Chapter Seven
Late that night, Lorenzo was on the sofa, his feet up, and working on his laptop. Releasing a yawn, he removed his black readers to rub his eyes before running his hands through his hair to the ends. The living room was dark, except for the floor lamp near where he sat. He was coming up with a list of concepts for the cooking show he would star in and executive produce.
Biting down on the tip of one of the temples of his glasses, he looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the dark night. The city seemed still and quiet, but he knew it was just the soundproofing of the building because Manhattan was anything but those things.
“Still up?”
He leaned back over the arm of the sofa to see his mother walking from the hall into the living room wearing a floor-length nightgown with her hair over one shoulder. He shifted to place his feet on the floor to make room for her beside him. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, closing his laptop to sit on the slate coffee table.
“I got up to relieve myself and check on Zoie,” she said. “And then I followed the light. I hope I didn’t interrupt you, hijo.”
He shook his head and reached for his cup of café de olla, which had cooled but was still delicious. He loved the Mexican coffee made with cinnamon and raw brown sugar. “Never,” he said in their native Spanish. “I enjoy your input when you choose to give it.”
She gave him a smile that was peaceful and ever-pleasant. “Someone who always offers opinions without being asked is seeking to control, not help,” she explained, leaning over a bit to affectionately pat his cheek and then gently tug the end of his hair as she had done since he was young.
Lorenzo had never cut its length. They like to joke he had a ponytail in the womb.
“I’m actually very excited about all the changes in my life. All the new beginnings,” he admitted. “I have a great kid, and I’m enjoying planning this new show. Even moving back to New York has given me new energy.”
Camilia made a slight noise of agreement as she nodded. “I bet,” she said before giving him a smile that hinted at knowing more than he revealed.
“Care to share?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she replied.
And he let it be. He knew it was rare having a mother who believed that adversity taught lessons that served to improve her children.
“I will say your light is brighter than before,” she offered.
He knew his mother meant his anger toward Josephine had lessened.
She had raised him to know the journey everyone was on was to remember their inner light—that spark of God called the soul—and to do everything to make it shine brighter. A positive mindset and unconditional love of self and others were paramount. Turbulent emotions, grudges, and a negative mindset dimmed the light. More light meant more love.
“That is how to change the world,” she’d often said.
He decided not to address her observation. “I would keep this place, but I need another bedroom as an office,” he said, changing the subject.
Camilia gave him that knowing smile and let the change go without steering him back to it.
“I want you and Zoie to have your own bedrooms and a guest bedroom,” he continued as she watched him calmly.
“Thank you, hijo,” was all she said.
Lorenzo frowned as he used his skillful fingers to scratch his nape beneath his long hair length. “Maybe a house would be better,” he supposed.
“Perhaps,” she offered.
He grimaced but turned to face the wall so she wouldn’t see it. He took a deep breath and counted to seven–his lucky number. He felt his patience being tested because he knew his mother well and she had something to say if he asked. “Okay, how do I shine my light even brighter?” he grumbled, wiping his hand over his mouth.
“Forgive her.”
Lorenzo shook his head. “No,” he said vehemently as he frowned.
His mother took his hands into hers. “If these and your heart are filled with holding on to grudges and other low vibrational emotions like anger and sadness, how will they ever be open to receive abundance, hijo?” she asked, feeding him wisdom.
The choice was his whether to spit it out or swallow it.
“I am a wealthy man, madre,” he said as he looked into her eyes.
She pressed a hand to his chest over his heart. “What is wealth if a man is poor in love, poor in happiness, poor in a positive mindset, and poor in forgiveness,” she said. “The Creator wants us to have it all. Abundance of health, wealth, love, and success. More of one above the others is not peace.”
“But she kept my daughter from me. From us!” he stressed, beseeching his mother to understand his grievance.
Camilia rose and bent to press a gentle kiss to the top of her son’s head. “I leave you to your journey and wish you well with it, mi hijo,” she said.
He was surprised by the urge to reach for her and hug her close as she eased past him to leave him alone in the living room.
