Chapter 1-Maya
A couple of months later, I still wasn’t over him.
How could I be so stupid?
I mean, I never meant to fall for him.
But how could I not?
Rico Véliz— El Tigre —is the hottest reggaeton star to hit in like ever. This year was supposed to be his big crossover into the pop charts. And he would do it. I had every faith in his abilities.
Because he might be a faithless dickhead, but Rico is talented . Seriously talented.
Honestly, can you blame me for falling headfirst into his bed?
He’s all rough edges and raw sex appeal, inked skin stretched over whipcord muscle, honed by years of hard labor at whatever jobs would pay enough to buy the instruments he needed.
He told me parts of his story once, in that low, melodic voice, and like a starstruck fan, I ate up every word.
Landing a gig writing for him was a dream come true.
But I never thought a man like that would look twice at me.
I’m cute, sure—but not rock star cute.
My father calls me his “pleasantly plump princess,” a nickname I hate almost as much as I hate the way people treat me differently because I’m the daughter of Alberto Gold.
Yeah, him.
The founder and CEO of Gold Records LTD.
That’s why I applied for the job under my mother’s maiden name— Blanco .
I wanted to earn it based on my talent with words, not because of my name or who my father is. And I did.
God, I was so proud of that.
Even now, with my belly swollen and my heart shattered, I cling to the fact that I landed it on my own merit.
But pride doesn’t stop the ache. It doesn’t stop me from feeling like an idiot— foolish, na?ve —for believing Rico’s sweet words weren’t just another verse in the same song he’s sung to every woman within reach.
I thought I was different. Special.
Until I saw the tabloids—Rico arm-in-arm with Lucy Volkov, the beautiful heiress who photographs like a fairytale.
Until I heard him sing the lyrics I wrote our song , Fuego Lento, to her .
It means Slow Fire, and that’s how I feel about us.
We’re such an unlikely pair. I mean, I was just the chubby nerd girl who started working for the hot rockstar— but then, teasing and affection turned to passion and desire.
It started so slowly, but when it ended? It was all crash and burn.
I wrote those words in English and Spanish for him. So he would know the truth about my feelings.
And he sang it to her.
Told the press he wrote it.
For her .
And that just about killed me.
That song was my love letter to the man I thought loved me back.
Now it’s the hit track on his number 1 album, and I’m wrecked for any other man.
My father wants me to come home, but he doesn’t know I’m pregnant.
And I’m not going to tell him either.
Not yet.
Not until my baby is born and I can guarantee his safety.
Because the music industry has its own shadows— backroom deals, dangerous players who will do anything for control.
My father is guilty of plenty of those. I don’t trust him to act in my best interest if he finds out the star he didn’t sign is his grandson’s father.
Yeah, I found out my baby’s sex earlier this month, and I am still reeling from it.
A little boy.
I’m growing a sweet little boy inside my womb, and really, it’s a miracle. Or something. See, I have polycystic ovarian syndrome, and I’d been diagnosed before I started college, so over a decade ago.
I just turned thirty this year, and I’m not stupid or na?ve about sex.
Yes, I fooled around with Rico without condoms, but only a few times.
My cycle? Well, it’s never been regular. I’d been on and off birth control for years, and I admit I’d always been bad at taking the pill. Still, pregnancy was not even on my radar.
I’d been told by my gynecologist plenty of times that the odds of my conceiving without the help of a fertility clinic were almost nil. And it’s not like I had a constant slew of men in my bed.
Before Rico, it’d been years since my last sexual encounter.
Anyway, as for needing the fertility specialist? Guess that gynecologist was wrong.
Just as wrong as I was about Rico’s feelings for me.
I need help. Or I will in about five and a half more months. But I won’t go back to my father’s house.
Truth is, I just don’t trust Dad to not use me or my son for leverage.
So I’ll stay hidden. Or rather, I’ll hide in plain sight.
In all honesty, it’s ridiculous how close I am.
But I need good medical care, and I refuse to leave the tri-state area. My father is so wrapped up in himself he won’t bother looking for me.
And while I may be carrying El Tigre’s baby, he doesn’t know it.
And I don’t plan to tell him.