18. Vivian
Vivian
“ C ’mon, mi amor. Let’s go to bed.” Michael holds his hand out to me.
Everyone else left a while ago, and I’m browsing their ample library, drawn to the books in Spanish that have Cuba in the title.
French is similar enough that I was able to glean a few sentences here and there, as well as appreciate the black-and-white photos of the beautiful country dating back to pre-Castro days.
Michael kisses my wrist in that endearing way of his and starts to tug me toward the guest bedroom.
“Just a minute. I want to say thank you to your grandma.” Still have no idea what that story was about she was telling me earlier, but her enthusiasm was contagious and although I was slightly overwhelmed, I loved hearing the lilting words of another language.
Thankfully, she stuck to English for the rest of the evening and I was able to understand most everything that was said at dinner as Michael’s family switched easily between the two languages.
I find Paquita in the kitchen wiping down the counters yet again.
She seems to prefer this room over all of the others.
The way she bustles about, wiping down a counter here, straightening a towel there, reminds me of traditional homemaking.
Tonight’s feast was all her and Isabella’s doing.
Normally, I’d bristle at the thought of being stuck in stereotypical roles.
But here, in this house, the menfolk seem to really appreciate all their women do.
Saying thank you, praising how delicious the food is, and being physically affectionate, always touching each other.
Constantly! It might be a stroke of a hand here or a forehead kiss there, but I swear I saw Michael’s grandpa swat his wife on the butt when she passed by.
It’s like they can’t keep their hands off each other, even after years of marriage.
No wonder Michael is so touchy-feely if he grew up like this.
My childhood was nothing like this, but I’m finding I don’t mind the level of PDA. Michael’s touch can make me feel warm and cherished, or send pulses of lust racing through my body. But no matter how tender or intensely he reaches for me, with each brush of our skin, he makes me feel wanted.
Desired.
Like he’s proud to be seen with me. Like he wants to show me off. Like him declaring me as his girlfriend is a big deal.
Maybe it is.
But what was all that at dinner? His grandfather praying we’d get married soon?
What kind of crazy have I walked into?
I want to ask Michael but not here. Not under someone else’s roof. I mean, I’m in another city, and I rode up with him. If this leads to some sort of disagreement, it’s going to be one very awkward drive back home.
I’ll shelve that one for later. No matter how much I question it, it still feels incredible to be welcomed into the fold.
So I leave Michael to put our bags in the guest room and walk to the kitchen to express my appreciation.
“Ah, ninieta! You’re not in bed yet?” Paquita looks up at me, a warm smile taking over her face as she looks at me.
“I came to see if you needed any help. Aren’t you going to bed too?” I ask her.
“Pssh! It’s all taken care of.” She folds the dishcloth and lays it on the sink. “Sometimes, I just like to hang out in here. No one bothers me, you know?” She winks as she steers me toward a dining chair.
“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“ Está bien . You are not bothering me,” she reassures me, her gnarled hand squeezing mine in a way that reminds me of Michael.
Those hands have seen decades of work, and her grip is surprisingly strong.
“Listen, querida , I see the way my grandson looks at you.” My cheeks warm.
“He really cares for you. He’s never even brought anyone home to meet us before. ”
“He… hasn’t?” I whisper.
“Not a one. I mean, he’s dated, sure, but the only girls we saw him with were just dinner dates, out at prom, things like that. You are the only woman he’s ever brought to meet the family.”
She squeezes my hand again tightly, as if to emphasize her point.
“I see the way he looks at you. We all noticed it from the moment you two stepped in the door. He feels something deep for you, un amor intenso . So I am asking you, as his grandmother, be gentle with his heart. He is a strong young man, yes,” she continues.
“But he has also been through a lot. My daughter, his mama, when she got sick… well, it was a lot. He’s never complained once though, mind you.
” She nods her head firmly. I remember how he jumped immediately to help his mother through the door, got her situated and then prepared a plate for her.
As dinner progressed, he stayed in tune with her and anticipated her needs, giving his dad a break, I’m sure.
