menu.
I take one step back. “Gustavo, if my eyes made my decisions, I’d be all in. You are just that good looking. But I think you know it and use it to your advantage. Unfortunately, I’ve lost way too much time on people who aren’t genuine, and I don’t have the patience for more.” I pause, reaching deep for the right words. “I want love—the real thing—and I’m willing to do what it takes to get it. I’ll even risk my inheritance if I have to wait to find it. But I cannot and will not waste my time on men who play games or don’t deserve me.”
I suddenly feel like patting myself on the back. After the party, I swore that going forward, I’d take control of my life. I’d speak up. I would never allow anyone to run my life. Speaking up, like I did just now, feels better than I imagined.
“I understand you, Rose.” He nods slowly. “I do. So please don’t tink I want you for your money. I’d take you penniless.” He cups my cheek with his warm hand. “I have money enough for us both. And if what I have isn’t enough to make you happy, then I’d work for more. I don’t care.”
His words couldn’t be more perfect, but I don’t feel like he’s completely genuine. Almost like he’s just playing a role.
Or…you’re trying to sabotage yourself again. I want to smack myself in the forehead, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m inventing a reason not to trust him when all he’s guilty of is playing it cool a little.
I place my hand on his freshly shaved face. It’s smooth. Maybe too smooth, but I’m not going to marry a man for his shaving rituals. It’s all about the heart. “I know what I’m about to say might be breaking every dating rule in the book, but I know what I’m looking for.” Down to the smile. “All I need to know from you is if we date for the next two weeks, and you still want me at the end of it and I still want you, will you be ready to marry?”
His brown eyes gloss over. “Yes. Absolutely.” He swoops me up in his arms and spins me, kissing my face—cheeks, forehead, chin. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you in that ballroom.”
He sets me down and grips me by the shoulders. “You don’t know how happy I’ll make you. Me, my brothers, my father, and especially my mother are all so excited about bringing you into the family. She is not an easy woman to please, but she has a feeling about you.”
His mother? That’s a little odd. And I don’t like how he’s already talking like it’s a done deal. It feels…off.
Don’t sabotage yourself, Rose. He’s nice. He’s hot. Just follow the processes. Yes, the process.
I gather myself and get my bearings. “Just to be clear, though, I’m not proposing to you. We’re not engaged or anything. I was only talking about hypotheticals just in case things go well, which I hope they do.”
“As do I. Which is why I wanted you to know what to expect.” He gives my nose a playful poke. “Whoever I marry becomes a part of my big loving family. I must be sure you’d be okay with that, si?”
I love it. I do. And I’ve always wanted to be a part of a family like his. My mind drifts to a scene where we’re all sitting around a big table filled with enormous plates of food. Everyone is talking, eating, and laughing. It’s the sort of moment I didn’t have growing up, and I want it. I want to be a part of passionate discussions over coffee and dessert, where people pound their fists on the table and make drama, but they ultimately end the night with hugs and forgiveness.
“Rose, I know you and I only juss met, but I’m about to open my first nightclub in Miami.” He takes both my hands and cups them in his own. “This is my dream, and all that’s missing from my life is the perfect woman by my side. By the way, I juss bought a house on the beach, furnished with everything you could ever want.”
I clear something sticky in my throat. “Miami? Nightclub?”
“Salsa. Techno bossa nova. Reggaeton. Flow.”
“Salsa techy what?”
He waves his jazz hands toward the sky. “It’s going to be the biggest Latin music club in the country. It’s going to have vibe rooms and five different concept spaces to flavor the music.”
“That sounds…exciting?” I smile and shrug.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he asks.
“Sorry. I’ve never been to a club, and I’ve only danced in my bathroom—to oldies, the only clear station I could get on my broken radio.”
“This is wrong!” He takes my hand and starts tugging me toward the front door.
“Where are we going?”
“To rectify this situation. Immediately.”
“You mean a dance club?” I ask, fearing he’ll say yes.
“Ob course.”
“But I’m in my sweats.” I dig my heels in to halt our movement toward the front door.
He stops and faces me, his eyes glittering with adoration. “And you will still be the most beautiful woman there.”
I really hadn’t planned on going out like this, but if he doesn’t care, then why should I? I mean, isn’t this what I want in a man? Someone who doesn’t care about what I’m wearing or how much money I have. Or don’t have. I want to be loved for what’s in my heart. Honestly, this is a huge point in his favor.
And, well, fuck it. I’ve always wanted to go to a dance club.