-38-
Rafael
When Yasmin and I pulled up to my parent's house, I could feel the tension rolling off her in waves. She's been nervous since we got into the car, twisting her hands in her lap and clenching her fists. I knew why she was anxious and not for the first time I wished I could strangle Ethan. Ethan was awful to her, but his mom and sister were just as bad, and the mention of a prenup from my parents didn't help calm her nerves.
"Hey," I said softly, taking her hand in mine. "I promise you; my parents are not like Ethan's. They just want to make sure I'm protected. They won't push it beyond that."
She glanced at me, her eyes wide and unsure. "But what if they don't like me, Rafael? What if... what if this becomes another nightmare?"
I squeezed her hand, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin against my palm. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable, just say the word and we'll leave. You're my priority, Yasmin. They will have to respect that."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Thank you, I needed to hear that."
We stepped out of the car, the sun warm on our backs as we walked up the stone steps to the front door. I felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was a big moment, and I wanted everything to go smoothly. I knocked on the door, and within seconds, it swung open to reveal my mom's beaming face.
"Rafael! Yasmin! Welcome!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug before turning to Yasmin. "You must be Yasmin. We've heard so much about you!"
Yasmin offered a tentative smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Amato."
"Oh, please, call me Carina," she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Come in, both of you. Lunch is ready in the backyard."
We followed my mom through the house and into the backyard. The table was set up with a delicious-looking spread of food and the aroma was to die for. My dad, a tall, imposing man with a graying beard, was staring at the food, ready to dig in. He looked up and grinned when he saw us.
"Rafael, good to see you, son." He smiled as he rose to his feet to greet us. "And you must be Yasmin," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Angelo. "
"It's nice to meet you, Angelo."
“Please, have a seat,” my mother said, gesturing to the table. We all sat down, I positioned Yasmin next to me, offering her silent support.
“So, Yasmin,” my mother began as we settled in. “Rafael has told us so much about you. What do you do for a living?”
“I was a teacher, but I recently quit my job and went into the hotel business,” Yasmin replied, her voice steady. “It's always been a passion of mine.”
My father nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds interesting. Do you find it difficult to balance work and your personal life?”
“It can be challenging,” Yasmin admitted. “But I think I'll be able to find a good balance, it's been working so far.”
“And how did you two meet?” my mother asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
I smiled, recalling the memory. “We met outside of my hotel. We bumped into each other, and the rest is history.”
"You own the hotel?" Yasmin asked, eyes wide with shock. I nodded, wondering if I forgot to share that information with her. Mom and Dad shared a look but didn't say anything.
“Anyway,” Yasmin shook her head, moving on. “We struck up a conversation, and Rafael was so genuine and interested in what I had to say. It felt like we had known each other for much longer than an evening.”
“Sounds like fate,” my mother said with a smile.
"This looks amazing," Yasmin changed the subject. "Did you make all this, Carina?"
My mom beamed, clearly pleased at having her point out her expertise in the kitchen. "I did, with a little help from Angelo. I've always loved to cook, and I think Rafael and his dad have grown to love my food."
"We sure have," I spoke, reaching for a loaded potato ball. "Yasmin, you have to try this. It's my favorite."
As we started to fill our plates, the conversation naturally flowed. Yasmin asked my parents about their lives, how they met, and what brought them to the city. It was a story I'd heard many times, but hearing it again, with Yasmin's genuine interest, made it feel fresh.
"So, Carina, how did you learn to cook like this?" Yasmin asked as she savored a bite of the plantains.
My mom laughed softly, a nostalgic look crossing her face. "Well, it’s a bit of a long story. I grew up in Jamaica. My mother and grandmother were both excellent cooks, and they passed down their recipes and techniques to me. Every Sunday, the whole family would gather, and we’d cook together. It was our tradition."
"That sounds wonderful," Yasmin said, her eyes shining. "I can almost picture it."
