Chapter Twenty-Two
Julián! You came!” I can’t hide my excitement at seeing him, though there’s a chance he came to crash the event, to protest more.
It kills me, but I wait a moment before I say anything else. His chin is lowered, and he looks at me through drawn brows. I sense shame in his brown eyes. My heart pounds against my rib cage, attempting to break free. Pressing my fingernails into my hands, I wait for what feels like an eternity before he speaks.
“I’m sorry, so fucking sorry,” he finally says, pulling me into his arms and lifting me off my feet.
I have so much to say to him, so many apologies and attempted explanations to give and demand, but right now all I can focus on is the way his arms wrap around me as if he hasn’t seen me in a month, as if he hasn’t been able to breathe without me, as if he hadn’t been so brutally dismissive just hours ago. He squeezes so tightly that it’s hard to breathe, but I would give my breath for Julián, again and again.
“I’m so unbelievably sorry, Ry,” he says against my hair, gently petting my head with one arm, slightly loosening the grip on my body. My feet are still off the ground as I bury my face in his neck, smelling the warmth and salt of the sea on his skin.
“Julián, you have nothing to be sorry for. This is my mom’s company’s fault, my fault,” I tell him, stroking the back of his neck with my hand.
I feel someone’s attention on us, burning into our embrace, and I look up to find my mother’s direct eye contact as he continues to hug me. Her eyes narrow and I can see them piercing Julián’s back, but she simply grabs another glass of champagne from a passing tray and puts on a smile for a group of men in bright-colored suits I’ve never seen before. She throws her head back in fake laughter and I hold on to Julián. She must be tired of all the fake laughing; I know I would be.
“My dad told me about the conversation you two had, and he finally told me the whole story about them… their tragic love story and all that. And I was wrong to act the way that I did. None of this is your fault, and it was fucking stupid of me to say it was. You came here with hope and understanding that you were doing something meaningful by helping with the fundraiser for the Arts Center, and I let my family baggage and stubbornness ruin that for you. I know I’m all over the place. I’d blame it on my depression, but that doesn’t seem fair.” His cheeks flush and his eyes go to the floor.
I’m embarrassed and relieved that Mateo told Julián the truth about his history with my mom and that I confided in him. I don’t want to spend any more time talking about our families. I want to enjoy the sight in front of me, while appreciating his presence and apology. He doesn’t seem to be aware of my seizure earlier, and I’m so grateful for that. It would kill me to have him show up only out of pity.
He moves his hands to my arms to put a little distance between us, and my skin burns as his dark eyes scan me from head to toe. I do the same to him and, good god, he looks incredible. Even though I prefer him shirtless at the beach with water droplets falling from his long lashes and full lips, this dressed-up version of him is sexy as hell. My thighs press together, and my mouth immediately goes dry just looking at him dressed in a black button-down shirt and pants.
“I didn’t have a suit.” He shrugs. “You are… Ry, you’re… I don’t have the words… speechless,” he says, his eyes sizzling with a heat that makes me nearly break into a sweat. Julián’s hands travel down my bare back, stopping just above my backside where the fabric begins.
“I also don’t have the words,” I admit, admiring his strong shoulders pulling at the silk fabric of his shirt. “Except no suit needed.” I gulp.
“You look like the moon,” I tell him, not knowing where the words come from. It’s true though, he is bright and fenced by darkness, lonely but never alone, constantly surrounded by twinkling stars. Powerful. Strong. Everything revolving around him.
“That’s a pretty big compliment.” He smiles shyly and rubs his hand across his freshly shaven chin.
“I know how much it must have taken to come here. I thought I would never see you again. I’m so sorry for—” Julián stops me from speaking by touching his lips to mine.
“No more sorrys.” He spins me gently and we begin to dance slowly, barely moving our feet. In my entire life as a dancer, this is by far my favorite performance.
Time is an illusion with our bodies pressed together, his skillful fingers tracing the length of my spine, up and down, again and again. Every inch of my bare skin is raised, my back arched, a puddle in his arms and between my thighs.
