Chapter 11
February
Ava: Are you free tonight?
Roman: For you? Of course.
A va exhaled in relief when Roman’s reply popped up. She was going to start climbing the walls if she stayed in tonight, and
if she had to spend it with her family, she would scream.
It wasn’t her first wedding anniversary without Hector, but it was the first since the divorce had been made official. To
make matters worse, for the past week her grandmother had been texting her old photos of Hector. Ava was on the verge of blocking
Esperanza’s number.
Yes, she could have reached out to Jasmine or Michelle, or her mom or Damaris. It wasn’t like she didn’t have people in her life who cared about her. But they’d know what today was—why the hell had she gotten married the day before Valentine’s Day?—and they’d spend the whole night looking at her with worry in their eyes. Or worse, pity .
She couldn’t take it. Not tonight. Not when her feelings were already so close to the surface. Ava didn’t do breakdowns. She didn’t do dramatic displays of emotion. Not even after Hector told her he was leaving. When she’d called her
mother and Michelle to come over, she’d been calm. Okay, she’d probably been closer to catatonic, but she hadn’t yelled or
cried or cursed. She hadn’t made a scene.
Even in the worst moment of her life, she’d behaved well. She’d been good .
Be good, Ava .
How many times had she heard that phrase? Every time her mom dropped her off to visit her dad and his new wife. Or for sleepovers
with Michelle at Titi Val and Uncle Dom’s house. Or when she had moved in with Esperanza and Willie.
Be good for Abuela .
Be good for Daddy and Olympia .
Be good for Titi Val .
Be good for your teachers .
Ava was so fucking tired of being good .
Not that being with Roman was about being bad , per se. It was more about being free . Nothing she said or did with him would get back to her family, thus affecting their perception of her and her role in the
Rodriguez dynamic.
Even her apartment, which was brand new and all hers, was a reminder of her divorce. It was a perfectly nice one-bedroom in a prewar elevator building. No, it wasn’t renovated, but there were new appliances in the galley kitchen, and Ava had made it cozy with a profusion of plants, a muted pink and cream color scheme, and scented candles on every surface—all things Hector had hated.
But the only reason Ava lived here at all was because Jasmine had accidentally opened the door to the second bedroom in Ava’s
old apartment and found it crammed with all the things Hector had left behind. Once her cousins had realized Ava was struggling
to cover the rent on the two-bedroom she’d shared with Hector, they’d staged an intervention. Michelle had hired a moving
company to box up Hector’s shit and drop it off on his mother’s porch, and Jasmine had enlisted her real estate broker to
find a rental Ava could afford on her teaching salary. While Ava was grateful for their help, she also felt horribly guilty
about inconveniencing them, not to mention embarrassed.
So no, she didn’t want to spend the evening sitting around the apartment that should have felt like home but didn’t, reminiscing
about all the sad and shameful moments that had landed her here.
A night with Roman, making new, pleasurable memories, was a much better alternative.
For security purposes, Ava shot Damaris a text.
Ava: I’m seeing him tonight.
Damaris: Where?
Bless Damaris for not asking why Ava was spending her anniversary with Roman.
Ava: At the Dulce Flor in Times Square.
Damaris: Check in tomorrow morning, please.
Ava: I will.
Damaris: Then meet me for brunch afterward because I want DETAILS.
Ava chuckled, glad she had at least one person to discuss Roman with. Damaris had also sneakily maneuvered plans on Valentine’s
Day, probably so Ava wouldn’t be alone, which was sweet of her.
Ava: I’ll make a reservation. Isla Bonita Cafe?
Damaris: You know it. Best deal on bottomless mimosas in the entire borough!
Another text appeared. This one was from the fancy car service Roman used, containing the info for her pick up. While Ava
still felt a little guilty about Roman paying for things like food, transportation, and the hotel, she couldn’t deny it was
a turn on. For someone who’d spent her whole life counting pennies, and who was the “responsible one” when it came to organizing
any sort of outing, it was nice to have someone else handle all the details.
One of Hector’s stated reasons for leaving her was that he wanted to get out of the Bronx and travel the world. Consid ering he had never once purchased a plane ticket on his own, Ava couldn’t imagine how he was managing that goal. But Hector and his inability to navigate an airline’s website weren’t her problem anymore.
Right now, her biggest problem was deciding which of her sexy new lingerie to wear for her assignation with Roman.
Opting for the black and red lace demi bra with matching thong, she covered it up with a thick purple sweater, black slacks,
and gray ankle boots with a low heel. After packing her overnight bag, she went downstairs to the car.
Roman was waiting for her in the lobby when she arrived.
There was something very Pretty Woman about the whole scenario. On one level, Ava didn’t like how it felt to arrive at a hotel when every single employee probably
knew she was there to have sex with their boss . But at the same time, stepping into the luxurious and modern lobby and being greeted by a handsome and successful hotel
magnate... it definitely gave her a thrill. She couldn’t reconcile the two conflicting feelings.
But then wasn’t that her whole life? Feeling one thing while doing another? At least this time she was doing what she wanted instead of what others wanted of her.
