Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Yeah. But it’s good, too. She was an amazing woman, and my dad loved her more than anything. It made sense that they died together. I hated losing them both, but I couldn’t imagine one being as happy and vibrant as they were without the other.”
Silence followed my confession, and I couldn’t summon the courage to meet her gaze. I felt raw and exposed, and I didn’t want her to see more in my eyes than I had already laid bare.
“My mom was an amazing cook,” she said softly. “It was ingrained in her at a young age by her mother and grandmother. They passed down their recipes and stories through cooking. When I was old enough, she started teaching me. I’ve only been to Puerto Rico once when I was little, but I feel like I know my family better than I should after a single visit because of everything she shared with me.” She smiled softly and looked down to where she picked at her nails. “After she passed away, our cook took over helping me with whatever I needed in the kitchen.” Another soft laugh. “When we hired her, my mom made my dad promise they would hire a Puerto Rican woman because, while my mom was a good cook, she didn’t have the time to cook very often. So, she wanted me to grow up knowing true Puerto Rican flavors.”
“She sounds amazing.”
Just like me, her smile faltered before agreeing. “She was.”
“How did she die?”
“She had heart complications caused by lupus.”
“I’m sorry,” I said more sincerely than I ever had to anyone else.
“Thank you.”
This time, when silence fell, I was the one watching her, sneaking glances between draining the pasta and stirring the sauce. I studied the way she rolled her full lips between her teeth. The way her brows pinched and relaxed as if unsure of how to react to the quiet. The way her hands fidgeted before flattening on the gleaming white quartz countertop.
When I noticed her chest rise and fall with a deep breath, shoulders drawn back, I forced my attention back to the pots, already anticipating that tilt of her chin—strong and regal as always—and not wanting her to catch me watching.
“This is very domesticated of you. Having dinner almost ready when I come home,” she said with a teasing lilt.
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents,” I bragged and winked, earning me an eye roll.
“Lucky me. As long as you don’t expect me to have dinner waiting for you when you get home,” she joked.
“I mean, you are the one who’s apparently a good cook.” She raised her brow, challenging my response. “But I would never expect you to cook for me. That’s why I have a delivery service on call. Otherwise, I would starve.”
“Thank goodness, because despite my mom’s efforts, I’m not the best at cooking. I’m decent and rely on Dolores, our cook, to supply my addiction.”
I hummed, understanding.
“I just…” she hesitated. “I didn’t know if cooking for each other was part of your idea of a real marriage without actually being a real marriage.”
I snorted. “Hardly. As I said before, our marriage is more of a partnership.”
She shrugged. “I guess I’m still struggling to understand your meaning. Because when I think of a real marriage, of course, I think of it as a partnership. But I also think of respect, love, an—”
“Let me stop you there.” I held up my hand. “As I’ve stated before, this has nothing to do with love.”
“But what is a marriage based on love, if not partnership and respect?” she asked, her hands splayed across the countertop, her expression painfully earnest.
I took a deep breath and considered my words. She wasn’t wrong, but she also wasn’t right. I wanted the constant of a real marriage without the vulnerability of loving someone so completely, and I searched for a way to explain that without saying it.
“This is a real marriage in the ways that matter. We fuck, we respect, we trust. We will be each other’s dates to save ourselves from lonely work events.” She rolled her eyes, but I continued, struggling to find the right words. “We…take care of each other as…friends would. However, when you love your partner, there is a certain desire—a craving to have that person. As if you couldn’t survive without them by your side. Like you would do anything in your power just to see them smile. I want you as my date. I want to make you come every way possible. I want you to be my wife.” I held her stare, ensuring she heard every word. Especially this last bit. “But I would be fine if I couldn’t have you as any of those things. I will never crave anyone like that again.”
“Oh…” Her shoulders dropped, and she blinked, absorbing my explanation.