13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Vicente Godoy
T he happiness on Camila’s face when I told her she could take the afternoon off was the only thing that kept me from punching Owen in the throat.
Has he always been such an arsehole, or am I just noticing it?
I know I’m no saint, but fuck , I’d never talk about an ex the way he did about Camila—especially now that he’s married.
I park in front of Onyx, and Owen parks right behind me. I'm glad he suggested we come blow off some steam. That way, he can’t blame me for leaving his face a bloody mess.
By the time I’m changed, gloves on and mouthguard in place, Owen joins me in the ring.
“So you couldn’t wait, huh?” he asks as he throws the first punch.
“I wait for no one, and you know it.”
I do a one-two punch combo that he avoids easily.
Fucker.
I need to be less predictable.
“So, wait a minute, let me get this straight,” he says, punching me in the gut, and I feel the air leave my lungs.
“Are you pissed because I used to fuck your assistant?”
That does it.
I push him against the ropes and wipe the smirk off his face by punching him mercilessly in his ribs.
The fucker laughs, and I hit him harder.
I’m blinded by fury—is this a game to him?
He breaks free from where I had him caged in and walks around, breathing heavily.
“That’s right, Camila is one sexy little thing,” he says smirking, showing me his mouthguard.
And that’s exactly where I punch him.
“Fuck,” he says after blood spills from his mouth. “She was an English as a second language student when I met her, and she actually thought I wanted a real relationship with her.”
He scoffs. “She’s a delicious fuck toy, but something serious? As if I would marry a foreigner.”
Is that how he sees me too? An alien?
Fuck that .
Camila is an exceptional woman. He doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her.
Right then and there, I decide I’m done with this friendship.
I hit Owen in the ribs, hard enough to hear a crack.
He shouts in pain, clutching his middle as he slides slowly to the ground.
“You don’t deserve to speak her name. Camila is way too much of a woman for you. Stay away from us, or that won’t be the last bone I break,” I say.
He continues whining in pain. “You twat! You broke my rib,” he spits out as some of the people who were training nearby come over to see what’s going on.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” I mutter, already heading back to the locker room.
Before taking a shower, the urge to check on Camila takes over me, and before I can think better of it, I dial her number.
“Boss?” she answers, and I breathe a little easier.
“Yes, hi.” I clear my throat, trying to play it cool.
Who would have thought this woman would make me nervous?
“Ms. Flores, I just wanted to check on you. How are you feeling?”
What was that about?
Yes, I’ve definitely become an idiot when she’s involved.
“Um, I’m fine. Thanks?” she replies, clearly just as confused as I am.
“Right, great to hear. Have a good weekend.”
And like a complete moron, I disconnect the call before I can keep making an arse out of myself.
I take a shower and change before calling an ambulance on my way out.
Sliding into my car, I start driving without thinking. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I make the next call.
The phone rings twice before I hear a familiar voice.
“Son, what a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
“If your ultimate goal was to sell the vineyard, why did you tell me you’d give me time to think about it?” I say in lieu of a greeting.
I can’t believe he would talk about selling the vineyard behind my back. I hear him sigh on the line, and my heart squeezes.
Was he counting on me not hearing about it?
“You might be an adult, but I’m your father, and you’ll refer to me with respect,” he says, his voice stern.
I take a deep breath as I squeeze the wheel and accelerate.
“Father, hello. How are you? It just came to my attention that there’s a rumor that you are selling the vineyard. I thought I had until August to give you an answer. It’s only March,” I say slowly, trying to calm myself down as I speak.
“Son, I’m just covering my bases. That’s all. I simply put out some feelers in case I had to sell the hacienda, it shouldn’t come as a surprise,” he answers simply.
That irritates me more than it should.
“Well, as it turns out, it did catch me by surprise,” I say with a sigh.
No matter how much I think I understand him, there’s still so much to learn.
“I agree that perhaps I should have warned you, but there was no doubt in my mind you would always have the first option. I was just trying to put a plan B in place.”
As a seasoned businessman, I know that was the right move. I just never thought I’d have real competition while trying to come up with a plan to find a wife and inherit the vineyard.
“I understand where you’re coming from, but now people will speculate the vineyard is in trouble and will offer you less,” I explain, breathing easier.
