Page 90 of Resilient Love

She shifts again, lying on her back to stare up at the ceiling, effectively squashing my arm beneath her, but I’d be lying if I said I mind.

In the dark room, with nothing more than the light beneath the door from the hall to illuminate her movements, I see her tap her chin before peering up at me. “Mon amour,” she says just a second before I answer with, “My love.”

“Very good, student,” she says, swatting my thigh.

“French and Spanish are both considered romance languages. They’re descended from Vulgar Latin, so a lot of the basis for them is the same, which is probably why you’ve been able to pick Spanish up so quickly.”

“Not quick enough,” she grumbles.

“How long have you been trying to learn?” I ask.

“Letty has been teaching me here and there since we moved in together a few years ago, but it wasn’t until we started planning this trip that I asked her to take her lessons seriously.”

“Baby, that wastwoweeks ago,” I remind her. “Of course you’re going to suck at it.”

“Oh, so you admit I suck at it then, huh?” she asks, her tone all sass, and I fucking love it.

Yes,she’s absolutely terrible, but it’s adorable and the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

“Oh, completely,” I say, and just as I’d expected, she rolls over on top of me, straddling my hips, and smacks my chest.

I reach out to grab her hand, placing it over my heart. Her bright, playful smile slips into an expression I’m sure I’m wearing too. One of awe that I get to be with her at all.

“We have a big day tomorrow, if you’re still up for swimming.”

She shifts her hand out from under mine, cupping my cheeks in her soft hands. “You’re asking if I want the opportunity to ogle you while you’re half naked?” she scoffs. “If so, the answer is always yes,” she finishes with a chuckle.

I pull her face to mine, swallowing her soft laughter, her plush lips moulding to mine as she deepens the kiss, sliding her hands into my hair and tugging at my scalp.

I slide the tip of my nose up the bridge of hers, leaving one last kiss between her brows. “Goodnight,mi vida.”

“Goodnight,mon amour,” she says, and I can see the smirk and little wink she gives me, even in the dark room.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

SUNDAY, JUNE 8

Not that it’seven the least bit of a surprise to anyone, but my family adores Elise already.

She took her sweet-ass time getting up this morning, but when she eventually did, she made sure to shower before me so she could help Mamí in the kitchen.

As I enter the kitchen, I find Elise bent over the sink, trying to suck in air as she laughs a full-bellied laugh I’ve never heard from her before.

Mamí turns, facing me, and I see the flour handprint on her cheek as she does. She’s got tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks and a smile so blinding I might need sunglasses to protect my eyes from it. Her shoulders are shaking with thesemi-repressed laughter, and when Elise turns around, she and Mamí make eye contact for a brief second before sputtering out more laughter.

Elise is covered in flour, both of her pink cheeks coated in the substance with two handprints that mirror the one on Mamí’s cheek.

“You two want to explain what’s going on in here?” I ask, my cheeks starting to burn from the smile I’m unable to fully quell.

“Tu novia cero en la cocina,” she says, another laugh spilling out past her crinkling lips, more tears leaking from her eyes as she presses a hand to her chest, spreading the flour even further.

“Che! Te escuche!” Elise laughs, swatting at the air in front of Mamí, who grabs her by the cheeks and presses a kiss to her forehead. They each let the laughter die down, but the unadulterated joy I feel simmering in my blood never seems to follow suit. Their immediate connectedness makes me feel elated, and the way Mamí is nurturing Elise in the same way she always did with me soothes a messy part of my mind I haven’t fully dealt with.

“Yes, Mamí. I know she can’t cook,” I say with a smile as I meet Elise’s glare, but her little smirk gives her away immediately.

“That’s why you taught him how to cook, right? So he could one day be a happy house husband to a wildly successful athlete,” Elise says, beaming at me.

“Exactamente,” Mamí answers, reaching up to pinch my cheek. Mamí wets a washcloth, cupping Elise’s cheek and swiping at her face, cleaning her off as she asks about our plans for the day.

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