Page 43 of Forbidden Desire

I feel my stomach sink, thinking about what he must have gone through that day, and me being so upset about him disappearing. When he explained there had been a family emergency, it almost seemed like an excuse, but now I know he had been telling the truth.

“I spent all day at the hospital, through her surgery and until she was placed in recovery. I didn’t get home until late, and of course, you were gone.”

“Marco, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for you. For her.”

“It was. I’m very protective of my mother, and since then, I’m consumed by the worst thoughts. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“She’s still here,” I say, reaching across the desk and giving his hand a squeeze.

He looks up at me and a thousand feelings surge through me as our eyes meet, our hands touching. I have to remind myself to breathe as I slowly pull my hand away, breaking whatever spell we just found ourselves under.

“It’s going to be okay,” I assure him, even though I don’t know that for sure. It just seems like the right thing to say.

“Thank you,” he says, pressing his lips into a tight smile.

“I should go,” I say, standing from my chair.

He nods and as I walk away, I can still see the worry on his face, but it’s eased slightly. I shut myself in my office and sit in my chair, leaning my head back as I close my eyes. All I can see is his face, and though he’s right next door, he feels so far away. It’s because I pushed him there. I’m starting to regret it. As I start to learn more about him, I’m wanting him to be closer, not further.

Chapter 22

Marco

After my mother surprised me by coming into the office, we planned to have lunch together a few days later. I meet her at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. It’s a small place that looks like a grocery store from the outside, but inside it has the best homemade tamales. She’s been bringing me here since I was young, and it’s held as our tradition.

I put my arm around her as we look up at the menu, as if we don’t know what we are going to order. Two horchatas. Two pork tamales in red chili sauce. Two sweet corn tamales with green chili. My mom looks up and smiles at me as I place our memorized orders, and it’s hard for me not to notice how small she is standing next to me.

We take our food to a nearby table and sit across from one another. She takes a sip of horchata and closes her eyes in sweet satisfaction.

“Best horchata in New York,” she says, opening her eyes and looking at me.

“Glad we could do lunch, Mama,” I say, sliding her a plate of tamales.

“Me too, mijo.”

We talk about her doctor’s visit from yesterday and I’m happy to hear he said she’s looking healthy. She still continues to do physical therapy after her heart attack last year to help with her coordination skills, which I can see as she cuts into her tamale. I try to hide my grimace as I reach over and help her with her fork and knife.

“Mama,” I start cautiously. “You really should move in with me. Or a care facility.”

“Absolutely not,” she says sharply.

I know she’s stubborn, and every time I bring this up, she shuts me down. She has too much pride to admit she needs someone looking after her, especially me. She doesn’t want to feel like a burden to me, which she could never be. After her heart attack last year, she spent a few weeks at my penthouse where I was able to take care of her, but she insisted on going home when she was starting to feel better.

“But…”

She draws her hands away from me quickly to prove that she can cut her own food and pops a bite of tamale in her mouth.

“See, I’m fine,” she says with her mouth full.

I shake my head, amused and saddened at the same time.

“You have enough on your plate, mijo. And you know I like my independence,” she says.

“I know you do. I just worry.”

“Well, don’t. Let’s change the subject.” She waves me off. “Tell me about that woman who works for you.”

“Jessica?” I ask, pretending I don’t know exactly who she is talking about.

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