Chapter 42
Chapter
Forty-Two
Alana
Iwipe my streaming eyes after I finish chopping the onions and pop them into the pan.
Alejandro’s voice comes from behind me. “Here she is.”
I turn to see him walk into the kitchen beside his father.
I saw Mateo briefly at our wedding, but we weren’t formally introduced.
His reputation is well-known though, and it’s even more formidable than his son’s.
He’s an imposing figure, dressed smartly in a suit and possibly the shiniest shoes I’ve ever seen.
Alejandro looks a lot like him. I wipe my hands on the dish towel and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
If I’d known Alejandro’s father was stopping by, I would have worn something a lot nicer than a tank top and skirt.
Not to mention the fact that I am following the no-panty rule to the letter these days.
I blush at the realization and thank the Lord that my skirt is long and flowy.
Alejandro gives me a brief kiss on the cheek. “Alana, meet my father.”
“Mr. Montoya, it’s so lovely to finally meet you properly,” I say, extending my hand, my voice barely a whisper.
He ignores my outstretched hand and grabs me by the shoulders before planting a kiss on both my cheeks. “Please, call me Mateo. You are family. Family does not call me Mr. Montoya.”
He’s much warmer than his outward appearance would suggest, and I find myself smiling. “Mateo.”
“Papá just stopped by to see us on his way back to San Diego,” Alejandro explains. He goes to the refrigerator and takes out a jug of lemonade that Magda made this morning.
So he wasn’t expecting his father either then, which explains the lack of a heads up from him. “Will you be staying for dinner, Mateo?” I wince when I remember that I’m making cheeseburgers for dinner. Like my outfit, I would have chosen something more special if I’d known he’d be joining us.
Mateo takes a glass of lemonade from his son. “Of course. I would love to. What are we having?”
“I’m making cheeseburgers, but I could make up something different for you if you’d prefer.”
He frowns at me and then at Alejandro. “Doesn’t Magda cook for you?”
Alejandro shrugs, a smirk on his face.
“She usually does, but I like to cook too,” I reply.
He hums and sizes me up. “And you make your own cheeseburgers?”
“I do.”
“And they taste better than any burger you’ve ever eaten before. I guarantee it,” Alejandro adds, and I blush at his compliment.
“Well, if that is true, you’d better not tell your Uncle Phillipe, or he’ll be finding excuses to visit you every weekend.
” Mateo lets out a loud, barking laugh and wraps an arm around my shoulder.
“My Maria also loves to cook, much to Magda’s annoyance when Alejandro was a boy.
You are a brave woman to enter her kitchen. ” He winks conspiratorially.
“I believe she has mellowed since then, Papá.” Alejandro chuckles. “But yes, my Alana would have been a match for Magda even on her best day.” He hands me a drink, and I bloom beneath such open praise.
“Thanks,” I say, and he slips his arm around my waist, skimming across my ass as he does.
Mateo is temporarily distracted by Magda walking into the kitchen. She throws her hands up in the air and says something in Spanish upon seeing him, but it’s clear they have a warm relationship, and the two of them engage in an animated conversation in Spanish.
Alejandro takes the opportunity to whisper in my ear and squeeze my ass. “You have permission to go put panties on, princesa.”
Two hours later, Alejandro, Mateo, and I have eaten our dinner and are sitting at the dining table. “That was delicious, Alana.” Mateo pats his flat stomach. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“My grandma,” I say with a smile. “I lived with my grandparents until I was fourteen. She cooked all of her meals from scratch. They never had much money, so if I ever wanted a burger, it had to be homemade. I used to get embarrassed that we could never get takeout when my friends came over, but once they tasted my grandma’s burgers, they started coming around every Friday night. ”
Alejandro and his father stare at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. “Sorry. Was I prattling on?” I can’t help it. I have such lovely memories of my grandparents.
“You weren’t,” Mateo replies. “But I didn’t realize you were raised by your grandparents.”
“I wasn’t raised by them exactly. But I spent most of my time there, especially when I was younger. My mom and dad were often on the campaign trail, so I used to stay behind a lot. But I loved it there in their little neighborhood in Brooklyn.”
“You grew up in Brooklyn?” Alejandro asks.
“Partly, I guess. Until my grandma died, and then I lived in Manhattan with my folks full-time.”
Alejandro and his father share a look that I can’t figure out, but the subject changes before I can ask about it, and I let it go.
We lie in bed later that night, my head on Alejandro’s chest and him tracing his fingertips up and down my arm. This is my favorite post-sex position, our warm bodies pressed together—his hard and mine soft—and nothing to do but fall asleep.
“I had no idea you spent so much time with your grandparents,” he says.
“Why would you? I think we’ve already established you know very little about me, Mr. Montoya.” I run my fingertips across the tattoos on his chest.
“There’s nothing about that in any of the information online.”