No wonder he takes care of me so well. He’s probably been doing that for a long time.
“His childhood was rough for a while, and he had to grow up a lot faster than most men. But he figured it out, made his own opportunities, his own success, happen. And now that he has let someone in, opened himself up to you… be good to him. Take care with his heart. Por favor, ” she says with a final squeeze.
“I care deeply about him too,” I quickly reassure her. “I really do. He’s incredible. This is all just…” My throat feels dry as I try to choose my words carefully lest I offend this very important woman in Michael’s life. “It’s been very fast, and I don’t understand—”
“You don’t have to understand everything, carino .
Some things are meant to be felt. And accepted.
It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone except the two of you.
” As I look into her eyes, the skin around them crinkled with years of experience and wisdom, I let her words sink in.
Could it really be that easy? Does it matter I’ve known him such a short time when I feel such a solid pull toward him? Like we’re irrevocably linked?
When I think of Michael’s words, his actions, the way he makes me feel…
he’s so certain. Solid. Unshakeable. When I’m with him I don’t question it, us, our connection.
It’s only when my thoughts intrude and my insecurities pipe up that I start to doubt him, myself, and my capacity for lifetime love.
“Mi amor?” a deep voice rumbles.
Speak of the handsome devil, there he is, one arm leaned against the kitchen doorframe, taut muscles visible even under the white t-shirt and lounge pants.
His eyes smolder as he takes me in, his voice low as he asks, “Are you coming to bed?” If we weren’t guests in this house, I know without a doubt that he would have swooped in and tossed me on the bed by this point, ready to have his way with me.
His grandma must pick up on it too, because she clears her throat as she looks sternly at him, and it does the trick of reminding him where we are.
“Sorry, Paquita,” he says, coming over and kissing the top of her head. “I thought you had already gone to sleep. And I was coming to find Vivian.” He looks over her head, his eyes raking over my body with pure lust. I can almost hear his unspoken question, “ And why aren’t you in my bed yet?”
“You can have your girl back, Miguel.” She takes his hand as he helps her up. “We were just talking. Remember what I said, Vivian.” She looks at me and I nod.
I will take her words to heart. Knowing I’ve made such an impact on my man in such a short time fills me not with dread, but with a desire to prove his trust has not been in vain.
Her admission of Michael’s vulnerabilities makes me feel protective of him.
I won’t take it lightly. I want to cherish him just as much as he does me.
“And you,” she pokes Michael in the chest. “ Complortate .” She fixes him with a stern look, but the gleam in her eyes betrays her.
“ Si, Paquita. Buenas noches .” They hug before she turns to walk down to her room, and again I’m warmed by the easy intimacy. Michael’s family shows their affection so openly. It’s so refreshing to see people be honest and true with each other. That’s the kind of closeness I crave.
Michael turns and prowls to me. There’s just no other way to describe his lithe, focused movements as his feet meet the tips of my toes and walk me back into the kitchen until my ass hits the counter.
Before I can register what’s happening in the darkened room, his hands cage me in on both sides, pressing our chests together as he dips his head and starts kissing and nipping behind my ear.
“So what were you and my grandmother talking about?” he whispers huskily as he drags his tongue over the shell of my ear.
Shivering, I can barely squeak out, “Nothing,” as my body trembles beneath his touch. His hand cradles my head, fingers threading through my hair as he plants kisses down the line of my jaw, finally reaching my mouth.
“Nothing?” he breathes against my lips. My mouth parts, desperate for him.
We’re so close but not close enough, breathing in each other’s air, barely an inch apart.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
I try to kiss him, but it’s futile, he pulls away just out of reach.
His eyes are so dark with lust, I can barely see the gold flecks in them.
“It didn’t sound like ‘nothing.’” His thumb traces over my cheekbone as his other hand gently caresses my hair, massaging my scalp.
Damn it feels too good. I crave his mouth, need to feel his lips consume and destroy me, but he’s pinning me in place and I realize he’s not going to relent until I answer.
“She… she said you never brought a girl home before,” I whisper.