Chapter Eight #2
‘You’ve never washed a dish in your life.’ It would take nothing at all to close the small space between them and kiss him. And she wanted to. Just as she had wanted to in the club and as she had wanted to outside SOP.
‘I don’t need to,’ Emilio replied. ‘I don’t know if you heard, there are machines for that these days.’
‘So you’re telling me you can cook.’ Disbelief was clear in her voice, a smile tugging at her lips.
She always tried to be so in control, but around Emilio everything was heightened.
She smiled more, laughed more, grew impossibly angry or annoyed.
He didn’t let her feel anything in small measures. Not even pleasure.
‘I can cook you anything you’d like.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Who do you think feeds me?’
‘I thought you just grew satiated on wine and the suffering of the little man.’
‘I’m going to make you eat those words.’
‘Or maybe one of you could lay the table so we all could eat?’ Her mother reappeared in the kitchen, holding a Dutch oven.
Jasmine had completely forgotten she was even there.
She was taken back to that night at the club when she’d forgotten about the dancing bodies and loud music.
It had all faded into nothing around Emilio.
‘Let me take that,’ Emilio said hurriedly. He took the Dutch oven over to the table while Jasmine quickly set down plates and cutlery. Behind his back, her mother gave her a nod of approval.
‘It’s nothing fancy,’ Angela warned Emilio when they all sat around the table. He had moved his place setting from the end of the table to beside Jasmine.
‘It’s perfectly fine, Mom.’ This simple dish—sausage, spiced rice and a mish-mash of vegetables—was part of who Jasmine was.
She wasn’t going to hide that from Emilio, and she wanted to know now, at the start, if he would have a problem with it.
Growing up, her mother had magically turned inexpensive ingredients into delicious dishes that Jasmine would ask for again and again.
It hadn’t mattered how cheap the food was when it had made her mother smile to hear her daughter ask for it.
‘You don’t have to eat that way any more, Jasmine, and I certainly don’t want to. Let’s take your mother to a nice restaurant instead.’
Jasmine didn’t want another Richard. She had been so blind to so many of his flaws during their relationship. Hidden parts of herself to make him comfortable. She didn’t want a repeat.
She watched Emilio serve her mother first, then her and lastly himself. When he finally ate a morsel, he didn’t complain.
‘This is delicious, Angela,’ he said. A warmth spread in Jasmine’s chest at his words.
‘You think so?’ Angela beamed. Jasmine knew that it hurt her mother that, no matter how hard she’d tried, Richard had never liked the food she prepared. In just a few minutes, Emilio had put a smile on her mother’s face in a way her ex-fiancé never had.
‘Yes.’ Jasmine could have sworn that Emilio looked almost wistful for moment before he turned his attention to her and placed a warm hand on her back. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why aren’t you eating?’
Because she was comparing him to Richard and feeling guilty about doing so when he was nothing like him.
‘I could make you something else if you’re feeling unwell,’ Emilio offered.
Jasmine felt her heart skip a beat. In that moment she had no doubt she could ask for whatever she needed and Emilio would see that she had it.
She caught a warm look in her mother’s eye that told her Angela thought the same.
‘I’m fine,’ she said hastily and put a forkful into her mouth.
Her mother’s smile didn’t fade. ‘Do you like to cook, Emilio?’
‘I do. It makes me feel closer to my mother.’ That wistfulness Jasmine had seen before was back, but this time he didn’t attempt to hide it.
‘Is that something you do together?’ Angela asked. Jasmine was surprised by how happy it made her to watch them interact, see the tender way Emilio conversed with her mother. How comfortable her mother seemed. Dinners with Richard had never been this easy, this light.
Maybe this was a test, but so far Emilio was passing with flying colours.
‘We used to before she passed.’ Jasmine could sense the longing wafting from him. Then he smirked, lightened his tone. ‘Perhaps I could teach you,’ he said to Jasmine.
‘I agree. If you’re the one making pasta and I get to watch,’ Jasmine said, hiding her smile behind a sip of non-alcoholic wine.
‘That could be arranged.’ He grinned back at her.
His attentiveness continued throughout the meal.
He topped up her mother’s and her glasses, ensuring they had seconds, enthusiastically participated in her mother’s stories.
There was a genuine warmth in the way he interacted with Angela.
It told Jasmine something: Emilio was a caretaker.
Some of what she’d taken for highhandedness made a little more sense now.
She felt herself thaw just a little more towards him.
The Emilio she’d seen recently had been him in crisis mode—her own fault, she thought guiltily.
She’d been the one who’d begged him not to stop that night.
Here—with dinner cleared away and his arm resting along the top of her chair—he was relaxed.
The real him had come out. And she’d never been more sure that marrying him for the sake of their child was the right thing to do.
‘I like you, Emilio,’ Angela said finally, pulling Jasmine from her thoughts, ‘But I can’t advise my daughter to marry you.’
Jasmine had fully expected her mother to say that, but the tingle of disappointment she felt at the words was a surprise. She looked at Emilio for a reaction—anger, disappointment? But he just sat there patiently awaiting her mother’s judgement.
‘That said,’ Angela went on, ‘I trust my daughter’s judgement.’
‘Angela, I assure you, I will always take care of Jasmine.’ Emilio moved his arm, taking Jasmine’s hand in his own and placing them on the table. A show of intent.
Her mother noticed, and kept looking at their joined hands as she went on. ‘Having met you and spoken to you, that isn’t my concern. I’m sure that you will. But will you love her, and will she love you?’
‘Mom…’ Jasmine started but her mother cut her off.
‘I know it was difficult for us, Jasmine,’ Angela said kindly, ‘But you are not me.’
Jasmine opened her mouth, but Emilio beat her to it.
‘Angela, I’m aware that your daughter could successfully raise our child alone. But I want my child to grow in a home where their parents are always present for them. I won’t be a part-time father, nor will I abandon Jasmine or my child.’
Emilio’s words were gentle, but there was that look in his eyes again, the one that Jasmine couldn’t decipher.
Was there another reason he was so adamant that they should marry?
It was yet another question she would need an answer to.
Not that the answer would affect her decision.
They were getting married for their baby; she just needed some transparency.
Angela reached over the table and placed her hands on theirs. ‘You are both adults, so I can’t tell you what to do,’ she said, ‘And I greatly admire your integrity, Emilio. But just consider the type of love you both deserve and if you could live happily if you should never find it.’
‘I have considered that,’ Emilio replied.
Angela smiled, something sad in it. ‘Then, I guess…welcome to my family, Emilio.’
‘Thank you, Angela.’ He smiled.
Later, when he left, Jasmine walked him to her front door. He paused on her doorstep and turned to face her. ‘I’m willing to compromise.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘We can live here after the honeymoon. Until then, you will move into my home. My fiancée has to be seen living with me.’
Jasmine thought about it. It was a fair offer, really.
Maybe when Emilio was in his own home she would see more of the man she’d seen tonight.
A man who, it seemed, was capable of compromise.
Of putting their baby’s and her comfort ahead of his own.
A man who held so much power but was willing to hand some of it over to her.
Who didn’t seem threatened by her making a long-term decision for them.
There was really only one right choice. ‘I accept.’