17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Vicente Godoy
I have no fucking clue where I’m taking Camila. All I know is that being with her feels magnetic—a pull that draws me to her with the strength of a thousand bulls.
“I want to spend time alone with you, Camila,” I admit. “So my first thought was to take you to my house, but I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I honestly just want to answer all of your questions. What do you think?”
I’m an idiot when talking about relationships.
She takes her time thinking, avoiding direct eye contact.
Did I fuck it up already?
“Yes, you’re right,” she says eventually. “If you’d have invited me over to your house it would’ve sent the wrong message. I wouldn’t be comfortable in your place asking you questions.”
I nod, silently hoping she’ll tell me where she wants to go instead. I’ve been out of the game for too long. I have no idea where to take a woman on a date at nine in the morning. Do dates at the crack of dawn even exist?.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
I nod again. What the fuck is wrong with me? When did I become a neanderthal who only nods?
“Do you mind if we go to Camden Market?” she asks, hope in her gaze.
“No, not at all,” I answer, and she sighs in relief, her body visibly relaxing.
“Great. They have the best arepas in all of London,” she says, excitedly.
“I’ve never had arepas before.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “What? We need to fix that. Stat.”
I chuckle at her sudden burst of outrage, and we make our way to my car. It’s not lost on me how despite being nervous, she hasn’t let my hand go, like she’s holding onto something steady—onto me.
Maybe I’m her anchor? And not just an anchor when the waves get rough, but her sail. The one who catches the wind and carries her wherever she dreams of going. Because a woman like Camila? She’s not meant to be steered—she’s meant to be free.
“Have you ever had Chilean food here?” she asks, taking me out of my thoughts.
“Not really,” I say as I try to think if I’ve ever seen a Chilean restaurant in the city. “Unless you count my mother cooking my favorite meal while she visits, then no.”
“And don’t you miss it?”
I shake my head.
“Wow. I think that’s what I miss the most about Colombia. Well, the food and the weather. I never experienced winter until I moved here.”
I’ve never thought about whether I miss home or not. At first it was an adjustment, coming from a small town to a metropolis, but money makes everything easier. I was able to see the world and live a life only a few dare to dream about.
Then as I became older, everything became boring and turned into a routine. The fancy buildings and trips soon turned into background and lost their luster.
“That’s right, you don’t really have seasons in Colombia,” I add and she nods.
Suddenly, I feel the need to know everything about her, from the beginning. So that’s what we do. On the way to the marker we talk about our experiences growing up in Latin America and the differences between Chile and Colombia. It’s shocking and exciting to learn that despite the many differences, there are many things we have in common.
“Oh, I forgot to mention—Ava loved her brooch. She even made you another drawing as a thank you,” she says, a cheeky smile spreading across her face as she turns toward me.
She’s definitely getting comfortable around me, and I send a silent thank you to God above for this small but significant improvement.
A genuine smile spreads across my face. My heart does a funny somersault whenever Ava is mentionedIt’s a tender and sweet sentiment that makes me incredibly happy.
“I’m glad she liked it. That was the goal.”
“Are you always this candid?” she asks, sarcasm evident in her tone.
“I’m a man of few words.” I shrug and she smiles.
“I’m sure there’s so much more to you, Vicente Godoy.”
For once, I feel like I don’t have the words to express myself. This is uncharted territory. Any other woman would be at my beck and call, begging me to marry her. No questions asked. But Camila decided she wants to make me work for it. I’m not used to anyone negotiating back. That’s why I’m ruthless in the boardroom. But if I want her to agree to marry me, I can’t be ruthless. I need to abide by her rules.
“What do you want to know?” I ask as I let her guide me through the market. I can’t believe it’s my first time here despite all the years I’ve been in London.
“Did you always want to take charge of your family’s vineyard? Or are you doing it just because it’s what you think is right?”
Damn, she’s starting strong. I take my time to really think about it.
“I can’t remember a time when I didn't know this was supposed to be my destiny. I can see my father telling me that I was born to carry the Godoy name into the next generation. I never really refuted it. I guess I took it as my duty as the oldest of my siblings.” I shrug and when I look down at her, she’s smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“But have you ever thought about what you would like to do if the vineyard wasn’t in the picture?” She stops walking and turns to face me.
Releasing her hand from mine, she places it on my chest and the jolt of electricity that runs through my body is what I think it’ be to be shocked back to life.