“But if you’re so sure you’ll keep the vineyard, then what do you care about speculation? We can shrug it off as a misunderstanding.”
“You’re right, Father. You’re always right,” I say, not feeling the need to fight with him anymore.
I just need to focus on convincing him I’m the best option to take charge of the hacienda.
I continue driving around the city until I start feeling tired, the weight of the day finally setting in.
I decide to be smart and drive home before I can do more stupid shit—like fall asleep at the wheel.
I’m not going to get any sleep until I check on Camila again. I know I’ve been horrible with her, but when I heard Owen speaking so filthy about her, I couldn’t bear it.
Vicente : Camila, are you sure you’re okay?
I wait a few minutes, staring at the screen—willing her to reply.
It’s the second time I've checked on her tonight, and I know I should back off. But I can’t shake the unease sitting heavy in my chest.
The message remains unread, and after ten minutes, I give up and head to my home gym to blow off some steam.
When I get to my office, the first thing I notice is that Camila is nowhere to be found.
Fuck. Did she quit?
I grab my phone and check our text thread, my message still shows as delivered but not read.
I head back to the reception and ask, “Ms. Smith, have you seen Ms. Flores this morning?”
Samantha rearranges her head piece as she shakes her head.
“Do we have her address on file?”
She clicks the keyboard a few times and jots down the address on a piece of paper before handing it to me.
I murmur my thanks and head back to my car.
Camila lives in the Sutton borough of London. It takes me well over an hour to arrive at her address—I can’t imagine how long it takes her on the Tube.
I’m such an arsehole, making her go to work so early.
I park in front of her building, and it strikes me how humble it looks. A three-story structure with some sort of shop on the first level. To the left—a red door that I assume leads to her flat.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, given she’s a single mum who once sold cookies to keep a roof over their heads, but this? This is just gloomy. I just hope the inside looks better than the outside.
Her apartment is on the third floor. No lift. I take the stairs two at a time. When I reach the door—3H—I inhale a deep, calming breath.
There’s no doorbell so I knock. Once. Twice.
Nothing.
Fear starts spreading through me.
Is she hurt?
Who would help her and her child?
Aren’t they alone?
I’m about to knock for a third time when the door cracks open—just the tiniest bit. I don’t see anyone. Then I glance down.
A single, wide brown eye looks up at me.
Her daughter.
Something inside me flinches.
“Is Camila home?” I ask.
The little girl opens the door a little bit more and nods her head.
“I’m Vicente Godoy,” I say and immediately regret it. There’s no way her daughter would know my name. “I’m her boss,” I add instead.
Her eyes go wide. “Boss Man, I’m Ava Flores,” she announces, opening the door for me as she puts a finger to her mouth.
I imitate her and tiptoe into the apartment. The moment I’m inside, I’m met with a much nicer picture than the gloomy outside.
The walls are bright white, decorated with what I assume are paintings made by Ava. There’s a photo of a younger Camila holding a baby in a hospital bed—it might be the first picture of them together. She looks tired, with dark circles under her eyes, but she’s beaming at the tiny baby in her arms.
Something about this place tugs at me. It’s nothing fancy, but it seems warm and homey—lived-in. Completely different from my perfectly sterile, meticulously decorated home.
Ava walks to the sofa, and that’s when I notice a limp. Her right hand is also wrapped in bandages.
What happened?
When she takes a seat, I do the same.
“Mummy is asleep. It’s my fault she isn’t at work today,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes fill with unshed tears, and something inside me cracks wide open.
Nothing in this world—nothing—has ever made me feel this weak and helpless.
I offer her my hand, and she takes it without hesitation.
“What happened?” I ask in my most gentle voice.
“Mummy took me to the park yesterday, and I was feeding the swans,” she says with a bright smile. “Then, I really wanted to see if I could run as fast as the swans could fly, like this.”
She jumps up from the sofa and starts running in place, swinging her arms to match the movement of her legs. But the moment she winces, she quickly takes a seat back on the sofa.
“But then I tripped and fell,” she continues, her voice growing smaller. “And I got two big boo-boos.”
He lower lip quivers, and it takes all the self-control I possess not to hug her and tell her that everything is going to be okay.