Forgive her.
Lorenzo rose and walked over to the window. The snow had lost its allure as the grime of the city darkened its color. He looked out at the lighted Brooklyn Bridge in the distance instead. Not that he really noticed anything at all.
“You started this.”
Josephine”s words came back to him, and they still rang true. At the sight of her looking not much different from the Josie of his past, he had felt consumed with desire for her. And then he did kiss her. Touch her. Taste her. He felt swept back to the past when she had dazzled him.
Today, I went a little wild.
But that he understood. His desire took control, but why was he willing to forget how Josephine betrayed him? Today, as he reacquainted himself with her body, his anger had faded. He hadn’t cared about anything other than the feel and taste of her.
Now he felt like a fool.
Her fool.
Lorenzo turned away from his reflection in the window and walked over to turn off the floor lamp before heading to his room. He paused at Zoie’s open bedroom door. She was sleeping. There was a soft glow from her miniature Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with rose gold satin and glittering ornaments. The book she had been reading was on her nightstand. He fought the urge to kiss her cheek, afraid he would awaken her.
Another stop at his mother’s door showed her sitting on the floor before the window cast in the moonlight as she meditated. He didn’t disturb the ritual she used to maintain her inner peace. His mother believed that the peace or chaos you experienced in the world reflected the inner peace or chaos you held within.
In his bedroom, he quietly shut the door and locked it. He was glad to free himself of the pajama bottoms and robe he wore, laying them at the foot of the bed for quick retrieval if needed. The feel of the crisp and cool white sheets against his nudity freed a sigh from his lips. The moonlight cascaded across the foot of the bed, and the blue light from his phone”s wireless charger was cast against the wall.
He stared at the device. The urge to call Josephine rose. It had tempted him since he left her home still reeling from their shared passion. If the doorbell had not rung and invaded what they shared, he knew he would have lost himself inside her with deep strokes.
He still wanted to. And that made him angry.
At himself for still wanting her.
At Josephine for not telling him she had a child for him.
He rose from the bed to retrieve his wallet, sitting on the edge of the massive eight-drawer dresser opposite the bed. His hair hung forward and covered the sides of his face. He removed the credit cards and threw them atop the dresser to pull out the old photo of Josephine. He studied it, remembering that time in his life when he had felt so close to her. Lost in her fire. Enamored with her smile. Driven dizzy by their desire.
He held the photo between his index and middle finger as he withdrew a folded piece of paper that had softened over the years. He raised it to his nose. The lingering sweet scent it once held was gone, and when he unfolded it, the ink had faded but was still evident.
Lorenzo dropped the wallet and carried the photo and note with him as he sat on the side of the bed.He released a grunt and fought the urge to destroy the paper and, hopefully, the memories attached to it. To finally be free.
He reached for his phone and lay on his back as he called Josephine. It rang a few times.It was late, but he had questions; only she had the answers.
“Lorenzo?” she asked, her voice still thick from sleep. “Is everything okay with Zoie?”
“Why did you fight against me being in Zoie’s life?” he asked, plunging right into the inquisition.
Silence.
He waited.
She released a breath that echoed through the phone.
Somehow, he felt her sadness. It seemed to wash over him as well. “Tell me,” he urged, sitting up in the middle of the bed.
“Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow…in person,” she suggested.
“And have a repeat of what happened today?” he asked.
“Maybe we need to talk about that, too, Zo,” she said softly.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
“Right. It”s our one rule,” Josephine agreed.
They fell silent.
Lorenzo wondered what she was wearing in bed. She, too, used to sleep naked.
Hell, she used to do everything naked.
“Is that what stopped us today?” he asked, hating that he wanted that answer.
“That and the doorbell,” she mused.
“And if there was no rule?” he asked.
“But there is.”
“But if there wasn’t?”
“Don’t, Zo,” she begged softly. Weakly.
