Chapter 23
July
Roman didn’t charter planes often, but a private flight with Ava had been too good to pass up. And watching her pretend not
to enjoy it was a fucking delight.
When they’d boarded the midsize jet, she’d gazed around the cabin, slowly taking in the wood paneling, plush leather seats,
tables laden with snacks thanks to the cabin attendant—a friendly young man named Enrique—and windows unblocked by other passengers.
She’d started out sitting primly, but in less than an hour, she’d reclined and kicked her long legs out in front of her, all
while savoring a glass of expensive champagne.
Roman sat diagonally across from her, so he could see her face. He wanted to be closer, but didn’t push it. Besides, there
were other ways to charm a schoolteacher.
He’d given her space since the engagement party, partly because he wanted to regroup, and also because he figured she needed
time to wrap her head around the change in their situation.
Not only that, Ashton had specifically told him not to mess this up. They had a job to do, and they’d do it, but Roman hadn’t gotten here by squandering opportunities.
The second Ava had volunteered to go to Puerto Rico, Roman had leaped into action. Rearranging his schedule to unexpectedly
take three days off was no small task, but now that they were here, Operation Ava was in full swing.
He needed to handle it carefully so Ava didn’t feel like she was being maneuvered. And since she wouldn’t let him buy her
gifts, he’d lined up a series of romantic evenings instead. On the first night, he’d booked them a private sunset cruise.
For the second, they’d take an overnight trip to Vieques by helicopter with a tour of the bioluminescent bay. On the last
night, he’d arranged for dinner from one of the top chefs on the island. He hoped the gestures would show her that he was
serious about their relationship, and that he’d meant it when he said she deserved to be treasured.
Looking up from the reports he’d been reviewing, he took in the office supplies strewn across the table before her. They weren’t
the kind he was used to. For instance, his paper clips didn’t have tiny white bows on them, and he’d never in his life used
so many stickers.
He slipped off his reading glasses. “What on earth are you doing over there?”
She blinked like she’d been pulled out of deep focus. “I’m working on the planner for the wedding.”
“Planner?”
Ava turned the small three-ring binder around so he could see it. She deftly flipped through the pages, which were sorted
by cardboard dividers featuring stylized illustrations of tanned women in bridal attire.
“Each section relates to a wedding event,” she explained. “Engagement party, bridal shower, dress fitting, and so on, along with all the tasks we have to complete while we’re in Puerto Rico. Cake tasting, ceremony location, florist—”
“But the wedding planner sent us a spreadsheet.”
Ava’s mouth pinched in what Roman had realized was her version of a fierce scowl. “A spreadsheet isn’t tactile. I can’t easily
take notes in a spreadsheet.”
He held up his tablet. “This is tactile and I can take notes on it with a stylus.”
“You have your way and I have mine,” she replied tightly, pulling her planner back.
Roman hid a smile. On his tablet, he opened a spreadsheet titled “All About Ava” and in the “Likes” column, he added, “Paper
planners and fancy office supplies.”
While he disagreed with her on the functionality of a well-organized spreadsheet, she was certainly right about keeping track
of research in one place. He’d started this document after the engagement party, adding everything he knew about her—likes,
dislikes, the names of her family members he’d met at the party, and so on. He had a whole section for the Primas of Power,
a moniker he found fascinating.
“About the Primas of Power...” he began.
She looked up from her planner. “What about them?”
“Where did the name come from?”
Her gaze softened, as if his question evoked a sweet memory. “The year I was in kindergarten, and Jas and Mich were in pre-K, our dads were in charge of our Halloween costumes. You know the superhero pajamas with the little capes you can stick on your shoulders with Velcro?” When he nodded, she continued. “Jasmine was Wonder Woman, Michelle was Supergirl, and I was Batgirl. Michelle dubbed us the Primas of Power, and the name stuck.”
Roman’s mouth pulled into a grin at the thought of it. “Are there photos?”
“Of course.” She tapped her phone screen a few times before passing it to him. “It’s the main photo for our group text.”
Roman put his glasses on and took the phone. His heart lurched in his chest as he stared at the picture. All three girls wore
leggings, rain boots, and what looked like knee-length nightgowns with little capes attached. The front of each nightgown
bore the logo of the superhero they represented. Ava’s was purple, with the Batman symbol in yellow and black, and a yellow
utility belt printed directly on the fabric.
