Chapter 38
Sol
“How’s everything going?” Mrs. Sanders asks. Max has been dropping me off for my sessions every week. Then Mrs. Sanders switched to every other week since I have been improving.
“Amazing. I’m so, so happy.” I sigh with a smile on my face.
“I’m glad to hear it, Sol.” She writes on her pad. “Tell me how you feel about your past now.”
“I’m slowly getting there. I stare at my photo album all the time. The one Max held for me from my birth parents. I hold on to the memories like a vice.”
“Do you still get flashbacks of memories?”
“Yes, every so often, something I do or say will trigger it. At times, they are overwhelming; at others, they are beautiful. I had one a while back of me playing with a young girl. I don’t know who she was. Maybe a friend or family.”
“Memories and flashbacks are something we all get. The other night, I was washing dishes, and something just popped into my head. It was a family trip when I was eight, I think. I had completely forgotten about it. The way the mind works is astonishing, but confusing.” Mrs. Sanders grins.
Mrs. Sanders met Max two weeks ago—just briefly, in the waiting room. She waggled her brows at me after. I didn’t mind.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Now, how about your adoptive parents? How do you see things now? Has your view of things changed?”
I take a moment to really think of this.
To be honest, I haven’t thought of them.
With everything going on—Carlos, mainly—he distracted my mind from them because I was so focused on looking over my shoulder and on the happiness of being pregnant and of Max and me being back together.
I love every waking moment with him. Sometimes it feels too good to be true.
Like happiness is something that can be taken from you without warning.
I hate feeling that way. I want the ending we were promised. We’ve earned it, dammit.
“Now, I see it as cruelty. I will be giving birth to twins soon. I could never see myself making fake photos, tricking a child into thinking that was their childhood. When I see my real photos from my childhood album, I think of those my adoptive mom had of me, and all I can say is, why? Why couldn’t you say we don’t have photos of you because you were adopted?
I’ll never get a straight answer, and the truth is, I don’t want to hear the excuses.
I haven’t seen or heard from my father, and I want nothing to do with him.
My brother asked if there was anything I wanted from my parents’ home, and he promised he would get it for me.
Truth is, I want nothing. The only thing I asked for is photos of me, my brother, and my sister. That’s it.”
She nods and reclines in her seat, crossing her ankles.
“It is unfortunate they had to lie the way they did. It was unhealthy and cruel, like you said. There is a difference between protecting and taking advantage. Maybe they thought they were doing the right thing, but didn’t realize they weren’t.
The what-ifs will only confuse you. I notice the progress you have made.
You are now at the acceptance stage. Where you can say, ‘I’m not going to let this weigh me down.
’” She writes something down, then peers at me.
“Have you read the letter yet, or has someone read it?”
She’s right, I won’t let them weigh me down. It’s time for me to let go, and I’ll never let go completely because it gave me a brother and a sister. I’m grateful for that. I love them dearly. “No, I’m not sure I’m ready just yet.”
We wrap up our session, and she walks me out into the waiting room, where Max is sipping an iced coffee and reading a magazine. His gaze always scrutinizes me to see if I’m okay after a session.
“Hi,” I say bashfully. His intense stare always has me blush. I’m sure I’ll blush for the rest of my life with this man.
He runs his fingertips along my cheekbones. “How are you feeling, Mama? Did everything go okay?” When he calls me Mama, it has the heat in my bloodstream sizzle.
“Perfect, actually.”
“I’m proud of you. You’re doing so good. You’re strong. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. I want you to know you never have to deal with the pain by yourself. I’m here when things get tough. Let me take that load off for you.”
My heart catches. “Thank you, Max. I’m strong because of you.”
“No, stop, don’t give me credit for the woman you’ve become.”
He’ll argue with me all day about this if I let him.
He won’t take credit for the strong woman he made me into.
It’s because of him I’m standing. It’s because of him I’m safe.
It’s because of him that we’ll have a family to raise in the home he built for us.
The life and sacrifices he made for us. He won’t believe any of it, or he might but won’t say it.
He’s too humble. So I peer into those deep green eyes I get lost in every time, and give him the smile he loves. “Are you ready to go?” I ask.
