Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
When I wake up, I’m in a pitch-black room, and I’m alone.
My first thought is where is Emmanuel? And then my second is…
this feels different. I woke up and I didn’t automatically think about what could have happened to me when I was asleep.
No, my first thought is where the hell is my boyfriend? Fiancé…
Shit, that is a little odd to say. Emmanuel Lopez is my fiancé. I’m going to marry that man.
A huge smile crosses my face. I’m really going to marry him. I know I’ve had my doubts about Emmanuel, about us. But something clicked. I realized that I don’t want to be without him.
Does that mean I have to marry him? No, but I want to.
Pushing the covers aside, I reach over and switch on the light. I don’t know why I’m disappointed he’s not here. He specifically said he wouldn’t be. He told me no one would get into this room, and I know when Emmanuel says something like that, he will do everything in his power to make it happen.
I open the bedroom door and look up and down the hall. It’s empty. Weird. He usually has men everywhere, even on this level of the house. The place has that eerie quiet to it. I don’t know where he is, but he is here. I hope.
As I make my way downstairs, that quiet disappears. Replaced by footsteps, people talking. I listen. But whoever’s speaking, they’re doing it in Spanish, and it’s not Emmanuel’s voice.
His office. It’s the most logical place for him to be. I walk towards that room, passing four guards who smile politely at me before turning their attention away. I know this is something I have to get used to. I’m just not sure I ever will.
When I reach the office, the two guards standing at the door give me a nod. One of them knocks on the door twice.
“Is he in there?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am. You can go in.” The one who knocked opens the door.
“You don’t have to call me ma’am. Evie works just fine. Thank you.” I smile as I pass him to enter the office, but he doesn’t say anything. He just closes the door behind me.
“Mi alma, you’re awake.” Emmanuel stands from his desk and walks around. Why does it feel like he’s walking in slow motion?
Deciding he’s not moving fast enough, I meet him halfway and throw my arms around him. “I woke up and my first thought was where were you?” I admit, hugging him tight against me.
Emmanuel’s arms wrap around my waist. He holds me flush against his chest and his warmth envelops me. This is what I woke up wanting. This man wrapped around me.
“I wanted you to be there,” I whisper.
Emmanuel pulls his head back, staring down at my face. “We will discuss this later,” he says before briefly pressing his lips to mine. Way too briefly. When he pulls away, he lets go of me. “Evie, you know Paz. This is Alejandro and Rafael,” he says, nodding to the three men I didn’t even notice.
My face heats up. “Um… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy. I can… I’ll be…” I don’t know where I’ll be.
“Right fucking here,” Emmanuel grunts, leading me over to the sofa. “They were just leaving.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Alejandro says. The greeting is repeated by Rafael as they both leave the room. Paz comes over and sits across from me. His face still looks like crap.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. “I mean, that kinda looks like it hurts.”
“I’ve had worse.” He chuckles. “You okay?”
“What day is it?” I rub at the side of my head, trying to ease the sleep fog.
“Thursday,” he says.
I jump up. “What? Why didn’t you wake me? We were supposed to get married yesterday. You didn’t even wake me. I missed my own wedding because I was sleeping.” I look to Emmanuel.
“I’m not waking you up when you need to sleep, Evie. And we can get married any day. The date isn’t important,” he tells me. “I do have some papers for you to sign, though.” He walks over to his desk.
I follow him. “Papers for what?”
“Louie had the retail lease delivered, and there’re some… financial documents we need to sign before we can tie the knot,” E explains.
“Like a prenup? E, if you want me to sign a prenup, just say so. I don’t want your money.” I laugh, because I really don’t.
“It’s not a prenup, Evie. The documents are to add your name to all of my businesses, homes, and other assets,” he says. “It’s security for you. To make sure you will always have whatever you need.”
“Again, I don’t want your assets,” I tell him, then smile as my eyes drift lower. “Well, there is one asset you have that I want, but that’s not a financial one.”
“And that’s my cue to leave.” Paz coughs from behind me before I hear the door open and close.
“I would rather sign a prenup, E. I would rather you and the world know that I’m not marrying you for your money. I’m marrying you because I can’t think of a single reason not to anymore, and because I love you.”
“Say it again,” he grunts.
“I’m marrying you because I want to.”
“Not that part.” He squints his eyes at me.
“I love you,” I repeat without breaking eye contact.
“I fucking love you more than I ever thought possible. What I have is yours. That’s how marriages work. We combine assets. That’s how our marriage will work,” he says.
“I don’t have assets.” I laugh. “I have a house I still owe a mortgage on and the rubble of a dress shop.”
“You don’t have a mortgage on your house. I paid it off. And you have a new store lease right here.” He holds up the manilla folder and hands it to me, followed by a pen. “Sign it and I’ll send the paperwork back over to Louie.
I walk around E’s desk and plop myself down in his chair. Emmanuel gives me a weird look as I open the folder and click the pen. “What?” I ask him.