The photo had been taken on a short set of concrete steps leading up to a house. Jasmine and Michelle were hamming it up for
the camera—Jasmine stood on the middle step with her chin held high and her hands fisted on her hips, and Michelle was on
the top step, balancing on one leg with a fist thrust into the air like she was flying. Ava, already much taller than both
of her cousins, stood on the bottom step. Instead of succumbing to the silliness of the moment and pretending to be punching
or kicking a bad guy, she posed with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, a sweet smile on her adorable little face.
She was the embodiment of five-year-old decorum, and his heart broke for this child who already felt the need to suppress,
to restrain, to hide. What had it cost her to keep still while her cousins played? How many times over the years had she held
back in exactly this manner?
He wanted to ask her, but the questions made his heart hurt, and he didn’t want her to withdraw further. So he just cleared his throat, said, “Cute,” and returned her phone.
The picture made him think of his own childhood, the way he’d started hustling at a young age to help pay the bills. His mother
hadn’t wanted him to worry about their finances, had begged him to just be a normal kid. But when she hadn’t been able to
stop him, she’d used some of the money he earned on activities for the two of them, like ordering pizza, going to the movies
and buying popcorn, taking trips to Rockaway Beach or the Prospect Park Zoo, or eating in an actual restaurant.
Making money had meant he and his mom could have fun together. Things had been hard, but they were happy.
“I looked for my father once,” he murmured, not sure where the thought came from or why he was saying it aloud.
Ava’s head lifted, and even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he knew he had her full attention.
“Oh?”
He swallowed. This wasn’t something he talked about with a lot of people. “After I opened the first hotel. It occurred to
me that he might come crawling out of the woodwork to ask for money. You hear about stories like that all the time.”
She nodded but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he went on.
“My mom wouldn’t give me details, but she talked to the private investigator I hired.” He shrugged. “It was a short search.
The guy was dead. Car accident when I was nine.”
“I’m sorry,” Ava said quietly. “That must have been hard to hear.”
Roman nodded. It had been hard, in a myriad of different ways.
He’d expected the news to be a sort of relief. His father wasn’t going to reappear to hurt his mother or make Roman’s life difficult. But it had come as more of a blow than he could have imagined.
All those years, he told himself he didn’t think about his father, but it was a lie. The specter of the man who’d sired him
had hung over his head, the possibility of him a constant companion, even if the man himself hadn’t been. As a child, he’d
imagined all kinds of scenarios where the guy came back. Roman had pictured how he’d react—with rage, with cool detachment,
with scorn. And in some cases, even with acceptance. As he got older, his responses changed, but he’d never considered that
his father would just be... gone. All those years, the man was dead, existing only in Roman’s thoughts. Roman had invented
a life for him that hadn’t, and would never, be.
The investigator had put together a document with information he’d managed to dig up, but Roman had deleted the file without
opening it.
“He wasn’t a villain,” his mother had said, when he finally talked to her about it. “He was just young, and he didn’t want
to be a father yet.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he was a father.”
Dulce had only shrugged. “Honestly, it was a relief when he left. It was easier to be alone than to rely on him and have him
constantly let me down.”
Roman had no sympathy for men who broke promises and abandoned their responsibilities. It made him think of Ava’s ex-husband,
the asshole who’d promised to love her forever and then cut and run without even having the decency to try to work things
out. Although if he had, Ava would probably still be married to him, and then where would they be?
“I’m sorry your ex hurt you,” Roman said to Ava. Her eyebrows leaped in surprise, probably at the abrupt change in subject. “But I’m glad he was an immature asshole.”
Her expression turned wary. “Why?”
“Because if he’d been just a tiny bit smarter, you and I might not be here.”
Her cheeks reddened. “We would’ve ended up in this wedding together regardless.”
“But you would’ve still been married to him .”
She blinked, like that hadn’t occurred to her, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I already told you, our... whatever
this was, it’s over.”
“Is it?” He kept his gaze steady when she looked over at him, willing her to see what he felt for her.
She licked her lips. “Yes,” she said, but her voice was shaky, and it almost sounded like a question. She cleared her throat.
“Don’t... ah, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like... you know what. You’re doing it now.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Like I’m thinking about you not wearing any panties at the engagement party? Like I’m
remembering the sounds you make when I—”
“That’s quite enough,” she interrupted, her cheeks flaming. “Speaking of, what did you do with my panties?”
Finally. He thought she’d never ask.
“You mean these?” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out the small bundle of white lace.
She winced. “Please tell me you haven’t been carrying those around with you.”
He hadn’t, but he’d brought them along on this trip just in case there was an opportunity to tease her about them. Like now.