“Julián,” I groan as he presses warm, splayed palms against my skin, sliding the tips of his fingers under the thin material of my dress.
“No panties?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
My entire body flushes as I shake my head. “They don’t go with the dress.”
A low growl falls from his lips, and I shiver as the sound fills me head to toe. “If we didn’t have an audience, I would rip this thin dress from your body and fill you against that wall.” He nods his head toward the faux-grass wall behind us. My vision blurs and I’m not sure how I’m standing.
“Julián,” I beg him, to either stop teasing me to near death or to give me some sort of release. I can barely handle the ache low in my belly, the pool of wetness between my thighs, now dripping down the tops of them.
“Julián, what? What do you want, Oriah?” His mouth presses against the base of my jaw, just where it meets my ear.
“You. I need you.” I forget about the ballroom full of people and slide his hand to the front of my dress, pressing the silk against the pool there.
“Fuck.” He circles a finger around the wet cloth and brings it to his lips. I nearly combust.
I can’t take it anymore. “My room. Now.” I yank him by the hand, and we crash into the elevator mouth on mouth, tongues touching every exposed inch of each other’s mouths, necks. When we reach my floor, Julián lifts me up, my dress riding up at my waist as I tell him through ragged breaths the number of my room.
“I can smell you from here. Fuck.” He runs his nose along the side of my cheek, my neck, my collarbones, as my shaking, anxious hands find the little circle chip of a key and press it against the lock. It opens and we barrel in, the door slamming behind us.
Julián takes me immediately to my bed, not gently, but with a ravishing hunger as he yanks my dress up and splays my thighs open; the breeze in the room makes me catch my breath as it touches my exposed, sensitive core. I clamp my hand over my mouth as his tongue swipes across me, my legs kicking and heels digging into the bed as he sucks on me, his tongue and lips taking turns, his growling appreciation for my uncontrollable thrashing as I grip the blanket in one hand, squeezing so hard it feels like my hand will shatter. He continues to lick and kiss the apex of my thighs, his fingers replacing where his tongue and lips were, slowly pumping in and out of me, bringing me just to the edge, then pausing before I slide over it. He continues to devour me in a calculated yet famished way.
“Not yet.” He lifts his head just as my back bows off the bed to climax. I nearly scream at the physical frustration, the need to release. He blows a puff of cold air, kisses my core once again, this time his teeth scraping gently, dragging them to the top of my thigh. “I want to feel you come around me.”
I spring up, catching him off guard and pushing him back onto the mattress, yanking at his shirt, not caring as at least two of the buttons pops off and skitter across the hardwood floor. I kiss and suck at his broad chest as I remove his shirt, my hands fumbling for the button of his pants, trying my hardest not to destroy them. I do the same with his briefs, pulling them down his thick, muscular thighs, and my mouth waters as I take in the length of him as it springs free. Throbbing, hard, waiting for me. Mine.
He’s quicker, stronger than me as he wraps his arms around my back, flipping us over, hovering over my face, nose to nose. He pulls at the thin straps on my dress, and I feel the fabric ripping somewhere in the distance, but I can’t be bothered to care, not as Julián teases my aching entrance, pressing gently, but not fully entering me.
“Stop torturing me,” I whine, lifting my hips to meet him.
With a wicked smile and one swift movement, he plunges inside me. I cry out, screaming in surprise and ecstasy as he slides back out, and in, and out, and in. My nails rake across his back, his beautiful eyes never leaving mine as he fills me, body and soul. Fast, then slow, deep then shallow, he pulls himself out and has the nerve to rub his cock across my aching clit. Release immediately rolls over me like a crashing wave, one after another, after another as he thrusts back into me, kissing my mouth again, my name falling from his lips as his control slips and his body stills and he finds his release, slowly moving in and out again, to draw out my pleasure as I go limp, my arms and legs fall open onto the mattress and his warm body collapses onto mine. Our breathing in unison, harsh and shallow at first, slows into a deep pattern as I gently run my fingers up and down his sweat-covered back.
