Chapter 28
For the next few hours, Roman did everything in his power to make up for how he’d treated Ava the day before. Instead of rushing
around the resort, he and Ava sat with Belinda in her office and reviewed everything, along with Ava’s notes from Jasmine.
Belinda was impressed by Ava’s thorough planning and said her job would be a lot easier if all her clients had such a clear
vision of what they wanted.
“Jasmine is lucky to have you as her maid of honor,” Belinda said before they left for the florist. “This is above and beyond.”
Ava blushed and thanked her, but Roman felt a trickle of unease he couldn’t quite decipher.
On the short drive from the resort to the florist’s shop in Old San Juan, Ava received calls and texts from no fewer than
four family members wanting a piece of her. After the last one, where she reminded someone named Ronnie that she was in Puerto
Rico and could not, therefore, babysit that night, Roman took a chance.
“How about we turn our phones off for the rest of the trip?” he suggested. “It’s the only way we’re going to be able to focus.”
She gave him a look of surprise. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Camille can handle whatever comes up.” The thought of being incommunicado should have terrified him more than it did. “Come on. I’ll do it if you will.”
After a glance at her phone screen—which had just lit up with another text from Olympia—Ava nodded. “All right.”
Ava turned her phone off and stuffed it in her bag. Roman shot Camille a text letting her know what he was doing.
Roman: You’re in charge.
Camille: Excellent.
She added the purple devil horns emoji and Roman couldn’t help smiling.
The floral designer, Manu—chosen by Ava, after copious amounts of research—was tall and slender, with russet brown skin, intelligent
dark eyes, and black hair cut short and choppy. Manu met them at an event planner showroom with a reception area Roman could
only describe as ostentatious, with geometric chrome and black leather furniture, furry throw pillows that looked like they
wanted to shed on his pants, and too many animal horns. The walls that didn’t display enormous photos of Latin women with
flowers in their hair were lined with vases of every size, shape, and material. Roman had his misgivings about this place,
but Manu wore a simple dove gray silk top and straight black slacks, and they didn’t seem to be responsible for the office
décor. Besides, Belinda had confirmed that Manu knew their stuff when it came to modern floral arrangements.
Manu led them to a larger back room that held an assorted selection of chairs and tables. They assembled around a high-top table with three different bar stools pulled up to it. This time, Roman let Ava take the lead. Ava asked lots of questions and listened carefully to the answers, and she seemed to have a firm grasp of florist lingo. They discussed line and shape, negative space, and filler. Ava had extensive mood boards, which seemed to delight Manu, who showed a variety of options and even sketched directly on their tablet. When Ava showed Manu pictures of the centerpieces she’d created for her grandmother’s eightieth birthday and the arrangement she’d made for her aunt’s retirement party, the designer praised Ava’s eye for form and texture.
Roman’s unease deepened.
“Can I see your planner?” he asked. Ava handed him the binder absent-mindedly while continuing to deliberate over how large
was too large when it came to bridal bouquets.
Roman flipped through the pages, taking note of Ava’s precise, sloping cursive, as well as some sections that were written
in a looping brush script.
He recognized that script, and not just because he’d looked through her planner on the plane.
While Manu was off selecting vases, Roman returned to Ava’s side.
“Did you hand-letter the addresses on the envelopes for the wedding invitations?” he asked.
She glanced up from a catalog open to photos of monstera leaves. “Hmm? Oh, yes. I did.”
“Did Jasmine pay you for it?”
Ava’s eyes widened in indignation. “Of course not. She’s family.”
With his mouth set in a grim line, Roman handed back the planner and paced through the aisles formed by mismatched furniture.
It was becoming increasingly clear to him that this trip was yet another way Ava’s family took her for granted. It wasn’t just painting chairs and playing therapist for her stepmother, cooking and cleaning for her grandmother, checking her sister’s homework, or babysitting for her cousins. Her commitment to being maid of honor and making this wedding “perfect,” as she’d said the day before, was just another way she was failing to have anything resembling healthy boundaries with her loved ones. Yes, Ava had offered to be here in Jasmine’s stead, but as Belinda had observed, this was above and beyond.