“I keep them close to my heart,” he murmured, pressing the lacy scrap to his chest. Her eyes widened, in embarrassment or
outrage he couldn’t tell, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.
Clearing her throat, she flipped to a new page in her planner. “I think we need to lay some ground rules before we land.”
He sent her a mild smile. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and gave him a stern look. “Rule number one—”
“I thought the first rule was that I can’t look at you like I want to spread your—”
“ Right . That’s the first rule. Rule number two is...” She waved her hand in a vague gesture. “No... hanky-panky.”
Roman laughed so hard he started coughing. Enrique brought him a bottle of water, and Ava’s face was flushed by the time the
attendant left.
Once they were alone again, Roman wiped the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe you said that.”
Ava sighed and cast her gaze toward the plane’s ceiling. “Honestly, neither can I. I spend too much time censoring myself
around twelve-year-olds.”
“Have you ever said ‘hanky-panky’ in front of your students?”
Her mouth twitched. “No. I’d lose their respect forever.”
“So what are we calling it then, if not ‘hanky-panky’?”
She covered her face. “It gets worse every time you say it.”
“Then what should I call it?” God, he loved teasing her like this.
She dropped her hands and cast around for an idea. “I don’t know... how about ‘inappropriate touching’?”
“I think the way I touch you is very appropriate, considering I haven’t done anything you haven’t asked for.”
He could see that she wanted to refute that, but didn’t dare. He’d realized early on with Ava that the only way to get her
to open up and stay in the moment with him was to make her explicitly say what she wanted and liked. There was no way she
was getting away with claiming any of it had been inappropriate .
“Fine, no touching at all.”
“What if you trip?” he asked innocently. “Should I just let you fall?”
“Oh my god.” She rubbed her forehead and it took all of Roman’s self-control to keep a straight face. “No sexual touching.
Is that clear enough?”
“Crystal.” He decided they’d had enough fun with this one and moved on. “Any other rules?”
She scowled. “No more stealing my panties!”
He gave her an affronted look. “I didn’t steal them.”
She held out her palm. “Then give them back.”
“No.” He placed a hand to his chest, covering the inner pocket where her underwear resided. “You abandoned them. They’re mine.”
Her lips twitched like she was trying not to laugh. “Fine. You get temporary custody. For now.”
He loved that she was being playful with him, but when she turned back to her planner, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you writing
all this down?”
“Of course I am.”
“Let me see.”
She reluctantly passed him the binder. He slipped on his reading glasses and sure enough, she’d jotted down her rules in neat script, under the heading “Rules for Roman.”
No LOOKS .
No sexual touching .
No panty stealing .
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Ava, this list makes me sound like a pervert.”
She snatched the planner back. “No flirting either.”
“No.”
Her gaze whipped to his in shock. “What do you mean, no ?”
“Forget it. I’m not going to pretend I haven’t seen every inch of you naked and flushed with—”
“No dirty talk!” Her face was red as she scribbled furiously.
He sat back in his seat. “I’m not agreeing to that one either. Besides, I think you like it.”
Her voice was prim and she refused to look at him. “That’s neither here nor there.”
“Is that it for your rules?”
“I’ll let you know if I think of any others.”
“What about my rules?”
She gave him an arch look. “You don’t get rules.”
“That doesn’t seem fair, but fine. What do I get if I play along?”
“Is everything a negotiation with you?”
“Yes.”
She blew out a breath. “What do you want?”
He suppressed the urge to grin. “I want to buy you gifts.”
She responded exactly as he’d expected her to. “Absolutely not.”
He threw out another term he knew she wouldn’t accept. “No underwear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll play by your rules if you don’t wear any underwear on this trip.” He held out his hand. “Starting now.”
Her mouth fell open, and while the look in her eyes was outraged, her cheeks turned pink, and he knew she was thinking about
it.
“Only if you don’t wear any underwear either,” she shot back.
La profe had surprised him with that. “All right.” Fighting a smile, he dropped his hands to his belt and began to undo the
buckle.
Apparently she hadn’t expected him to agree so readily because she gestured wildly for him to stop and looked over her shoulder,
as if to make sure Enrique wasn’t hovering nearby. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “We both keep our underwear on.”
“Then I want to spend the evenings with you.” This was what he really wanted. “I get to choose the activities. No hanky-panky , as you called it, but outside of that, you go along with my plans.”
