14. Marisol
Marisol
D on’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Marisol repeated the mantra all the way through the busy restaurant and out to Cisco’s car, which he mercifully left unlocked. She felt the eyes of everyone she passed bore into her, judging her every move.
Who saw that altercation? How was Archie going to spin this one? What did Cisco think of her?
The first tear rolled down her cheek. Followed by another and another until she couldn’t hold back the dam any longer. Silent sobs racked her body as she clutched Snowball to her chest like a life support. Her cat purred once, licking Marisol’s face. It was both gross and strangely comforting.
Every time she thought she found something good in her life, there was always someone else there to pull the rug out from under her.
To remind her that she had very little autonomy when it came to her own life and future.
There was always someone else pulling the strings like a puppet master, and she had no choice but to go along with it. It was just easier that way .
Archie was a man who thrived on control—meticulous, calculating, and unwilling to let anything slip through his fingers. He cared about appearances just as much as her mother did, maybe even more. It was one of the reasons she suspected he was deliberately dragging out the divorce.
The Roberts name wasn’t just a name; it was a legacy, a symbol of power and prestige that carried weight in their community.
Being tied to the family meant influence, doors opening that otherwise remained closed, and a level of respect that couldn’t be bought—only inherited.
Before Archie married into the Roberts family, he was just another wealthy man, someone with money but no real standing among the elite.
But now? Now he was a wealthy man with connections, someone whose presence commanded attention simply because of the name he was attached to.
And he wasn’t about to give that up. Letting her go meant losing his grip on the very thing that had elevated him beyond just another rich businessman. Prestige, power, influence—it was all wrapped up in his marriage to her, and Archie would fight tooth and nail before he let any of it slip away.
Marisol wasn’t sure how long she had been alone, but when she heard the door open to her left, she quickly dabbed at her eyes.
It did little to hide the fact that she had been crying.
Her makeup was a lost cause at this point; she just hoped she didn’t look like a clown. She certainly felt like one.
Cisco got in, the car instantly filling with his piney scent, but also the Italian herbs and marinara from the pizza. He leaned back to place the pizza in the small back seat. How he found a spot that wasn’t cluttered with her cat purchases, she didn’t know.
The silence hung heavy between them when he turned back around to grip the steering wheel.
She knew she should say something. Anything to defuse the tension and explain herself, but the words wouldn’t come.
She was scared and didn’t like this feeling one bit.
Things were quickly spiraling out of control, and she no longer had the reins on this situation.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re married?”
They spoke at once, both meeting the gaze of the other. Marisol couldn’t make out what Cisco was thinking. He wore a mask of indifference. The only sign that pointed to his anger was the way he gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were turning white.
Her story with Archie was a long, complicated one that she rarely got into with anyone other than Alice.
Mostly because she knew Alice couldn’t judge her and wouldn’t share her story with anyone else.
Not that she was worried Cisco would share her story with others, but it didn’t make it any easier to talk about.
She should have told him about Archie before she agreed to the first date.
The fear of him turning her down immobilized her.
“Technically? Yes,” she whispered, just as Cisco cursed in Spanish under his breath. His mask slipped, and she could see the anger and hurt displayed on his face. It spurred her on to say more because she couldn’t have Cisco getting the wrong impression of her.
“But we have been separated for two years. Married for three. Honestly? I wanted to divorce him the moment we married, but I stayed with him one year out of fear. Fear about what others would think.” By others, she meant her mother. Always her mother.
“The moment I asked for a divorce, I signed the papers. He has yet to sign anything because it wouldn’t look good for his image,” Marisol said, tears prickling her eyes once again.
“I’m working with my lawyer to finally be rid of him, but Archie is a powerful man, and my mother adores him.
She doesn’t want me to divorce him because it would look bad on the family, and my hands are tied, Cisco.
I’m trying so hard to be free of him, but I feel like I’m the only one fighting for me. ”
The heaviness settled in her chest, and she felt like she could no longer breathe.