How bad could the fall have been? Nothing seems to be broken.
As if she’s reading my mind, she starts speaking again.
“I have a disease. My blood isn’t good, so whenever I get boo-boos, they take a while to heal.”
Fuck.
I can’t imagine what Camila went through yesterday and last night with this sweet angel being hurt. And the thought of this most likely not being the first time they’re going through this breaks my heart in two.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, and the little girl looks at me with rapt attention. “Why don’t I make you breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”
She shakes her head no.
“And then we can watch a movie while we let Mummy rest,” I add.
She frowns at my plan, and for a moment I feel like a failure. Dealing with children is harder than I thought.
“What is it?”
“I thought you were a dicktator ,” she says with her sweet voice.
The moment the word registers in my brain, I bark out a laugh.
Dicktator ? Yeah, I deserve that nickname. I have been a dick to Camila.
“Ava, sweetie. Is everything okay?”
Camila’s sleepy voice drifts from her bedroom, and the moment she sees me on her sofa, her eyes go wide.
She’s wide awake now.
“Mr. Godoy, what are you doing here?”
And fuck if my eyes don’t drop immediately to her chest—her tank top doing nothing to hide the way her perky nipples press against the fabric.
Damn . A perfect handful.
I clear my throat and avert my gaze before responding. “Ms. Flores. Good morning. Given that you didn’t answer my text and didn’t show up to work, I came to see if you were okay,” I say as I stand up, and her eyes follow me the entire time.
“Then, Ava here, filled me in on everything that happened yesterday.”
Camila shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Ava, how many times have I told you it’s not safe to open the door to strangers?” Her tone is firm.
I don’t want Ava to get scolded because of me, but before I can open my mouth, she starts speaking.
“But Mummy, he’s not a stranger. He’s your boss man.” Ava raises her eyebrows for emphasis.
Then, covering her mouth with both hands, she whispers, “You know, the dicktator .”
My laugh is unabashedly loud, and even Camila joins me—though not before swiftly covering her chest with her arm, like it finally registered that she was giving me a show.
She’s gorgeous, and the blush that creeps up her face makes her even more beautiful.
God, this past twenty-four hours have been the strangest of my life.
“I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Godoy. I’ll be ready in no time,” she says, quickly regaining her composure.
“Nonsense. You and Ava need some rest. I was just about to start making breakfast,” I say.
The confusion on Camila’s face is almost comical. I’d be confused too. I’ve been nothing but an arsehole to her, but these past few days—and meeting Ava—have me all soft and in my feelings.
There will be time later to explain, for now I need them both to rest.
“It’s fine. Trust me, my finances won’t crash if we take one day off,” I say , guiding her to the sofa.
Her hand feels so small in mine, but her grip is strong. That would be a perfect description of Camila—soft exterior but with a steel core.
As I help her sit beside a very smiley Ava—who pats her arm in a calming way—I catch a whiff of vanilla and oranges in her hair.
Bright and fruity.
I like it. I like it a lot.
I remove my jacket and hang it by the front door, then proceed to remove my cufflinks and roll up my sleeves.
Here I am about to prepare breakfast for one of my employees and her daughter when I haven’t cooked for myself in years. If I ever told Gabo or even Gio, I would never hear the end of it.
“Is this really happening?” Camila asks.
When I glance at her, she’s under a blanket with Ava, who’s in command of the TV remote.
I smile instead of replying, mostly because I don’t even know what to say.
She looks so happy and at ease with her daughter.
It reminds me of my childhood—of how happy I was spending time with my mother. My father was always busy with the vineyard. Even on Sunday’s, he worked. But Mother was always there for me and my siblings.
Would I be like my father? Always busy and neglecting my family? Is that what I want?
No, it is not. If I have kids, I want to be present in their lives.
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away. I don’t even have a wife—when am I going to have kids?
My gaze moves back to Camila and Ava, and a smile spreads across my lips.
Before I can think things through—and backtrack on my offer to take the day off—I get to work in the kitchen.
Orange juice and coffee are the first things I serve, setting them on their small dining table. Then I grab eggs from the fridge and scramble them up.