"It was," Mom agreed. "When I moved here, I wanted to keep that tradition alive. It's my way of staying connected to my roots and sharing a piece of my heritage with my family."
My dad, who had been listening quietly, added. "And she's very good at it. When we first got married, I was the envy of all my friends. They couldn't believe how lucky I was to have a wife who could cook like my Carina."
"My mom is from Jamaica," Yasmin announced, shocking them both.
"She is?"
"Yeah, she was born and raised there. She moved to Paris when she was in her late teens, that's where she met my father."
"You must have learned a lot."
"I have," Yasmin smiled warmly. "I'm still learning."
I smiled, watching the exchange. It was nice to see my parents so at ease with Yasmin. "Yasmin's a pretty good cook too," I mentioned, nudging her playfully.
She blushed, laughing. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm on Carina's level, but I enjoy cooking. My mom taught me a few things."
"What's your favorite thing to cook?" my dad asked, genuinely interested.
"Probably stewed peas and white rice," Yasmin replied after a moment of thought. "It's such an underrated dish, but there's something so satisfying about getting it right."
"Stewed peas," mom mused, nodding appreciatively. "You have to make it for me sometime."
Yasmin smiled. "Of course."
As the evening progressed, the conversation moved from cooking to stories from my childhood. Yasmin listened intently, laughing at the tales of my youthful misadventures and adding her anecdotes when prompted. It was a seamless blend of sharing and connecting, each story a thread weaving us all closer together.
"Rafael was always such an active child," my mom recounted, her eyes twinkling with fondness. "He once tried to build a treehouse by himself when he was eight. We found him halfway up the tree, completely stuck."
"Mom!" I groaned, though I couldn't help but laugh. "I was trying to be independent."
Yasmin giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "I would have loved to see that."
"It was quite the sight," Dad added, shaking his head. "But that's our Rafael. Always ambitious."
"Still am," I said, grinning at Yasmin. "Just a bit more careful now."
She smiled back, and I could see the warmth in her eyes. It was in moments like these that I knew bringing her here was the right decision. She fit in perfectly.
After lunch, we moved to the sitting room. My mom brought a tray of coffee and pastries, and we all settled into the comfortable sofas. Yasmin and I exchanged a glance, and I gave her a reassuring nod. It was time to bring up the wedding plans.
"So, we've been talking about the wedding," Yasmin began, her voice carefully measured. "And my father would like us to have a ceremony in the Middle East. "
My parents exchanged surprised glances. "The Middle East?" my mom echoed. "That's so far away."
"I know," Yasmin said, nodding. "But it's important to my family, and we'd like to honor that tradition."
My dad leaned forward; his brow furrowed. "But we're paying for the wedding here. We can't afford to pay for a second one so far away."
I felt Yasmin tense beside me, and I gently patted her hand before taking over. I never asked them to pay for the wedding so I wasn't sure what their aim was with telling her that, but they would surely pass out from what I had to say. "We’re planning to have two weddings."
"Two weddings?" Dad asked. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"
Yasmin's fingers curled into a tight fist. "Like Yasmin said, it's a tradition that we would like to uphold. Yasmin’s father has graciously offered to cover all the expenses for the wedding there. He insisted on it. Also we’re not asking for additional financial help."
My parents looked taken aback, but they remained calm. "We just thought we'd pay for it since our only child is getting married" my dad spoke slowly. "We didn't mean any harm by it."
"I know," I agreed. "But it’s important to both of us. We want to celebrate with all our family and friends, and this seems like the best way to do that."
There was a moment of silence as my parents digested this information. Finally, my mom spoke. "Well, as long as it's what you both want and everything is taken care of, we can support that. Let us know if it's too much and we'll pick up the slack."
"Thank you," Yasmin smiled widely.
"I guess this would be a bad time for us to bring up the prenup?" my dad mumbled, but he was loud enough for us all to hear him.
Yasmin burst out laughing and I knew why. "Don't worry I've agreed to sign it." What they didn't know was the prenup would protect her a lot more than it would me.