Her eyes sparked and her chest heaved, but she nodded. “Fine. Provided we sort out all the required wedding stuff each day,
you can plan how we spend the evenings.”
Jackpot .
“Then we have a deal.” Roman stretched his hand across the aisle for her to shake. After a moment’s pause, where she bit enticingly
on that lush bottom lip, she grabbed his hand and gave it two quick pumps. Then she drew back and muttered something like,
“What have I gotten myself into?”
She flipped to a new page and began to glue magazine cutouts onto it. Roman thought it would’ve been easier to do it digitally, but she seemed happy, so who was he to judge? Maybe he could buy her some fancy scissors or something.
If she ever allowed him to give her presents.
“Roman?”
He looked up from his spreadsheet. “?Sí, mi cielo?”
She blinked, like she was flustered by the term of endearment, but her face was carefully blank. “You and Ashton were on a
telenovela together?”
He was a bit surprised she hadn’t drilled Jasmine for information about him, but he was happy to tell her. “Almost twenty
years ago. Recuerdos Peligrosos .”
Ava squinted, like she was trying to remember it. “Which one was that?”
“We played brothers on a ranch.”
“And one brother was kidnapped by the father and presumed dead, and then the other brother fell in love with the first one’s
pregnant fiancée?”
Her summary made him smile. “That’s the one.”
“I missed it when it aired. I must have still been in high school, probably around the time I moved into my dad’s house to
help take care of my sister.”
“That sounds like a lot of responsibility for a teenager,” he said mildly. She’d shared enough for him to suspect that her
relationship with her father and stepmother bordered on toxic.
Her gaze fell to the planner in front of her and she shrugged. “Olympia was on bedrest during her third trimester, and she
had a long recovery after Willow was born. I lived with them through the last two years of high school.”
“I bet you still got straight As.”
She nodded, but her smile was sad. “I graduated with more than a 4.0 GPA, along with regular migraines and what I now recognize as anxiety.”
He dug his fingers into the armrests to stop from reaching for her. “Where’d you go to college?”
“In Westchester, so it wasn’t too far. Dad wanted me to live with them to save money, but I needed to get away, so I took
out extra loans and moved into the dorms. The second I was gone, my stepmother packed up my things and put them in the basement,
turning my room into the guest room.”
The unspoken message couldn’t have been clearer—Ava had been a guest in her father’s home. He thought about Mikayla, who felt
comfortable enough to leave her slippers and hair ties and coffee mugs all over his apartment. He’d bet Ava never even left
so much as an earring out of place.
Ava unzipped a pouch that said “Keep Calm and Plan On” in gold script and pulled out a small purple ruler, which she used
to draw lines on a blank page.
“Enough about me. How did you get from telenovelas to...” She gestured around the plane. “Here?”
“That is a long and boring story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He shifted in his seat, and his back twinged in protest at sitting for so long. “To make it brief, I was bartending and applying
for jobs when I got the role on Recuerdos Peligrosos .”
“And that’s how you met Ashton.” She sent him a curious look. “Why didn’t you continue acting?”
He shrugged. “The money was nice, but the hours were grueling and my heart wasn’t in it. But it led to some voiceover work
for a few kids’ shows.”
“En espanol?”
He nodded. “Voice acting was easier and put money in my pocket faster. From there, I did some recording for a language learning app, which took off. Since I was also an early investor, I made more money, along with connections. Those led me into the hospitality business, and then the Dulce Hotel Group was born.”
“And the rum distillery?”
“A recent acquisition.” And mostly a labor of love, he thought wryly.
She opened her mouth like she wanted to ask more, but all she did was nod and return her attention to her planner.
The rest of the flight passed mostly in silence. Roman surreptitiously added the new information he’d learned about her to
his spreadsheet, and since they’d been talking about his work history, he jotted down notes for his book. It was hard to focus,
though, when he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Ava.
Three days. He had three full days to devote to winning her over.
Before the plane landed, Roman sent one last text to Camille.
Roman: Landing soon.
Camille: Noted. How’s the schoolteacher?
Roman: Ignoring me and playing with her planner.
Camille: Smart woman.
He’d broken down and told Camille about Ava after the engagement party. Camille had immediately whipped out his calendar. After clarifying that all his sudden nights off over the past few months had been spent with Ava, a knowing smile had spread across her face.
Roman had always refused to entertain the notion of doing less , but he wondered again if he wasn’t as essential to the day-to-day running of VQZ as he believed himself to be. So while
he was in Puerto Rico, he’d decided to run an experiment, and had instructed Camille to reach out only in the event of a true
emergency.