“I’m so sorry, Ry. I was so wrong for how I treated you earlier. It’s wrong, but I felt like it was easier to just shut you out… I do that sometimes, when life gets too hard, too heavy. I shut down and run. I didn’t know what else to do but run away from you and I couldn’t do that, so I pushed you away instead. None of this is your fault, Ry. I know that, and I’m sorry I didn’t try… for you. I just let the anger and the darkness pull me in and shut you out. I know your heart, and I know you would never be responsible for what’s happening. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this, at being with someone, but I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry for how many times I seem to be sorry for being an asshole.”
“Shhh, Julián. I should be apologizing to you. You were right, I did show up there for my own selfishness, but also for you. I meant it when I said I would do anything to help, and I tried and still will, but don’t apologize anymore. We’re here now, that’s what matters.” I put my hand on the back of his neck and his eyes pour into mine as he shakes his head.
“What matters is respecting you, hearing your opinions and your side of what’s happening, and I didn’t do that. I failed you and was wrong. I need to apologize for taking my anguish out on you.” His tone is so serious, so calm, with zero room for his typical sarcasm or either of our deflections.
“You deserve an apology, and you deserve respect. I will never disrespect you like that again. I will never treat you like that again. Whatever happened with our parents is between them, and I know you had nothing to do with it. It’s not going to be easy, but please, please, forgive me for my lack of control, lack of thinking before lashing out at the wrong person.”
His mouth presses gently against my nose and I smile, not only at his sincere apology, but for the way his words fill the gaping hole that had been burned in my chest since I saw the way he looked at me when he found out who my mother was.
When I open my mouth to speak, he rolls me over to lie on my stomach, perching his chin on his elbow. “Don’t say you’re sorry. Anything but that. You shouldn’t spend one more moment of your life being sorry for things you don’t have control of.”
I nod as he caresses my back, tracing circles and shapes against my skin, stopping at the spot above my tailbone. “I love your birthmark.” His lips touch the ash leaf spot on my lower back, and I tense.
“Thank you” is all I can manage.
A half-truth. Technically, I was born with it, but it’s not just a simple birthmark. I have other ones, too, scattered across the tops of my thighs and a few tiny ones around my ankles that he probably, like most people, hasn’t noticed, or assumed were just spots from the sun, despite their lack of pigment.
“Your poor dress,” he says, thumbing the now-disconnected strap between his calloused fingers.
“Your poor shirt.” We both glance around us. “I don’t even know where it is.” Our laughter matches as he sits up, pointing to the chair across the room. How it got all the way over there, I have no clue.
“What are we going to wear to go back down? I can wear my shirt open, but your mother and her donors may take issue with that.” A satisfied, mischievous grin spreads across his hauntingly beautiful face.
“You’re not going down there with your shirt open, not because of my mother or the bullshit donors and investors,” I say as I trace the plane of his chest with my fingertip. “But because I don’t want the women looking at you, and trust me, they will.” Jealousy pangs my chest, and I press my finger to my chin, thinking of a solution.
“I have an oversized button-down. Not the same color, but it’ll do. And if anyone notices, they were looking too closely at you in the first place.” I glare from the thought.
“Since when are you jealous and territorial? That’s supposed to be my role,” he teases, kissing my shoulder as he helps me from the bed and onto my feet, heels still on.
“Since you came back to me. I don’t want to share you.”
“I’m yours, Oriah. And yours only. I don’t have eyes, or space in my heart, for anyone else.”
The words sing through my ears, filling my brain with sunshine and joy. I want to tell him that I love him, that I love him so much that it might rip me in two, that I love him so much that I want to fight to stay with him as long as I can. Not only our circumstances and distance, but my body, which is our biggest threat. Before I got on the plane to come here, I had given up on fighting, was exhausted even at the thought of continuing to do so, but now, looking at this man and feeling love, true and infinite love, gives me the strength to want to try.
