Page 14 of Along Came Amor
Of being taken care of?he wanted to add, but he held back. No need to bring his own baggage into this.
“Roman, I am a newly divorced middle-school teacher, and you...” She waved a hand at him. “I mean, look at you. Look atthis.”
She gestured around them—at the sunset, the pool, the suite—and Roman stepped forward and caught her hands in his. When he spoke, his tone was low and earnest. “Ava, I ammore than my bank account, and you’re more than your marital status. We are two people who deserve to have a nice, uncomplicated dinner together. That’s it.”
She surprised him by rolling her eyes. “Tell that to my family. My marital status is all they care about.”
Ah, now they were getting to the heart of it. He felt a little flicker of triumph at her admission. “Why? How did they react to the divorce?”
She groaned and slipped her hands out of his to lean her elbows back on the railing. “Like it was the end of the fucking world. You’d think somebody had died, the way they carried on.”
“That must have been overwhelming.”
“To put it mildly. My grandmother’s been pressuring me to ‘just get married again’ for more than a year.”
His brow creased. “Weren’t you still legally married until today?”
“Most of them think the divorce was over a while ago—it was easier that way. But it doesn’t matter how many times I tell her that I don’t want to get married again. She either forgets or says I’m being ‘difficult.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.
“Something tells me you’ve never been difficult a day in your life.”
“All I’ve ever done is try to be perfect.” Her shoulders slumped. “For all the good it’s done me.”
“What would happen if you weren’t?” Roman asked softly. “What would you do if you didn’t have to be perfect?”
She huffed. “Why does it matter?”
Before he could answer, his watch buzzed. He squinted at the message. “The food is coming up.”
“Good. I built up an appetite bombarding you with my drama.”
“I asked,” he reminded her. “I wanted to know.”
“So you say.” She gave him a long, speculative look. “I just don’t understand why.”
He didn’t either. Thankfully, he was saved from having to think about it by the ding of the elevator inside the suite. A moment later, one of the kitchen managers rolled in a tray laden with dishes.
“¿Cómo estás, Jesús?” Roman eyed the man unloading food onto the patio table. Jesús wore a simple dark gray suit and fashionable loafers, and it was absolutely not his job to deliver food.
“Jefe.” Jesús gave Roman a respectful nod before his gaze cut over to Ava.
Roman sighed. Jesús was here on a fact-finding mission. Within an hour, the entire Dulce Playa staff would know the boss had brought a woman to the penthouse suite, which meant word would reach Camille—or worse, Roman’smother—before too long.
Ava’s eyes went round as dishes covered the table. “Are we expecting more people?”
Roman laughed. “These are just to tide us over while we wait for the rest.”
“The rest?”
Once all the appetizers had been set out, Roman thanked Jesús and slipped him some cash, muttering in Spanish, “Don’t tell anyone.”
Jesús mimed zipping his mouth shut. “My lips are sealed,” he whispered, which Roman didn’t believe for a second.
When Ava continued to stare at the spread of food, Roman moved closer. “You said downstairs that you don’t know what comes next. Start small. Decide what you want to eat and enjoy it. Don’t worry about what’s left behind, just focus on each bite.”
She blew out a breath. “I suppose I could try that.”
She surveyed the selections and made herself a plate, opting to sample a little of everything. There was salmon tartare with avocado and nori, warm burrata with walnut pesto and roasted tomatoes, crab cakes topped with chipotle aioli, pulled pork sliders with cilantro lime slaw and jalapeno cornbread, and—Roman’s favorite—crispy sesame calamari with Korean red pepper dip. It had been one of his own additions to the menu, a reminder of the few times when, back in his childhood, he and his mom had gone to a real restaurant for a special occasion and he’d been allowed to order an appetizer.