Ava was quiet as the plane landed, and she said nothing about the luxury SUV that was waiting for them. But when they drove
past the gate and into the driveway of Roman’s house in Ocean Park, she balked.
“I thought we were staying at the resort.”
“Why would we? I have a house, and the resort is in Condado. It’s easy to get to from here.”
She shot him a stern look. “I am not sharing a room with you.”
That strict teacher voice probably shouldn’t turn him on so fucking much, but it did.
“Ava.” He lowered his eyebrows and tried to mimic her serious tone. “There are six bedrooms. You can sleep in a different
one every night if you prefer.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, but she shook her head. “Really, it’s okay. I can stay at the resort. Didn’t Jasmine have
a room reserved?”
Roman went around to open Ava’s door before the driver could do it. “Ashton and Jasmine were going to stay here. It’s my home
when I’m visiting, and I let friends and family use it whenever they want.”
Ava stared up at the house. Roman glanced at it, taking in the cream- and sand-colored exterior walls, the terra-cotta roof, the glass balconies jutting out from the second story bedrooms, and the proliferation of surrounding palm trees. It was a far cry from the blocky peach concrete house where he’d spent his childhood in Bayamón.
“You want me to stick to your rules?” he murmured.
Her head whipped around to look at him. “What does that have to do with this?”
“You agreed that I could plan our evenings. I plan for you to stay here.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Evenings. Not nights.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Oscar, the man who maintained the house and served as butler when Roman was on the
island. Oscar was in his late fifties and medium height, with a trim graying beard, shaved head, and stylish round glasses.
His tan skin had yellow undertones, and he had a penchant for brightly patterned shirts. The one he currently wore was teal
with orange and pink roses.
Oscar greeted them in Spanish, and Roman made introductions. Ava switched over to Spanish to speak with him, and before long,
Oscar left to supervise the unloading of their bags.
Ava made a sound of distress. “I’m not even sure I’m staying here yet.”
“Let me show you something.” Roman led her through the house, with its pale tiled floors, high white walls, and sleek greige
furniture. The décor was kind of blah for his taste, but he hadn’t outfitted this place. Besides, the interior wasn’t the
draw. He slid open the glass doors that led onto the patio.
Ava gasped when she saw the pool, and Roman knew he had her. The turquoise water glittered in the sunlight, a cool and inviting counterpoint to the oppressive humidity in the air. Lounge chairs with marigold yellow cushions sat under striped umbrellas, and the side of the patio where they stood was furnished with a low table, two armchairs, a long sofa, and a round outdoor daybed adorned with a mountain of pillows. At the other end was a grill, bar, and counter with four high chairs. A hammock hung between the arches leading out to the pool. The wicker furniture was dark brown with teal cushions—not as fashionable as what was inside, but in Roman’s opinion, more comfortable. Above their heads, a ceiling fan stirred the thick air. The space wasn’t huge, but it was lush and private. High walls enclosed the yard, and thick foliage—a combination of hedges, palms, and ferns—made it cozy. It was his favorite part of the whole house.
Roman glanced over at Ava and caught the ripple of her throat as she swallowed.
“All right, I’ll stay,” she said.
Score! Out loud, he said, “Are you hungry? We have an on-site chef who can make whatever you want.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured, backing away. “I’m going to freshen up.”
“Sounds good.”
Roman led her to the only bedroom on the first floor. “This one is yours. If it doesn’t meet your needs, we can have your
bags moved to a different one.”
The room was decorated in white with turquoise accents. It held a king-size bed, low dresser, small writing desk, and chaise
lounge. The adjoining bathroom had both a large shower stall and a soaking tub, which was why he’d selected this room for
her. She’d once let it slip that while she enjoyed baths, the tub in her apartment was too small for her long-legged frame.
She gave the room a cursory glance and nodded. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Then she went inside, shutting the door behind her.
Roman stared at the door and sighed. What had he expected, an invitation? At the very least he was hoping she’d join him for
a bite to eat before their meetings. Maybe he could have the chef whip something up to entice her out.
But before he could check his spreadsheet for her favorite foods, his watch buzzed with an all-caps text from Camille.
Camille: URGENT. CALL NOW.
Roman groaned. “Already?”
The text was followed by two fire emojis. According to their code, one fire meant customer service issues, two was public
relations, three was personnel, four was financial, and five was a family emergency.
With a sigh, Roman pulled out his tablet and got to work putting out fires.