“That’ll never happen?—”
“Promise me, Romelo,” I cut him off to say.
“I promise.”
I gazed into his eyes, trying to carve away any doubt in my heart. Each day he was opening up to me, peeling away layers, showing me his scars and imperfections. The way he listens to me I talk like my words matter, and my feelings aren’t shattered.
When we’re together, everything else fades away. My worries disappear when he pulls me close and kisses my forehead, massages the crevices and nooks on my body. It feels so raw and unfiltered. We have a spark—a magnetic spark. The kind that makes my heart race. It’s a deep chemistry that needs to be studied.
“Do you love me?”
“I love you enough to know what the sacrifices of losing you look like. I love you enough to breathe for the both of us. I love you enough that if your heart stopped beating, mine would too, and I wouldn’t be no good. I’ll end my life if there was a predicament where I had to save yours first.”
I took a deep breath—a shaky one—then tears formed in front of my eyes, beckoning to fall. Then I felt my cheeks becomewet from my emotions running rapid. Despite everything and the context that this started all wrong, I’m choosing him—I’m choosing a taboo love. I’m choosing to stay in too deep, and I hope I don’t drown.
The food came out looking like art. Along with the conch fritters, were grilled lobster tails glistening with butter and herbs. The conch fritters were golden and crispy. My mouth began to water. The rice and peas looked edible too.
“Oh my god,” I moaned after first bite of lobster, the meat so tender it practically melted on my tongue. The butter was infused with garlic and something citrusy.
Romelo watched me with those dark eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You like it?”
“It’s taste better how it here for some reason.”
“If you like this, you’d like it how my dad cooks his too. He’s talkin’ shit ‘bout doin’ a seafood boil for Thanksgiving and my mama ain’t goin’ for it.”
“I’m not a seafood eater like that, but this is good. I’d try it again, then get disappointed if it doesn’t taste like this.” I stated with a mouth full of lobster as I pointed at it with my fork.
“Seafood don’t get you full though. You’ll be hungry later.”
The waitress asked us if we wanted anything else, and Romelo ordered jerk chicken. When it arrived, he held up a forkful of it for me to taste.
“Try this.”
I leaned forward, letting him feed me after swallowing my lobster. The spices exploded on my tongue, the heat, sweet and smoky combination, combusted on my taste buds.
“Shit good ain’t it.”
“It is,” I wiggled in my chair. “I supposed to be eating cute. You got me eating like a dog.”
“I’m feeding you to keep you thick. I want to keep that meat on yo bones.”
“I’m leaving here with a food belly,” I pouted just a tad bit, and glanced at my stomach spilling over my shorts.
“I don’t think I can eat anymore though. I’m getting full.”
“You want to take this shit to go?”
“Nah.”
He flagged the waitress down for the check and we left, both of us full and high on life.
After lunch, we walked on the main strip, ducking into the luxury boutiques, bypassing the low-end sellers, selling fake designer like Chinamen. The first store we entered had marble floors so polished I could see my reflection. Designer handbags sat on lit pedestals.
Louis Vuitton smelled so rich and when we entered, the saleswoman treated us like royalty, like we were regulars, giving us complimentary water and perfume for me to try on. Attrape-Reves smelled too good to pass up. Romelo was spoiling me with handbags, bracelets, dainty jewelry and shoes. When we reached the counter and the saleswoman priced everything, he didn’t blink. Neither did he stop there. I got the full luxurious experience, purchasing items in Hermès, Chanel and Gucci.
If I eyeballed something for too long, he got it. I couldn’t protest. In Valentino the saleswoman purred, her eyes lighting up as she took in Romelo’s watch, his chain, the way he carried himself.
“Give her everything,” he said, nodding casually toward me.