Except he couldn’t bring that to her attention without betraying his own role as best man. Besides, he could just imagine
how Ava would respond. And between his behavior yesterday and her emotional withdrawal after their impromptu shower interlude,
he had pushed her enough for now.
God, that shower. He’d been trying not to think about it because whenever he recalled the way she’d reached out to him and
said, “Come here,” he got hard all over again. Being inside her, coming inside her, with nothing between them, had been the purest form of ecstasy he’d experienced in all his forty-one years. Despite
the way she’d pulled back afterward, her actions revealed a level of trust that humbled him. She’d probably scared herself
shitless, and he’d have to tread carefully to keep her from retreating further. It was his turn to reciprocate.
Ashton had said that Roman needed to show Ava who he really was instead of throwing his money around. She’d seen four of his
hotel properties already. She’d been to his home. There was something else he could show her while they were here on the island,
and while he wanted it to be a surprise, he’d learned his lesson about keeping things hidden from her.
As they climbed into the SUV parked at the curb, Ava sent him an apprehensive look.
“Our schedule says we’re going to meet with a master mixologist to develop the wedding’s signature cocktail, but it doesn’t say where,” she said. “I assume you know?”
“I do. I wanted it to be a surprise, but—”
“It’s okay,” she cut in, giving him a small smile. “It’s all right if you surprise me.”
He held her gaze across the seat, then nodded. He wanted to do more. He wanted to pull her across the bench and kiss her,
but he understood this for what it was: she was forgiving him for yesterday.
Something in his chest eased, a tightness he hadn’t realized was there until it was gone. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand
to have her mad at him—she was entitled to her emotions, and lord knew he deserved her ire—but he hated that he’d made her
feel like anything less than the brilliant, beautiful woman she was. Today he’d set out to show her that he valued her thoughts
and feelings, and while he still felt like he had some groveling to do, he’d take her peace offering. And since he didn’t
want to ruin it by saying, “I think your cousin and my best friend are taking advantage of you,” he kept the revelation to
himself. Instead, he vowed to make the rest of their trip as low-stress and vacation-like as possible.
The car wound its way west toward Bayamón, and as always, Roman was struck with the sense of coming home. This was where he’d
spent his childhood and the summers of his youth. Surrounded by his grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, he’d felt grounded,
safe, part of something bigger, in a way he hadn’t in Brooklyn. New York City would always be his home base, but this place
called to the boy he’d once been, the boy who still lived inside him somewhere.
The car turned a corner and the buildings that housed Casa Donato came into view. Next to him, Ava made a small gasp. Roman bit back a smile.
She peered out the window as the car rolled to a stop in front of a hundred-year-old white house with terra-cotta roof tiles
and an outdoor walkway framed by arches and simple columns. On the other side of the property sprawled a low concrete building
marked with the Casa Donato logo. Next to it, a newer wooden structure housed the museum, gift shop, bar, and mixology classroom.
Overall, Casa Donato was a smaller operation, not on the scale of distilleries like Don Q on the southern end of the island
or Bacardi to the north. But to Roman, it felt homey and inviting, like it had when he was a child.
The driver opened Ava’s door and helped her out. Roman exited the car and rounded the hood to stand next to her, where she
gaped at the Casa Donato sign.
“This is where your rum is made,” she said, sounding a little awestruck. He wondered if, like him, she was remembering the
night they’d met.
“It is.” He looked toward the house, shielding his eyes from the sun. “They were going to shut this place down. Or sell it
to a bigger company who would commercialize it.”
“So you saved it.”
“I bought it, under the condition that their master blender stayed on. I think you’ll like her. She’s a genius.”
“And you didn’t commercialize it?”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the way she was trying to frame him as some sort of savior instead of a guy with too much
money and the privilege of indulging his whims. “Introduced a few new products. Made some small upgrades. But for the most
part, they’re making rum the same way they did when my grandfather started working here in the fifties.”