“You read my online bios?” I look up at him and laugh.
“I always research the people I’m going into business with.”
“Well, your research into me was pretty shocking to say the least. Everyone knows online personas are a crock of shit.”
He runs his thumb across my lower lip, pulling it down so my mouth opens slightly.
“Careful, princesa,” he warns. “Besides, your father gave me all the information I needed to make my decision, so I didn’t actually research you.
But why don’t you tell me what I’m missing? Who is the real Alana Carmichael?”
I’m not sure I even know that myself anymore.
And just what information did my father give Alejandro about me?
My father who has been distant and dismissive since my marriage.
And given that what he told me about Alejandro isn’t quite playing out as the truth, I have to wonder what lies he might have told about me.
I did only what he asked, yet he seems to have brushed me aside.
A fact that has been easy to forget about with him so far away.
I don’t particularly want to unpack any of that now though.
“Who do you think she is?” I purr, running my hand down his chest toward his groin.
He grabs my wrist, stopping me from going any farther. “Stop trying to distract me with sex. Why did you live with your grandparents for most of your childhood, and why is that a secret?”
“It’s not a secret. Anyone who actually knows me or my family knows the truth. But living with my grandparents isn’t something my family advertises, that’s all. My dad’s all about family. His political career is built on family values, and I guess it was better for his image not to publicize it.”
Alejandro frowns at me. “So only politically, he’s all about family?”
“No, not just politically,” I say, feeling defensive. Not necessarily of my dad, but of my past and who I am.
“But he sent you to live with your grandparents. Not to mention he …” He shakes his head and doesn’t continue.
“I loved living with my grandparents though. They were the best.” I don’t know why I feel like I have to justify my childhood to him. “My mom and dad traveled a lot, and my grandparents were able to give me stability and security that traveling with my parents wouldn’t.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a sound bite.”
“It’s not a sound bite. It’s true,” I insist. “My grandma and grandpa were amazing people. I was lucky to have them.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and keeps his voice gentle. “I’m not doubting that. I’m just surprised that your father bleats on about how family is so important to him, yet he dumped his only child on his in-laws.”
“He didn’t dump me,” I snap. “I told you it was best for me.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. But I don’t buy it.”
“You’re an asshole.” I try to wriggle from his arms, but he holds me tighter.
“You keep saying that too. I don’t doubt that you had a great childhood and your grandparents loved you very much, but you said you never had any money.”
“I said my grandparents never had a lot of money. They had enough, and they were the kind of people who didn’t care about material things. Not everybody grows up in a gated mansion, Alejandro.”
“I know that.” He frowns. “But your parents have always had money.”
“They did, yes. But not for …” I take a breath and try to explain. “That was for my father’s political career. And my grandparents would never have taken his money. I’m sure he must have offered them some.”
Alejandro tilts his head. “Why are you so loyal to a man who would give you away … twice?”
What? Is that what he thinks? “He didn’t give me away. I told you, when I was a kid, it was best for me. And as for giving me away to you—what choice did he have?”
“We always have a choice, Alana. Even if it’s a difficult one.”
“Yes, well, sometimes people make choices because they’re desperate.”
“And sometimes, they make them because they are blind to the truth,” he retorts.
I’m about to tell him he’s a hypocritical asshole who should go to hell, but he rolls on top of me and crushes his mouth over mine. I bite down on his lip, and he stops kissing me and smirks at me instead.
“Feisty tonight?” His mouth goes to my neck, and I should tell him to stop, but my body has other ideas.
“Stop trying to distract me with sex,” I feebly protest.
He laughs. “I think we both need a distraction. Me asking you about your past seems to have made you angry.”
“You accusing my father of giving me away to you has made me angry,” I remind him.
“We’ll revisit our different understandings of how this contract between us came to be, Alana. But not right now.” He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Right now, all I want do is make you forget why you’re so pissed at me.”
“I’d like to see you try.” I pant the challenge as his fingers move between my thighs. I’m fighting a losing battle. My body responds to his of its own volition even when my brain is telling it otherwise.
“It certainly feels like you’d like me to try,” he growls, slipping two thick fingers inside me.
My legs part for him, and he takes the opportunity to toy with my swollen clit. When I’m whimpering with need, he trails his wicked mouth down my body and settles between my thighs. “You know I can make you come so hard you’ll forget what day of the week it is, don’t you, princesa?”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, not to mention conceited, but he’s right. I say nothing, instead pressing my head back against the pillow and focusing on the miracles this devil can perform with his tongue.
Not only because it’s so utterly distracting, but also because I don’t want to confront my past and examine too deeply my relationship with the man I hero-worshipped my entire life.
Because then I might have to confront the uncomfortable truth that he’s not the man I believed he was.
And if he’s not the good man I gave up my freedom for, then who does that make me?