His body already felt excitement at knowing he could still tempt her, and then he felt perturbed. “I need to know why you fought against me being in Zoie’s life because I am tired of swinging between wanting you and then feeling foolish. You betrayed me. Then you tried to come between Zoie and I. Tell me the truth. Because I can’t seem to help wanting you, but maybe I can do something about hating you.”
“I don’t want you to hate me, not after all the love we shared,” she said, her voice soft and emotional.
“All the love you walked away from,” he countered.
“It wasn’t easy.”
“But doable for you.”
“I missed you so much, Zo.”
That caused pain to radiate across his chest. He shook his head. “You didn’t just keep my child from me. That was the second betrayal.”
“And the first?”
“You left me, Josephine.”
She fell silent.
“I will never forget that day,” he admitted, the old pain of the past now tightening his chest and letting him know it lingered with him even after all the years that had passed.
∞
Lorenzo was awakened by soft kisses pressed to the length of his spine. He smiled into the pillow beneath his head before looking over his sculpted shoulder to see Josie’s wild hair. He chuckled. “You can go lower,” he said, his deep voice thick with sleep.
On her knees between his legs, she snatched away the navy sheet covering him. Soon he felt her deeply suck and bite one of his butt cheeks before swirling her tongue around the spot.
He chuckled even as he trembled.
She soundly slapped the other cheek before laughing as she left the bed.
Lorenzo turned over to find her coming around the bed to sit beside him. She wore an unbuttoned white cotton shirt tied in a knot beneath her breasts, paired with distressed shorts that rode high on her toned legs. Nestled against her cleavage was the gold locket he gifted her for her last birthday. She always wore it. He could tell that she was braless, and his member stretched. Her boldness was constant fuel for his desire for her. “I’m going to confiscate your key, Josie,” he lied, not meaning it. Naked, he left the bed to stride to his adjoining bathroom.
With a yawn, he leaned back a bit as he relieved himself to look out the open door.
Josie sat on the bed with her back against the leather headboard as she stared out the curtainless window. She looked deep in thought, and there was an air of forlorn. He brushed his teeth and washed his face before running across the room to jump onto the bed beside her.
She laughed in surprise. “Zo!” she exclaimed.
“What’s on your mind, mariposa?” he asked her as he flipped over to his back to lay his head on her lap and look up into her beautiful face.
“Breakfast,” she said. “I would love–”
“Pain au chocolat,” he said, knowing how much she loved the croissants filled with chocolate and covered in drizzle.Although he was familiar with the food of his culture, he was classically trained, and thus, French food was also a treat to prepare and eat.
She bent down to suck his mouth as she stroked his clean-shaven jawline and ran her fingers across his scalp. “I brought all the ingredients,” she told him as she played with his long hair.
“How?” he asked with a slight frown. “I thought things were tight for you this month.”
He would have gladly purchased the ingredients and anything else she needed, but he knew she was fiercely independent. She would not allow him to help her financially and only relied on herself.
“I sold some of my paintings,” she said, gently stroking the soft edges of his hair.
“To a gallery?” he asked, his eyes widening with excitement for her.
She shook her head. “I posted them online and got lucky,” she said.
“Luck? What luck? It was skill, and one day, you will get the recognition you deserve,” he said, rolling over to sit up and hold her face in his hands. He worshipped her plump mouth with his kisses. “You pour love into everything you create, mariposa, and that love pours into those who enjoy your creations.”
Her eyes watered, and she gave him a tender smile before resting her forehead against his. “I am so thankful you came into my life, Zo,” she whispered to him. “The way you pour into my empty places.”
“I will always be here for you, mariposa,” he promised her as he shifted back to lift her legs. He kissed each of her ankles before removing the leather stacked-heel sandals she wore. “You are the love of my life.”
She gasped and nodded with tears wetting her long lashes. “And you are mine. Always,” she swore as she shifted her body to straddle his lap near the foot of the bed. “Always.”
He brought his hands to her thighs to massage as she dipped her head to lightly lick at his lips.
“Always,” she repeated in a whisper.