She paused mid-step. “Your grandfather? Did your family own it?”
He huffed out a laugh. “No, we didn’t have that kind of money. It’s been run by the Donato family for a hundred years.”
“But this is where your family is from?”
“My mother’s family, yes. I was born in Brooklyn, and after my dad left, my mom came back here and we lived with her parents
until I was five. My grandfather brought me here sometimes. I grew up among these barrels.”
Ava’s stunning eyes searched his face, and after a moment, she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Show me.”
Inside, they met up with Joaquín, one of the Donato sons who still worked there. He was around sixty now, with a ruddy complexion,
stocky build, and close-cropped gray hair. He wore black jeans, sneakers, and a navy-blue polo shirt with the Casa Donato
logo. Joaquín was the only remaining person who remembered seeing little Roman running around, and while Joaquín no longer
led the tours, Roman had asked him to do this one as a special favor.
Joaquín began in the museum, where he recounted the history of Casa Donato. Then he brought them into the distillery, where
he showed Ava the still and explained the process of making rum. He took them through the rows of stacked barrels, where the
scents of oak and alcohol and molasses brought Roman back to his youth. Ava asked lots of questions and Roman could tell the
older man was delighted by her interest in the subject. When she wasn’t looking, Joaquín shot him an approving grin.
After the tour was over, Ava clapped and Joaquín gave a little bow.
“This is where I leave you,” he said, and nodded to Roman. “You know your way around. Estrella will meet you when you’re ready.”
Roman thanked him, then led Ava back through the rows of barrels. He gazed up to the high, shadowed ceiling and breathed in
the familiar, comforting scents. “This was my favorite spot,” he mused. “When I was a kid.”
Her head tilted with curiosity. “Why?”
He shrugged. “It just felt so old. But it was also cool and quiet. They let me run up and down the rows, after making me promise
not to knock anything over. I never did.”
“It’s sweet that your grandfather brought you to work with him. Do your grandparents still live around here?”
“They passed away two years ago. My grandfather first, and my grandmother within the year.”
“I’m sorry. You must miss them.”
“I do, but I’m grateful I had the time with them that I did. And that I was able to make their later years more comfortable.”
“I’m sure they were proud of you.”
Her words, uttered softly, hit him square in the chest. He had to swallow a lump in his throat as he remembered his grandparents’
reaction to the house he’d built for them. His grandmother had cried, and his grandfather hadn’t wanted to accept.
You took care of me when I was small , Roman had told him. Please let me take care of you . And then his grandmother had seen the size of the kitchen, and that was it for the objections.
“Yeah,” he said, voice tight. “They were.”
“This place is special.” She ran her fingertips over the wooden staves forming the side of a barrel. “It’s another piece of
you.”
“It’s personal,” he admitted. “More than the hotels.”
She nodded, her expression serious. “I can see that.”
“Everything I’ve done... it’s all been for my family.” Ashton had told him to let Ava see him, to open up. It was time
to take the risk of revealing more. In doing so, he was letting her in. And then maybe she would let him in.
So he told her about his mother, about his family in Puerto Rico, about growing up in Brooklyn. He told her about his stepfather,
about his sister, Through it all, Ava listened, her hazel eyes solemn.
“That’s why,” he finally said. “That’s why I work so much. My family is my highest priority. I want to know that if I died
tomorrow, they’d be taken care of for the rest of their lives.”
“But the distillery,” Ava said. “This is for you.”
He nodded. It was amazing how clearly she saw him, and what this place meant to him. A connection to his family’s home, to
his childhood, to his past, but also preserving a piece of history while doing right for the future. Something he could preserve
and put his mark on at the same time.
“Some of my associates have told me it’s a waste of resources,” he admitted, looking around. “But I don’t care. It’s valuable
to me .”
She took his hand. “Thank you for showing me.”
He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “There’s one more surprise. Come on.”