She didn’t want to cry. Not in front of Cisco or anyone who wasn’t Alice.
She had to be composed. Proper. Perfect.
Never let anyone see that mask slipping.
Those were the words her mother beat into her brain over and over throughout her life.
But a person could only take so much. Be told how to feel and act for so long until something inside of them fundamentally broke.
She refused to cry in front of anyone. She hated showing that level of vulnerability, but to her absolute horror, tears flowed freely down her face again.
The more she tried to fight them, the harder they fell.
“Fuck, Marisol…” Cisco’s concerned voice rang out. At least she thought he sounded concerned. She couldn’t be certain because she didn’t want to spare a glance and risk crying even harder.
Stop. Fucking. Crying.
Muscular tattooed arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a hard chest. Snowball hissed before jumping from Marisol’s arms to sit on the dash, tail swatting at the window. She melted into the embrace. When was the last time someone hugged her while she cried? Too fucking long ago.
“I’m sorry, Princesa. Do you want me to go back in there and punch his fucking face?” Cisco asked in all seriousness.
It was such a wild and violent thought that Marisol couldn’t help but laugh.
It was borderline hysterical, but she chose to ignore that.
“As appealing as that sounds, the fallout wouldn’t be worth it.
” Maybe. Probably. Though it would make her feel a lot better to see someone punch Archie in his too-perfect nose.
Give his plastic surgeon a run for his money.
Finally, mercifully, the tears stopped. Cisco’s hand ran up and down her back in comforting strokes.
She felt his hot breaths against her shoulder.
There was no reason for that to turn her on, but something coiled low in her belly.
Heat rushed her body in every place that Cisco touched her.
She had just been crying over her ex-husband, and now she was practically purring for Cisco.
Maybe she truly was as broken as she thought.
Cisco pulled back a moment later, keeping his hands on her shoulder.
She could only imagine what she looked like to him.
But the way Cisco looked at her had her forgetting about everything wrong with her appearance.
He looked at her like she held the secrets of the universe, with reverence and awe.
Who knew it took a girl crying to get that kind of look from a man?
Maybe she needed to rethink her whole no crying thing.
“Does he bother you often?” Cisco asked, still searching her face for answers.
Marisol just shrugged. “Only when it’s convenient for him and inconvenient for me.
Like now.” She was playing it down. Some weeks she would hear from him every day.
Sometimes she would go days without hearing from him, and she would think he was finally giving up, but then he or her mother would try to rope her back in.
“I’m sorry, Cisco. I should have told you. This was not how I wanted you to find out. And his behavior was awful. I’m so sorry?—”
“Nah, Princesa, you don’t apologize to me for a man’s behavior. If he does anything to upset you or try to take advantage of you, you tell me.” Cisco looked intensely at her, making Marisol blush.
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeated. Cisco let his hands linger on her side a moment longer before wiping the last few remaining tears from her face. “Now, I’m going to take you back to your car, and then I’ll follow you home so you can boss me around. Sound good?”
How could she say no to that?
“I don’t like it there. Try moving it back to where it was.
It’s growing on me now,” Marisol mumbled, holding her hand over her mouth to hide her chewing.
Cisco was right: the pizza was amazing, and Marisol was indulging in her second piece—a luxury she often denied herself—while bossing Cisco around in her home.
He was the one who asked for it. She simply obliged.
Plus, she couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles strained against the tight fabric of his shirt.
Or the way his shirt would ride up, exposing the delicious abs he hid underneath his clothes.
For all of Archie’s faults, he kept up with his body, but it paled in comparison to the quick glimpses she got of Cisco.
Honestly, she didn’t care where the damn cat tower went. She just enjoyed the free show Cisco was unknowingly putting on.
After the run-in with Archie, she was convinced Cisco would be done with her. She couldn’t even blame him. Who would want the type of baggage she brought with her? Archie was…a lot. And so was her mother, though he didn’t know that yet.