My whole being is flooded withhis warm words. “How would it work? You’d live on planes? That’s insane.”
“Is it? I don’t think so. I have the resources to live on planes and do whatever the fuck I want.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll call my lawyer—see how soon I can get a visa to live here…a Green Card?”
I am stunned, no other word for it.
This man, who was born into gilded salons, is in my father’s Mexican family restaurant with rolled-up sleeves, discussing visa paperwork while holding a freaking broom.
He leans over, kisses me softly, then speaks into his phone. “Oui, Anthoine.”
“Tara,” Papi calls from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Sí, Papi.” I walk up to him while Gustave continues his rapid French with Anthoine—his lawyer, I assume.
Papi sets his hands on my shoulders, his expression serious, kind. “Mija, a man doesn’t do this unless he means it.”
“This?” I ask, feigning confusion.
He exhales, eyes lifting toward the ceiling. “Cleaning my floors, serving guests, showing up every day. He’s breaking our hearts, trailing after you like a lost puppy.”
A shaky laugh escapes me. “I can see what he’s doing, Papi. But…what if he gets stressed about gossip again? What if— I don’t know—his ex becomes a problem? What if?—”
“If he loves you, none of that matters,” Papi cuts in smoothly. “Mija, love doesn’t mean no fights. It means you fight together. When there’s love, when there’s a good foundation, you can overcome anything. He’s here to build that foundation. You need to decide if you’ll keep fearing what might go wrong—or start trusting what’s going right.”
I look back toward Gustave. He’s laughing into the phone, voice warm and sure. I catch fragments of his conversation.
Yes, I’m considering a base in Los Angeles…or somewhere in the States.
It depends on where Tara works.
Naturally, I’ll go back and forth.
Let’s start the visa paperwork.
My breath snags, the space inside me drawing taut. I turn to my father, my voice small. “I love him, Papi.”
He smiles, his eyes soft. “Then you already have your answer,mija.”
He wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to my forehead, and in that simple gesture, everything inside me settles.
* Never again
CHAPTER 30
Gustave
Tara’s cheeks are flushed, lips kiss-swollen, when she breathlessly says, “We can’t do this here. Papi will kill us if we defile his kitchen.”
I sigh dramatically. “Then what do you suggest,mon amour?”
She bites her lip, eyes darting toward the street. “My parents’ house.”
I blink. “Your parents’ house?”
“Yes.” She unties her apron. “They’re asleep. We’ll sneak in.”
I stare at her, utterly appalled. “Tara, I’m a grown man. I do notsneak.”
She laughs. “You do tonight.”