Deeply, they kissed and held each other tightly enough to merge. Cooking the sweet treat was forgotten as they instead feasted on one another. He undressed her in between lingering kisses, leaving her wearing nothing but the locket. As she stroked the defined muscles of his back, Lorenzo got lost in the feel of her smooth skin and the sweet scent of her body oil as he softly suckled the tip of her tongue the way he knew she loved. The feel of her softness pressed to the hardness of his body was tender and sexy.
Slowly, as if savoring every sensual moment, they shared kisses, touches, and strokes.
Filled with hunger for her, Lorenzo slid one arm around her waist as Josie clung to his neck. Using his hips, he guided the tip of his hardness to her core. He felt her heat and her wetness. And with one thrust upward, he united them and felt the tightness of her sheath.
They gasped.
“Wait, mariposa. Please,” he begged, his voice jagged as he pressed his gaping mouth to her cleavage.
With a moan at the feel of him against her walls, she surrounded his lower body with her well-toned legs.
As if telepathic, they both began to move in sweet unison. The up-and-down motion of the ride was like a sexy see-saw.
“Yessss,” Josephine sighed as she gripped his hair to guide his head to one of her twin peaks. He sucked a taut dark nipple into his mouth, and she arched her back with a shrill cry of passion.
His strong thrusts and the twirls of her hips brought the hard base of his thick inches against her swollen bud, striking it like a match and lighting an inner flame that burned much hotter. He watched her closely, enjoying both the feel of her and seeing the delight he brought her with his hardness. But also his love.
He adored her. He protected her fiercely and loved her sweetly. She was the other half of him that he didn’t know he was missing. She was the divine feminine to his divine masculine. A union made in the heavens and manifested on Earth. As they unhurriedly rode each other to a slow, heart-aching climax, they stared into each other”s eyes and saw the universe. Their cries danced together in the air and pressed against their sweat-soaked bodies as they allowed a bit of madness to consume them.
Spent and satiated, they fell onto their backs. They instantly moved to the center of the bed to hold each other while waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal. The end was the same, whether fast and furious strokes or slow and steady lovemaking. An explosive climax that left them shaken and stirred.
When he felt tears wet his chest, he gently held her chin to raise her face. She was quietly crying. “What’s wrong, mariposa?” he asked.
She smiled. “You know I cry sometimes during sex,” she said, crossing both his legs with one of her own as she ran her finger down the groove of his eight-pack abdomen.
“Hell, sometimes I feel like shedding a tear,” he laughed.
They fell quiet as they lightly touched each other. He traced the delicacy of her spine with his fingers, and she drew circles around his flat belly button.
Both yawned.
“Breakfast after a nap?” Josephine asked.
Lorenzo nodded sleepily.
Both soon fell into slumber.
It was the start of a lazy day of loving for them. Upon awakening, they enjoyed a shower together, and then Josephine sipped a glass of Mimosa as Lorenzo cooked their croissants. She sat astride his lap on the leather sofa of his living room and fed them both with plenty of soft kisses in between. Afterward, they enjoyed a walk around the beautiful tree-lined block and took in the architecture of the post-war buildings. Back at his apartment, they lounged on his settee with her feet in his lap. Josephine sketched Lorenzo as he read to her from a book of romantic Spanish poems. She asked him not to translate, just enjoying the sounds of the words flowing beautifully from his lips. Soon, the poetry led to passion as Lorenzo set the book aside and held her ankles to spread her legs before climbing between them. She let her sketchbook fall to the floor. With his hair falling down to cover their faces as they kissed, he stroked them to a fast and furious climax. For dinner, they ordered their favorite Indian food and watched television while snuggled in bed.
Later that night, they pulled the mattress from the bed to the floor to prevent his hard thrusts from making the headboard slam against the wall as they mated under the moonlight. They coupled with intensity and in every position the Kama Sutra could envision—although looking down into her face as he stroked her deeply would always be his favorite. Nothing topped the sight of her lost in their passion, mouth gaped, eyes glazed, and cheeks flushed.
“I will always love you, Zo,” she whispered up to him in between gasps as she was gripped by her orgasm.