Her kitchen might be small, but everything is perfectly organized—I find the pan easily, so I throw some bread into the toaster while slicing apples and strawberries.
“Ladies, your food is served,” I say with a smile as I walk into the living room, feeling prouder of myself than I probably should for simply making breakfast.
Ava bolts from her spot, but instead of rushing to the dining table, she goes straight to the bathroom. A moment later, I hear water running.
What an amazing kid.
When I was Ava’s age, my mother always had to scold me to wash my hands before sitting down to eat. From the little I’ve seen, it’s remarkable the way Camila has raised her.
Camila looks at me under her lashes, and I inhale deep, but my dick still jerks in response. I think if I'd seen her in person on her first day of work, I wouldn’t have gone to Chile.
I’m just so drawn to her—like the moon pulls the tide. Effortless. Impossible to resist. Inevitable.
“Oh, Mr. Godoy. Did you cook for us? Is this really happening?” She asks as she sees the table full of food.
I chuckle before replying, “Yes, Ms. Flores. It’s really happening.”
I grab her arm, and I feel a tingling sensation in my hand, warmth spreading through me.
Am I going crazy?
Before I can dive too much in my own thoughts, Ava is back, and we all take a seat at the table.
“This is so good. Thank you, Boss Man,” she says.
I smile at her and look at Camila, who hasn’t touched her food yet.
I frown. "Is everything okay, Ms. Flores?”
Her eyes immediately connect with mine, and I can see a storm brewing in her dark gaze.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Godoy. But all this is so confusing to me. I just don’t understand your kindness.” Her voice remains neutral, but she’s on the verge of tears.
Looking at Ava, I say, “I’m the one who needs to apologize for the way I’ve behaved since you started working for me. I have no excuse—just a big apology.”
I take a deep breath before continuing. “And today…” I exhale slowly, shaking my head.
“Today has been magical. Eye-opening.” I say honestly.
Ava grins at me, and when I look at Camila, her eyes are now calm and bright, trained on her daughter.
She gets it—Ava is pure magic.
Camila starts eating, and before I know it, we’re done with breakfast.
Ava tells us to relax while she takes the plates to the kitchen.
I nod my agreement and look marveled at how this tiny human is so amazing and full of life.
“So, what movie would you like to watch, Boss Man?” Ava asks.
Camila responds for me. “Sweetie, we have taken a lot of time from Mr. Godoy’s day as it is. I think he needs to get going.”
I raise an eyebrow, and she blushes.
“Please, call me Vicente,” I say gently.
Camila presses her lips together as she nods.
“And since I cleared my schedule for the day, I would love to stay. But that’s up to you, Camila.”
Ava puts her hands together like she’s praying. “Mummy, please say yes. Pretty, please.”
Camila sighs, but a gorgeous smile spreads her lips. “Okay, if Vicente,” she says, then pauses, testing my name.
And damn , I love the way it sounds on her lips.
“If Vicente is okay with it, he’s welcome to stay.”
Ava does a little dance, and I chuckle.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change before we choose a movie.”
Camila disappears into her room, and Ava holds my hand, walking me to the sofa. Her little hand is warm, and for a moment, it feels like I’ve held her hand her entire life. It feels right, and that thought startles me.
None of my friends have kids. They’re either married to their jobs or, if they are actually married, they’ve chosen not to have kids. The only person I know who wants kids, is my sister who’s pregnant at the moment.
I have zero experience with children—but so far, spending time with Ava has been a joy.
“Thank you for agreeing to stay, Boss Man.”
I smile, again unable to form a full sentence. “My pleasure.”
Camila comes out of her room wearing black yoga pants and an oversized pink sweater, her hair in a messy bun on top.
Ava moves away from me and pats the space she vacated for her mum to sit down. Camila thinks about it for a moment, but takes a seat before her daughter can say anything.
I move a little to give her space, but her scent invades my nostrils—soft and sweet.
Just like her.
It’s going to be torture sitting so close to her and not being able to touch her.
We start watching Encanto , and Ava dances in her seat the entire time.
“So you’re Colombian?” I ask in a quiet voice.
Camila smiles at me and nods. “Yes, I was born in Barbosa, a small town north of Medellín.”