“I’m ready. I need to pick up some paperwork at work real quick. Do you want to stop at the store to get a dress or something for tonight’s dinner?”
We have dinner plans today with everyone, and I’m so excited for all of us to come together.
I haven’t seen Lana in a while. She’s been busy with work and Toby.
She called me two nights ago to let me know he asked her to be official.
Xander, Leo, Hector, Drake, and Lana’s new boyfriend, whose name I forgot. It’s going to be so much fun.
“I have a dress… Wait, no, I don’t. They don’t fit.” I groan in frustration.
Max opens the car door with a chuckle. “You’re growing two kids. Don’t be hard on yourself. We’ll get you a couple of dresses and shoes.”
The white lace dress clings to me like a second skin, delicate floral patterns stretching across every curve and tightening around my swollen belly.
My breasts, fuller by the day, strain against the bodice—either they’re still growing, or my expanding stomach is pushing them upward like ripe fruit.
Max has zero complaints; his rough hands are constantly finding their way to them or sliding down to cup my rounded backside.
Max leans against the bathroom doorframe connecting to our room, arms crossed over his chest, the cotton of his Henley straining at the biceps that look carved from marble.
His shoulders span the width of the narrow hallway, tapering down to a trim waist. His dark eyes follow my every movement in the mirror, drinking me in like I’m some rare, forbidden nectar he’s been thirsting for.
He’s been standing there for forty minutes, silent and unmoving, while I’ve meticulously worked the comb through each section of my hair and carefully applied three shades of eyeshadow, all the while feeling the weight of his gaze on my skin.
I can’t say I don’t mind. I’ve been throwing glances at him.
“We should cancel,” he finally utters.
“Why?”
His gentle hands rub my belly, then move to the slopes of my hips, then fall on my ass.
“Because I will have to start a fight with every man who stares at you sexually. I can barely contain myself.” His hand moves to my thigh, sliding his hand on the slit of the dress that goes above the knee.
“You look stunning, amor.” His hand moves farther up.
He exhales softly, and his warm breath grazes my neck as he leans in closer. “No panties, mi vida.”
My cheeks burn, not with embarrassment, but with the heat that radiates within him. His gaze is a lick of fire to my skin. “You can see the pantie line, so I took them off.”
A wicked smile curves his lips. “Then I guess we will have to leave earlier. No need to stay for dessert.” His finger grazes my throbbing clit. “I’ll have mine at home.” The warmth of his hand is gone before I can let the moan trapped within out—cruel man.
“Then let’s go.” My breath catches.
He shoves his hands into his pockets with a devilish smile on his face, his sparkling eyes already playing at something mischievous. I’m so scatterbrained now, I forgot my shoes.
“Hold on,” I tell him.
He’s already placing the cream-colored Louboutin box on the rumpled duvet, the distinctive red sole peeking through tissue paper inside.
He pats the edge of the mattress twice, a gentle command.
When I sit, he kneels before me on the carpet, his fingers working into the arch of my left foot, thumbs pressing circles into my tired sole before guiding the pointed toe of the white patent leather heel onto my foot.
The cool interior slides against my skin as he fastens the delicate ankle strap, then he repeats the ritual with my right foot, his eyes never leaving mine.
I’ve always worn expensive clothing and shoes growing up.
Then, when I lost Max years ago, my adoptive mother was ill.
I stopped caring about name brands. I really never cared much to begin with, but I liked the quality.
It’s been a while since I’ve bought anything expensive.
Max insisted I buy them. They are beautiful.
When we arrived at the restaurant before everyone else, Hector and Leo came with us. The restaurant is nice, nothing too extravagant. The lights are dimmed, and every table has a red tablecloth. “Reservation for Sol.”
“Last name?” the host asks.
“Coll—” I shake my head. “Mendoza.” Not going to lie. At times, it slips. It’s crazy to think I have two different identities. That will be a story for my kids.
“You should have just said, Cano. Suits you better.”
Max winks, and Hector nods in agreement. He had said he was going to propose, but when I don’t know. When he does, my heart is going to dive into a bed of roses.
The hostess, wearing a black dress that barely reaches mid-thigh, guides us through the crowded restaurant to our table.