The feel of her walls clutching and releasing him as she rode the wave of pure white-hot release led him to soon join her on the explosive ride. He roughly cried out as he filled her with his seed. She pressed kisses to his jaw as she worked to draw out every drop until he was spent.
Quickly, they fell asleep, with him cupping one of her breasts as she lay snuggled with her back and buttocks against him.
That morning, Lorenzo awakened alone. He yawned and stretched before getting up from the bed on the floor. With strength, he picked up the weighty mattress and swung it back onto the platform bed before leaving the bedroom to find his love. She was not there. He frowned and walked back into his bedroom. Then he noticed the solitary key sitting atop a piece of paper on his nightstand. He picked up the key. It was the copy he gave to Josephine.
He grabbed the note. It was the sketch she did of him reading to her, with one word of elaborate script on the bottom. “Always,” he read, feeling doom seep into his bones.
∞
Josephine remembered that day as well. It had been her farewell to them. Planned from start to finish to leave her with memories to draw upon for the days without him.
Her heart pounded as she sat up in bed and touched the lamp to illuminate the room. She looked down at her phone on the bed and then up at her reflection in the mirror. Lorenzo’s words still hung in the air.
“You left me, Josephine.”
They reminded her of not just the pain she caused him but what she had felt as well. She massaged her eyes.“I’m sorry I wasn’t very brave, Zo,” she admitted, before lowering her hands.
She looked at the brown leather box on the top shelf of her closet. With the door open, she was able to see it clearly. All day, after Lorenzo left her still trembling with desire on the stairs,she had fought the temptation to take it down and open it. She hadn’t wanted to go down memory lane.
But here we are.
Lorenzo called her to admit wanting her, hating her, and seeking an explanation for how she ended what they both felt was the love of their lives.
“Why leave me that way after all we shared?” he asked.
She wasn’t sure if his voice contained hurt, anger, or both. “I knew you loved me too much to just let me go,” she said.
“And you didn’t love me enough to stay,” he countered, his voice cold.
“Because I was pregnant,” she insisted.
“The second of the three betrayals.”
“There’s a third?” she asked, looking down at the phone in confusion.
“You didn’t want me in Zoie’s life. I had to threaten you with court for you to warm to the idea of me being in her life. Why?” he asked.
Pain could linger and imprint on a life, affecting decisions, feelings, and perspective. She knew she still carried the pain of her childhood, and although she tried to paint her life with joy and color, it was drawn on a shaky foundation with lots of shades of gray.
“Fix this, mariposa,” Lorenzo implored.
Her heart ached, understanding she had wounded him much in the same way that she had been injured by abandonment. That sudden realization left her stunned.
“Oh, Lorenzo. I did to you what was done to me. I didn’t see it until now. I am so sorry,” she whispered.
“Is this about your childhood?” he asked.
She nodded and used her feet to kick the covers away. “I never wanted Zoie to feel rejected …and abandoned,” she confessed.
“The way that you were?”
“The way that I was,” she confirmed.
“By your father?” he asked.
“Yes,” she acknowledged.
“Ah,” Lorenzo said in understanding.
“My father and his wife lived in the same apartment building as my mother and I. He denied me–to my face and behind my back,” she said, hating the stain of the memory and the pain that still stung. “Even after there was a paternity test proving he was my father, he denied me but continued to sleep with my mother. And she allowed it for the sake of having a relationship with a man that was nothing more than crumbs. She would argue and physically fight with his wife in front of me, who would call me repulsive names like a whore’s bastard.”
Josephine’s tears rose at that hurtful memory.
Lorenzo swore fiercely.
“It was pretty chaotic in and out of the home,” she said with a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood and failing. “My mother couldn’t find the good in anything because she set all her hopes and happiness on a man who didn’t love her like she wanted. Hell, she had a heart attack and died during a rampage about my father having lied to her yet again.”
“I’m sorry you had to face that.”
Me too.
“Art was my saving grace. My refuge from a reality I felt completely out of place in,” she said.
