Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Maybe the attack had something to do with it. Ramón was just so…big. When he wasn’t talking, he could be really nice. I hadn’t forgotten the way he’d held me as I cried, being internally wrung apart by what had to be a panic attack. The metallic taste of adrenaline filling my mouth, the shaking, the racing heart and sweating palms…all of those symptoms were classic signs of a panic attack.
Along with the unrelenting fear.
The sound of Ramón and his brother Diego fighting had trigged some crazy fight or flight response in me, but the moment he wrapped me in his arms, I no longer felt afraid.
Me, the girl who always had to stand on her own two feet, be her own champion in a messed-up world that sexualized women who looked like me, swooned because some big, badass guy cradled me like a child.
All around me, dead silence reined and I tried in vain to get to sleep. I was exhausted, my body beyond strung out, and my mind just wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I’ve had this problem all my life, overthinking everything. I dwell, ponder, and dissect situations and people until I drive myself crazy. Right now, I had a lot of negative things to dwell and ponder on. Shifting on the bed, I flipped over for a third time, secretly loving the feeling of the real silk nightgown Ramón had bought for me.
While I would have liked to scoff at the feminine, icy blue gown with its thigh high split, it was so beautiful, and I couldn’t help but stroke the soft fabric over the curve of my belly. This gown was something a princess would wear to bed. I traced the slightly raised bumps of the intricate cherry blossoms embroidered around the scoop necked bodice with a sigh. Held in place by spaghetti straps, it should have been uncomfortable, but instead it felt like a dream. I flipped yet again, sighing as I stared at the ceiling. It would probably help if I turned off the low bedside lamp, with its frilly lemon chiffon shade, but I didn’t want to be in the dark.
The gown, along with a dozen outfits, had been left for me in boxes piled high on the bed from exclusive stores, all thanks to Ramón. I didn’t plan on keeping any of them, and had only looked through a few boxes before finding the nightgown along with its matching silk and lace panties. I knew they were from him because he’d left me another note on top of a box containing a pair of Chanel nutmeg suede boots. They were divine, and I’d felt a pang of longing as I’d looked at them, but I knew I had to reject his gifts. I couldn’t let him buy me things. My mom always taught me a smart woman bought her own gifts, and she didn’t rely on a man to supply her with anything.
Hell, she basically taught me men weren’t worth much at all for a woman to have in her life. Don’t get me wrong, she loved my father, but her mother—my beloved abuela—had been very old school Puerto Rican in her beliefs about a woman staying home and raising a family versus working. When my mother went back to work, my abuela had not approved and let my mom know it.
What my grandma didn’t understand was that my mom was happier when she was working and having a family. She needed that balance in her life. My dad had a good job as an accountant, but he made just enough for us to get by. With my mom working, we had enough to cover emergencies and put clothes on the backs of four growing teenagers. I’ll admit, I sometimes wished I had a mom who stayed home like some of my friends, but my abuela more than made up for it. Those years she’d watched over us before she passed away had been some of the best of my life. I loved listening to tales of her life as a young bride to a handsome and ambitious young man in Puerto Rico. My grandfather was the love of her life, her hero, a man’s man who’d brought her to Arizona and made her gloriously happy.
As a child I’d wanted that life, wanted to be able to do what my abuela did—love and take care of people. Nothing had seemed more right to my young self than finding a man like grandpa and marrying him. My mother had been horrified, convinced my grandma had brainwashed me into wanting to be a housewife. Just like her mother couldn’t understand my mom’s desire to work, my mom couldn’t understand that I had no desire to have a career. My oldest sister had teased me mercilessly about being a loser, and I’d stopped talking about wanting to be a mom when I grew up. Instead, I talked about college, having a profession, and being the best at whatever it was I was going to be.