“People don’t sit in my chair, Evie,” he says.
“Well, first, I’m not people. I’m your fiancée. And second, I like this chair.” I grin.
Emmanuel laughs, like full-belly laughs, and the sound vibrates through me. I like it. He’s always so serious. I often worry he’s going to die of a heart attack at a really young age, just from stress.
I start skimming the papers.
“I’ve already read through them all. You can sign,” E says.
“I like to read what I’m signing,” I tell him. “Also, I don’t even know if I can afford this lease.”
Emmanuel comes over, stands behind me, turns to the next page, and points to a number. “That’s the monthly rent. I’ve read every single page. I would not let you sign anything that didn’t have your best interests in it.”
“How can it be that cheap? That’s less than my rent back home.”
“Friends rate. Don’t question Louie’s shitty business decisions, mi alma. Just… take advantage of them,” Emmanuel says.
I shake my head. “I am not taking advantage of our friends.”
“He’s hardly doing it tough.” Emmanuel chuckles.
He’s right. I pick up the pen, turn to the last page, and scribble my signature across the line.
“Congratulations, you have yourself a new store.”
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe this is actually happening!” I squeal. “Wait… I’m going to have to move to Vegas. I can’t live in Georgia and have a store in Vegas. What was I thinking?”
“Then we move to Vegas.”
“You live in Mexico.”
“We live wherever the fuck we want to live, Evie. That’s the benefit of being the boss.” Emmanuel winks at me. “Speaking of Mexico, we need to make a quick detour before Milan.”
“Okay, I’ve never been. What do I need to pack? What do I need to wear?” I ask as the options fire through my head.
“Whatever you want to wear.”
“Helpful,” I groan.
“Here. Sign these.” Emmanuel shoves another stack of paperwork in front of me. “It’s for the joining of our assets.”
“Okay. But you do know I’m not in this for the money, right?” I look over my shoulder at him.
Emmanuel leans down and presses his lips to mine. “I’m well aware.”
There’re ten different spots that need my signature. I sign them all, without reading them. I trust Emmanuel. The notion is ridiculous. I’m fully aware of that, and the very real chance that this decision may just come back and bite me in the ass. But I’m deciding to take a leap of faith.
Emmanuel picks up the folders and puts them on the other side of the desk. “Now, let’s go eat. You haven’t eaten in days.”
“I was asleep.”
“I know. But now you’re not. What do you feel like having?” he asks.
“I can cook for us,” I offer.
“Maria will cook whatever you want, Evie.”
I frown. “You don’t trust me to cook for you?”
“I don’t want you to have to cook for me. There’s a difference,” he says.
“But what if I want to?” I counter.
“Then the kitchen is all yours.”
“Good. Because I actually don’t hate cooking.” I smile. I don’t do it often, but I do like it.
“Can you cook Mexican food?”
“Ah…” Shit, I can’t.
“I’m kidding. Relax.” Emmanuel taps the tip of my nose with his finger. “Make whatever you want.”
“I can learn how to cook Mexican food. I’ll take lessons,” I tell him.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to,” I insist.
Emmanuel stands in the kitchen watching me make pasta. It’s simple, but it is delicious. Well, at least, I hope he thinks it is.
“I know it’s not fancy like you’re used to,” I say, handing him a bowl full of Carbonaro. “But I figured you must like Italian food too if you want to get married in Milan so bad.”
“It smells fucking great,” he says as we settle into the small dining table. “I’ve never had anyone cook for me before.”
“You have Maria cook for you all the time,” I remind him.
“That’s different. She’s paid to do it. I mean, I’ve never had anyone cook for me just because they wanted to,” he clarifies.
I don’t know what to say to that. “You’re welcome. So, why Milan?”
“There’s a church I saw once, and it’s the perfect place for you,” he says. “Fit for a queen.”
“I’m not a queen, E.”
“Yes, you are,” he argues.
Then I remember what I told Rachel. I promised I wouldn’t run off and get married without her. Shit. “Um, can we invite friends to Milan?”
“We can take whomever you want.” Emmanual shrugs.
“Just Rachel and Charlotte.” I don’t have any family to invite. Those two girls are my everything.
“I will make sure that they’re there for you.”
“I’ll call Rachel… when we know proper dates. She might not be able to make it with her work schedule.”
“Evie, if you want to go back to Georgia and get married there, so your friend can attend, then we can,” Emmanuel says.
“It’s just… after Charlotte got married in Vegas without her, I promised Rach I wouldn’t just run off,” I explain.
“So we nix Milan and go for Georgia.” E shrugs again.
“Let me talk to her first,” I tell him. She might be able to swing it.
“Okay,” he says around a mouthful of pasta. “This is fucking delicious, by the way.”
“Thank you.” I smile.
Who would have thought I’d love cooking for a man so much? Certainly not me.