Besides, she was hardly the first person to show up at a hotel for sex. Probably not even the first woman to show up at this hotel to have sex with Roman . She could be a reasonable adult and stop worrying that everyone was judging her.
Maybe she could even stop judging herself .
With Roman, at least, she had an easier time doing that.
He leaned in to kiss her cheek when she approached him. The soft press of his lips and the inviting scent of his cologne sent
a thrill racing down her spine and right into her panties.
How are you real? she thought, but all she said was, “Hi.”
“I was glad to hear from you,” he murmured. His smile was polite, but barely banked fire flickered in his eyes. “Come on.”
They entered the elevator with a man and woman who were clearly a couple. The man had his arm wrapped tight around the woman’s
waist and was whispering in her ear while she giggled. By contrast, Ava stood with her back pressed to the elevator wall,
her hands clasped in front of her. Roman was next to her with about two feet of space between them, his hands in the pockets
of his designer suit pants, his stance casual.
The couple got off without even sparing Ava or Roman a glance. The doors shut behind them and Ava finally spoke.
“I appreciate you taking the time to—”
“Ava. Please.” His brow creased into the pained expression he got whenever she offered to pay for something. Bridging the
distance, he took her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Spending time with you is a gift. Stop overthinking.”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “All right.”
The elevator doors opened and he led her into the suite with a hand on the small of her back. Not possessive, but not not possessive either. She kinda liked it.
The penthouse at the Dulce Flor Hotel was the epitome of luxury. This was Ava’s second time here, and as before, she was drawn
to the view of the quiet, twinkling city through the floor to ceiling glass windows. Despite the Times Square location, none
of the noise from below permeated the rarefied air this high up. It was an oasis in the middle of chaos, a sparkling tower
rising far above the crowds below.
Ava swallowed hard as she gazed out. Once again, the feeling that she didn’t belong here washed over her.
“What’s going on in there?” Roman asked. She could see his reflection behind her, a sophisticated and charming phantom with his dark suit and his hair tamed with gel. She knew it would loosen into curls when she ran her fingers through it, and that beneath those designer suits his body was solid and warm, with a scar on his knee from climbing over a chain-link fence when he was a kid.
She turned to look at him, just a flesh and blood man, and yet, at times like these, she felt like they were worlds apart.
“In where?”
He tapped his temple.
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. Her first impulse was to brush it off, but he never ridiculed her questions. “Do you ever feel...
guilty?”
“Because of all this?” He gestured at the opulence around them, then nodded. “All the time.”
Her eyes went wide. “You do?”
“Of course.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and moved closer to the glass, looking down at the streets below. “But I work
hard on the things that make me the most money in order to funnel it back into the programs that’ll help people like...
well, like who I used to be. People like my mom, who was a single mother for most of my life. The hotels are named for her,
you know.”
“Dulce?”
He nodded and continued. “I give to the organizations helping people even more vulnerable than we were, in a way I never dreamed
would be possible. It’s not out of guilt, though, it’s out of...”
His dark brows dipped in frustration, like he was looking for the right word. She waited without offering a suggestion, giving
him space to think.
“Responsibility,” he finally said. “Not that it’s an obligation, but... why have all this if I can’t use it to help?”
“You feel a duty to your community?” she clarified, and he looked relieved.
“Yeah. That’s it. I grew up in South Williamsburg before it was gentrified. All this? It’s still new to me too.”
“Do you ever worry about it going away?”
“Constantly. Why do you think I never stop working?”
“What was your first business?” she asked, and was surprised at the cheeky grin he sent her.
“You’re not going to like this, profe.”
She grinned at the pet name, a shortened version of profesora. “Let’s hear it.”
“I was in sixth grade.”
“A little entrepreneur.”
“You know it. By the end of the year, I had a whole homework smuggling ring going on.”
“No me digas.” She covered her face, muffling the laugh that escaped. “What were you doing, stealing test answers?”
He shook his head. “In hindsight, that would’ve been easier. Instead, I did other kids’ homework for five bucks a pop.”
“You scoundrel,” she said fondly.
“That was how it started, anyway. Then it became a study circle—five of them paying me three dollars each. I’d read the material
out loud and help them organize and write their papers.”
“Roman, that’s basically tutoring.”
“I see that now. I think some of them had undiagnosed learning disabilities.”
“If that’s the case, I’m sure the smaller group setting helped too.”
“Probably. The first time I gave my mom the money I’d made, she asked me if I was selling drugs.” He peered around at the suite, as if seeing it for the first time. When he spoke again, his voice was low and distant. “I work hard. Lots of long hours. Most of the time, I don’t even get to enjoy what I’ve built.”
Then his gaze flicked to hers, and a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Until you came along.”
“Me?”
“I wouldn’t have taken tonight off if you hadn’t texted.”
Dismay colored her voice. “I knew I was keeping you from something important. You should’ve told me.”
“I deserve a night off every once in a while, too.”
“Yes,” she said, thinking of the child he’d been, and the man he was now. “You do.”
He put his hands on her hips and leaned in. The kiss was short and sweet, and still managed to take her breath away.
“Come on,” he said, stepping back and taking her hand. “Let’s eat.”
Her heart pounded, but she couldn’t have said why.