Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“I remember it too, believe me. The bikini best of all.”
I half-gaped at my white bathing suit, grateful it at least wasn’t sheer. Diego hadn’t yet grown into his broad shoulders, and his chest was smooth, not muscular like now. “How old were we here?”
“You were fourteen,” he said.
“Which would’ve made you . . . a cradle robber.”
He laughed. “You know it wasn’t like that. You were like a younger sister to me. I remember that bikini because I almost punched my friend in the face for staring at you in it.”
I glanced back. “You never told me that.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “And I never told you that when you came home from school two years later, every puto within a kilometer radius was talking about the beauty you’d become.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I wish I were. I’d hear them talking about you. ‘Qué linda, Natalia Cruz,’” he mimicked. “That was when I knew.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Knew what?”
“I felt more than just protective,” he said. “I was jealous.”
At times it felt as if Diego and I had talked about everything under the sun. That didn’t mean I didn’t love hearing all of his thoughts when it came to him and me. “But no other boys ever even looked at me,” I said.
“I made sure of it.”
A pleasant warmth crept over me. With his golden-brown hair in disarray and amusement dancing in his gemstone-green eyes, it was sometimes hard to reconcile the boy he’d been with the man he was now. He’d always been older to me—I’d turned sixteen only four years ago, when he was twenty-three. But he seemed much more comfortable in his skin now at twenty-seven.
“I remember being sixteen and already crazy over you, but I thought you’d always see me as a little girl.”
“I did,” he said. “Until I didn’t.”
“I’ll never forget when you finally began to notice me,” I said. “I used to sit on the sidelines and watch you and the guys play outdoor basketball. Then one day, I showed up, and you walked off the court to come talk to me. You’d never done that before.”
“The guys teased me for it,” he said. “I didn’t care. It meant they knew you were mine.”
“I never noticed anyone else,” I said, glancing back at the picture. “But you know that. When we took this, you were both a best friend and like a brother to me—I didn’t really know what was happening, but I was falling in love.”
“Then why’d you leave me?”
I set down the photo and perched on the bed to face him. “The same reasons I always get back on the plane. I don’t want to end up like my mother. And I don’t want to lose anyone else. Papá never gave me a choice anyway. He still isn’t giving me one.”
He furrowed his brows. “Did you talk to him about us?”
“Yes. He doesn’t understand that we’re serious, no matter how I explain it.”
Diego pursed his lips. “I warned you he wouldn’t.”
“But he wouldn’t hear anything. He doesn’t even want me seeing you anymore, like at all. Not even while I’m home.”
He ran his hands over his face and looked to the ceiling. “Let me guess—I’m not good enough for you.”
“According to him, nobody is—you know that. It’s not personal.” I stood and crossed the room to him, wrapping my arms around his middle. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, though.”
Diego lowered just his eyes to look down his nose at me. “You know it does. He’s your dad.”
I shook my head hard. “Not enough to keep me away from you. I’m more worried about other things he said.”
He nodded once to prompt me. “Like what?”
I rolled my lips together, trying to think of how to put it in a way that Diego wouldn’t get defensive. “Papá thinks men who’ve only known this life can never leave it behind. Even if they want to.”
“Of course he’ll say that,” Diego said. “It’s to plant a seed of doubt in your mind about me.” He used both hands to smooth my hair back from my face. “Is it working, Tali?”
I hadn’t thought of much since yesterday except the new information involving my mother’s death, and what Dad had warned about Diego’s entrenchment in this world. I’d fought my father on each point, but with some distance, I worried his arguments might hold some validity. “Could you be happy in Santa Clara with me?” I asked. “It’s nothing like here.”
“My love . . .” He held my cheeks and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Are you seriously asking if I can endure a life where I’m not in danger of being killed—or killing—each day . . . and I get to sleep by your side each night?”
I smiled a little. “It does sound ridiculous when you put it that way, but still. What would you do for work?”