“What does Vicente Godoy, a handsome, smart, wealthy man want?” Her eyes dart side to side, like she’s trying to find any clue, any answer in mine. I release a breath, my shoulders sag. The truth is I don’t know. And that makes me feel weak and unworthy. Not something I consider myself. So I shake the thought out of my head and place my hand on top of hers, pressing it closer to my chest.
“I don’t know. But I can tell you that after my time in Chile, observing the vineyard, this past month, I felt it was my calling and I’m ready to take whatever steps necessary to be worthy of my father’s trust.”
“I love that answer but before I continue with my interrogation, we’re here.” She turns and motions with her arm to show me a small booth. A sign with the Colombian flag is the only indication of the food they sell here.
The woman at the booth gives Camila a big smile the moment she spots us and Camila replies in kind.
“ Hola, que gusto verte. Y Ava?” The woman greets Camila while looking around us for Ava.
“She’s at school. I’m here with…” Camila trails off.
When the woman looks at me, her eyes grow wide. “Her fiancé. Nice to meet you.”
Camila’s eyes grow wide too, and I have to bite my cheek to stop the grin that wants to form on my face.
“Oh wow, amiga . You hit the jackpot,” the woman says with a wink.
“Actually, I did,” I say as I wrap an arm around Camila’s shoulders.
She immediately melts into me, and I feel like a king. I’m her anchor.
The girl makes swoony eyes, and once she catches on, she asks, “What are you going to want? The usual?”
Camila nods with a smile.
“What about you?” She looks at me, and my eyes immediately go to their menu. There are rows and rows of possibilities.
“Basically, you have a plain corn arepa and you can add any toppings you’d like,” Camila adds, and things start making sense in my brain.
“Oh, like a tortilla?” I say.
Camilla moves away from me. “Take that blasphemy back,” she gasps in mock horror.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me—until I notice the shocked look on her face, like I’ve committed an unforgivable sin.
Pressing my lips together, I rock back on my heels, trying to regain some composure.
I make a mental note not to compare Colombian with Mexican food ever again.
“What would you recommend?” I ask Camila, and her eyes shine with excitement.
“Since it’ll be your first one, I say we start with something nice and simple. Can I order for you?”
I nod with a smile as I bring her close back to me.
“ Para él, una arepa con carne mechada. ”
I frown at her request. “ Carne mechada ?”
Camila looks up and says, “Yes, it’s shredded beef with spices and tomatoes and onions. It’s simple but quite savory.”
Oh, the mechada we have in Chile is simply shredded beef, no condiments. I can’t wait to try this one.
After I pay, the woman goes to fulfill our order while Camila and I wait in comfortable silence. Once we have our arepas in hand, we say goodbye and continue walking around the market.
“I need you to be honest. Do you like it?” Camila asks as she bites her bottom lip.
I take a bite of the arepa, and although it doesn’t really taste like anything, the meat is soft and melts in my mouth. The explosion of flavors as savory as she said and go really well together.
“This is delicious. Although the arepa doesn’t really taste like anything—kind of like a tortilla.”
Her eyes go wide, and she smacks my chest with her free hand. I can’t help but laugh at her outrage.
“Both tortillas and arepas are made of corn, I’ll give you that. But they are different,” she huffs, and it takes everything in me not to laugh again.
We continue walking, enjoying each other’s company as we eat.
“How come your arepa is different than mine?” I ask.
“Mine is made with cheese. And as a topping, I have condensed milk,” she says after swallowing.
That sounds like an interesting mix.
“Here, do you want to try it?” she offers, holding out the arepa.
I lean down to take a bite. It’s definitely different from anything I’ve ever had before, but the sweet and savory flavors of the condensed milk and the cheese compliment each other surprisingly well.
“Wait,” she says, using her thumb to wipe milk from my face—then licking it off.
Something inside me snaps.
I’m done being a gentleman, done waiting for her to lead the way.
With my index finger, I swipe some milk from her arepa and smear it over her lips.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a mix of confusion and excitement flickering across her face.
Before she can say no, I claim her lips. A little moan escapes her as our mouths meet, and that’s all the invitation I need. I kiss her like I’ve been dreaming about for weeks now, drinking her in, tasting every single corner of her mouth. It’s hungry, needy—I can’t get enough of her. Some might say it’s borderline indecent, like I’m trying to suck her soul out of her body, but I don’t care.
For the first time in thirty-five years, I feel like I’ve found my home.
After the initial shock, Camila wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing herself against me.
I never want this kiss to end. If this is how good it feels just kissing her, I can’t imagine how good it’d be when we’re truly together.
Because there’s no doubt in my mind—this woman is my beginning and my end.