I nod as I think about Colombia. Medellín is one of the largest cities in the country, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s in the mountains—like Alamo Peaks.
“Well, I’m sure you know I’m Chilean,” I say.
She gives me a blinding smile. “Yes, I mean—you’re my boss. I’m supposed to know a few things about you.”
I’m about to press for more—I’m determined to learn as much as I can before the day is over.
Why did she move here? Why did she stay if Ava’s father passed? Was he also Colombian?
Before I can say anything, Ava shushes us with an intense look.
I stifle a laugh as Camila snuggles with Ava. As she does, her arse lifts in a way that brings it against my thigh.
I take a few deep breaths, willing my dick to behave. I can’t sport a boner in front of a child.
At some point, Ava falls asleep, leaving Camila and me to continue our chat.
“So have you been single since Ava was born?”
She releases a deep breath before talking. I can tell there’s a lot to unpack here.
“Even before that. I met Konstantine a year after I moved here. We worked at the same pub, and hit it off immediately. We were inseparable from day one.”
Her gaze is fixed on a distant memory, and her smile is sad.
“One day, a fight broke out at the pub. Konstantine tried to separate the two men in the brawl. One of them had a knife and…”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to.
Against my better judgement, I hug her, and I can feel the tension from the memory leave her body.
She feels safe with me. And somehow that makes me feel elated.
“And then, two weeks after he passed, I learned I was expecting,” she adds.
My heart aches for her. “That must have been so hard,” I say against her hair.
“You have no idea. When I told my parents, they disowned me. And right then, I decided I was going to be the best mum my baby could have.”
Damn, this woman . Talk about strength and resilience. She’s incredible.
“And you are,” I say, squeezing her shoulder.
She burrows deeper into me. “Thanks. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ll never stop trying.”
We stay quiet, the movie credits have stopped running, but neither of us moves—to start another film or to pull away from each other.
What I’m feeling in this moment is not something I’ve ever felt before. But the longer I stay on this sofa with this woman and her daughter, the deeper I feel a sense of belonging.
It’s strange, yet wonderful.
And terrifying.
I might have found a woman I could ask to marry me—to save my family’s legacy.
But I need to know more. I want to know everything about her. About them.
“So when you took off early the other day to take Ava to the doctor,” I say, preparing to ask what’s been on my mind all day, “is everything okay with her?”
Camila doesn’t respond immediately, but she doesn’t pull away from me either. I take that as a win.
She exhales softly. “I didn’t know about this condition until Ava was around two, when she started having signs of anemia. It turns out she has thalassemia—a genetic condition. The doctor said it’s really common in people of Mediterranean descent. Apparently, Konstantine carried the gene, but it never came up in the few months we dated.”
She pauses again, and it feels like she’s working up the courage to talk about this. I’m just thankful she’s been so open with me.
“Ava needs blood transfusions constantly, and then chelation treatments to remove the excess iron in her blood.”
Jesus . She seems so full of life. I can’t believe they’ve gone through so much alone.
“I’m in awe of you, Camila.”
She sits up, curiosity written all over her gorgeous face while a pretty blush colors her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting me to call her by her first name, but it just doesn’t feel right to keep calling her Ms. Flores. She’s more than that.
“Yes,” I continue, holding her gaze. “You’re not only smart and determined—you’re this incredibly strong mum who would fight heaven and earth for her daughter.”
She smiles shyly, and a beautiful pink blush covers her cheeks. “I’m just a mum. Any one in my situation would do the same.”
Our gazes lock, and there’s a pull between us—urging me to close the space between us, to taste her lips. Her eyes flutter as she angles her head.
She wants to kiss me just as much as I want to kiss her—I can see it in the way her lips part, the way her breath hitches.
But then, Ava wakes up.
A big yawn escapes her, and just like that, the moment between me and Camilla breaks.
I order Chinese for lunch and spend the entire day with them.
When it’s time to go, I’m not ready to leave. And when Ava hugs me, I feel my heart filling with something warm.
Camila walks me to the door, and every instinct in me screams to pull her close—to feel her against me, to finally taste the tension that’s been building between us all night.
But I’m sure I’ve given her enough whiplash for one day.
I’ll need to find the right words—to make sense of this, to make sense of us.