“You deserved better,” he assured her.
Lorenzo offering her comfort truly broke her. She placed the phone on mute as her shoulders shook with her tears. He hadn’t deserved any of it.
And I don’t deserve his kindness.
“Josephine,” Lorenzo said.
She rushed from the bed to grab a tissue from the bathroom to wipe her face and blow her nose before returning to the phone. “I’m still here,” she said after hitting the button to unmute.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m fine,” she said, adding firmness to her voice. Now was not the time for her tears. “I’m sorry that I let what happened to me unknowingly influence how I treated you. All I could think of was trying to protect her from being hurt that I hurt her and you. I’m sorry for it all, Lorenzo. I am sorry for how I left. I’m sorry for not allowing you to rise to being a father. I’m so sorry.”
The line fell silent.
She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“I still have the note you left,” he said suddenly. “I’m looking at it now.”
That both surprised and touched her.
“It was the last piece of art I ever did,” she confessed.
“Wow,” Lorenzo stressed. “What a waste of your talent.”
Josephine lay the side of her face atop her knees and looked out at the illumination of the street light through the window. “I never missed it until you reminded me of everything I used to be.”
“Everything you ran from.”
She nodded but said nothing.
The line went quiet again, but neither moved to end the call.
“Can you forgive me, Zo?” she asked, her tone revealing her tentativeness.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” he said before ending the call.
Josephine took no offense. She was in no place to judge. Picking up her phone to set on the nightstand, she tapped the lamp to send the room back into darkness. She pulled her discarded covers back over her body and lay on her side.But she soon opened her eyes and locked them on the brown leather box in her closet.
Open the box.
She shook her head to deny herself.
Her cell phone rang, and she looked back over her shoulder at it, knowing it had to be Lorenzo. Rolling over to the other side of the bed, she answered the call. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to let you know you’ve done a good job with Zoie,” he stated. “She’s a great kid.”
“Thank you, Zo,” she replied, pressing her fingertips against her mouth as she widened her eyes in shock.
“I haven’t decided to forgive you, though,” he added.
She smiled. “I know,” she said, sounding serious but feeling playful. “And I’m proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“No need to update you since you’ve been following my career,” he quipped, sounding amused.
Her eyes went across the room to the closet again. She smiled. “Remind me to put our child on punishment for snooping,” she drawled.
He briefly chuckled.
Again…more silence.
Josephine left the bed, carrying the phone with her, and moved to the closet to take down the box. Sitting on the hardwoods, she crossed her legs as she set the phone on the floor and put it on speaker before removing the lid. “Our daughter is a snoop, but she’s not very good at covering her tracks,” she said as she looked at Lorenzo’s cookbooks stacked on top of the other items—and not at the bottom where she had put them.
“What happened?” he asked, sounding entertained.
She paused, loving that Zoie could do no wrong in his eyes.
He adores her.
She explained the placement of the cookbooks to him.
“And just how many of my books do you have?”
“All of them,” she admitted, picking one up to stroke the photo of him on the glossy cover. The sexy chef smiled with his arms crossed over his muscular chest in the jean shirt and pants he wore with his hair framing his handsome face.
“And what else is in that box, Josephine?”
His voice was warm and low and sent a shiver down her back.
“Memories,” she said softly, picking up the braided leather bracelet he used to always wear—very much like the one she noticed on him currently. She held it up to her nose and wished the scent of his cologne still lingered. Many nights after their breakup, she clung to it as she cried from missing him so much.
“Like the locket,” he said.
She moved aside the small sculpture of his face, the many love notes, and all the cards to find the locket. On the back was inscribed, “Zo loves Jo.” She smiled, remembering the tree in the park by her apartment where Lorenzo had carved that on a tree inside a heart. On her birthday, he presented her with the locket to commemorate the sweet gesture. She hit the tiny latch to open it. Inside was a picture of them sharing a kiss.
“It’s just too bad you chose the memories over the real thing,” Lorenzo remarked in a low voice.
He ended the call, leaving her with her memories and her regrets.