Emmanuel frowns but continues to follow the waiter into the room. His hand wrapped around mine. When the waiter goes to pull a chair out for me, Emmanuel steps in front of the kid. “I’ve got it,” he grunts.
“Of course, Mr. Lopez. We have wine and entrées ready for you as you requested. I will be back to collect your orders for the main course.” The waiter lowers his head and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I sit down and look around. The entire room is lit by candles. There are vases of red roses everywhere. The table is a small two-seater. Emmanuel sits across from me.
“This is really beautiful,” I tell him. I’ve been on dates before, but this is next level.
“It was last minute. I can do better. I will do better for you,” he says as he inspects the room.
“This is perfect. I don’t need better, E.”
“Why did you have that fake smile on your face, then? When we walked in?” he asks. “I don’t ever want to be the recipient of that smile, Evie. I only want your real emotions looking back at me.”
“I’m nervous. It’s not you, or this place. I swear this is the most romantic date I’ve ever been on, and it’s only just started. I just don’t want to embarrass you. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
Emmanuel laughs. “You think you could embarrass me, mi alma? Never.” He shakes his head. “You are the best thing I’ve ever owned. There is nothing you need to do other than be yourself.”
“First, you don’t own me. And second, I’m the second best you’ve dated. I’m not her, E,” I remind him, already hating the fact that I’m jealous of a dead woman.
A woman he killed, I need to remindmyselfof that.
Emmanuel fills my glass with red wine. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. It’s not until he finishes filling his own glass that he looks away. “I know you’re not her. I don’t want you to be her, Evie. I want you to be you.” His eyes meet mine again. “I love you, every single part of you. I love you morethan I ever thought it was possible to love another person.”
“Did you love her?” That’s the response I give after having him declare his feelings for me? I’m a bitch, but I can’t say those words back to him. Fear has a grip around my heart, and I can’t bring myself to let go that much.
“I thought I did. I guess in a young, teenage way, I did. I wanted to save her,” he admits.
“What happened to her?” Why would he want to save someone he killed? And why am I okay with the fact that he killed her?Okayis a strong word. I’m notokaywith it, but I’m also not running for the hills.
“When I was sixteen, my father ordered me to kill her. He told me love was a weakness that needed to be killed before it killed me,” Emmanuel says.
I gasp. “That’s awful.”
“I thought I could get her out, give her a new identity, money to leave town and never come back. I was going to lie to my father and tell him I did it,” Emmanuel says. “I’d put her up in an apartment. She was a street kid, like Louie, Carlo, and Sammie. I was taken to live with my father, but I came back to Vegas as much as I could to see her. I thought I hid her well. The only people who knew about her were my mother and my friends.”
I don’t interrupt. I get the feeling he hasn’t had this conversation before.
“I finally had her papers ready and went to the apartment to tell her my plans. I was too late, though. I found her on the bathroom floor with a needle in her arm. She overdosed. On purpose. I tore the needle out of her arm, and she looked up at me and said she killed my weakness so I could become the greatest.”
Emmanuel doesn’t appear sad when he recalls the events, but there is something about the way his face changes. I can’t pin it.
“I thought it was my father’s doing. That he got to her somehow. I never once thought that my mother would have been the one…”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “You should not have had to go through that kind of loss, especially at such a young age.” I breathe in a lungful of air. “Do you still miss her?”
“I…” Emmanuel stops. “I like that she’s dead, Evie. It’s fucked up, but I buried her in an unmarked grave. No one knows where she is. No one could take her from me again because she’s dead. I liked that.”
I blink, unsure what to say, what to do. “Why did you tell me you killed her? You didn’t kill her, E.”
“I failed her. It’s the same thing.” He shrugs.
“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “I failed my baby. Icouldn’t protect the baby growing in my own body. Is it my fault it got killed?”
“What? No. You had no choice. Nothing that happened was your fault, Evie. You didn’t fail. You were abused,” he says between gritted teeth.
“Then Laura dying wasn’t your fault either.” I’m relieved I know the full story now. I’m not consciously dating someone who killed their girlfriend. Makes me feel a little less insane.
“I won’t fail you, Evie. I will always protect you,” Emmanuel says.