“And I’m yours, Julián,” I finally say as I kiss his flushed cheek and open the wardrobe, hoping there’s a backup dress inside.
“Problem solved!” I smile, holding up the burgundy dress that I almost chose to wear tonight. Julián helps me into it and removes the dangling flowers from my now messy hair. I run my fingers over it, not really caring what I look like, still floating from Julián’s presence.
“This room is…” He glances from the sitting area to the couch, to the massive bed, to the expansive bathroom. “Much bigger than I thought.”
I nod as I step back into my heels. “Yeah, it’s too big for one person. But there is unlimited water, and the hotel does its best at being eco-friendly.” I cringe at my excuses. “I keep telling myself that so I don’t feel guilty staying here, anyway.”
He’s quiet and a little on edge. The tick of his jaw makes me nervous, but with everything going on, he has every reason to be.
“Is your home in Texas like this?” His voice is quiet.
I nod. “Yes and no. It’s new, so the architecture is nothing like this, not nearly as beautiful. But…” I hesitate. “It’s a really big house, honestly. Too big for two people, and shows firsthand how classism and socioeconomic systems work in the States.”
I can imagine Julián, disgusted by the nearly ten thousand square feet of my house in Dallas. With two kitchens, four living rooms, massive TVs that we never use in every room, the pool and hot tub, the perfectly manicured lawn, and three-football-fields length of a backyard…
“I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m bragging. I just didn’t want to lie,” I admit, sucking on my bottom lip with anxiety.
He smiles, a tiny but real one. I can tell he’s uncomfortable being here, but he still says, “Don’t be. Everyone’s lives are different, and yours and mine couldn’t be more so.”
I try not to decipher his words during our walk to the elevator. He hugs me closely, kissing my forehead and keeping his arm wrapped around my waist as we exit and head down the labyrinth of the hallway leading to the grand room.
As we reenter the ballroom, I wonder if anyone noticed my absence, but my curiosity is very quickly answered as I realize the servers are clearing the plates of the first course of dinner and the seat next to my mother is empty. I had forgotten completely about the meal part of the evening, even though most of the menu—the roasted duck, garlic seared shrimp, and mushroom ravioli—were my choices to add.
“She doesn’t look happy,” Julián warns as we walk toward the table, hand in hand.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Does she ever?”
His shoulders rock to stifle his laughter as we approach.
“Ry.” My mom’s smile is wide, friendly, as if welcoming an old friend, not her only daughter and the son of the man she loved and is now destroying.
“Julián, thank you for coming.” My mother’s acting is Oscar-worthy.
“You may know Julián Garcia,” she performs for the table, pretending like we’re all on the same side of this. A little confusion rustles over the men at our table, but it quiets down as my mom looks at each of them.
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Ry.” She looks around the table to comfort the investors there by sealing in the lie she must have told them about me not feeling well and disappearing.
A mild panic arises. What if she told them I was in the hospital just hours ago? What if one of them mentions my epilepsy or tuberous sclerosis? The timing could not be worse.
I manage a smile. “I spilled something on my dress and just needed a little break from the noise. I’m sorry for the delay.” I bow to the guests, giving my best feigned innocence, as my mother’s piercing eyes take in the change in my hair, the smudged makeup on my face.
I raise a defiant brow to her as the rest of the table continue talking among themselves, as if to say, Yeah, it’s exactly what you think, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.
Lena notices the tension and, as always, swoops in to make sure nothing gets out of hand, glaring at one of the lawyers who opens his mouth to address Julián but decides against it. Lena, the peacekeeper, waves toward Julián, moving her own chair over to fit another between hers and mine. My mother wants to react; I can tell by the way her hands are gently gripping the edge of the round table, scrunching the dark gray cloth ever so slightly so it’s unnoticed. But she knows better than to interfere or say one wrong word to Julián right now, given the circumstances.
“Have a seat next to Oriah and let’s finish our meal.” Lena smiles warmly at him and he thanks her, sitting down slowly, as if he has an open wound in a pool of sharks. In many ways, that’s very, very true.