Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I traced the curving line of a small green chili. “Is this for your hot sauce?” There were several garden rows that seemed to be solely dedicated to various types of chili plants. “Which ones are the nuclear option we had this morning?” I teased him just a little.
“You’re looking right at it. But that’s one of the mildest varieties I grow.” He chuckled, falling into banter with me instead of bristling. It seemed his ego was strong enough to take a little ribbing.
I winced. “Don’t tell me you have spicier options. At least warn me next time. I’d rather not burn off my tongue.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and his eyes seemed to capture the burn of the blazing sun. “No, that would be a shame. I’ll definitely warn you.”
Despite the sweltering midday heat, a shiver raced over my skin. He wasn’t the only one suddenly thinking about all the ways I could use my tongue. My belly fluttered at the visceral memory of his mouth on mine, claiming me hard and deep.
I broke from his burning gaze, forcing my attention back to the garden. “Do you grow any flowers?”
“Not really. The yucca plant is flowering, and there are wild poppies around the property. Some honeysuckle, too.”
Of course, he wouldn’t grow flowers. Flowers weren’t practical. They wouldn’t provide.
But they’d sustained me for most of my life. My father’s flower shop back home had never made us rich, but we loved it like another member of our family.
I closed my eyes against the sudden wash of pain. I hadn’t thought about my family in so long. The comforts of Raúl’s home had fulfilled my most basic survival needs, leaving room in my brain for grief to creep back in.
“What’s wrong, corderita?” The sweet endearment and gentle brush of his calloused fingers over my cheek cut into me, driving deep into the anguish at my core. His tenderness ripped me wide open, the simple intimacy devastating me.
“I miss my family.” I leaned into his touch, but my eyes remained closed. Their loss was too raw, the agony I’d been avoiding for months too big to fathom. If I let myself start to feel the enormity of the pain, it would destroy me.
I swallowed hard and tried to shove the feelings away before they exploded from deep inside me. If I allowed them to overtake me, I’d shatter into a million pieces; irreparable devastation.
I blinked rapidly, denying my oncoming tears. “They own a flower shop in Comitán. The garden reminded me of home for a minute, that’s all.” I tried to speak casually, but the words were thick on my tongue.
“You’re a long way from home.” The low tone of his voice carried heavier weight than a simple observation.
All I could manage was a shaky nod. I was separated from my family by so much more than the thousand kilometers between us. My sins had banished me from home forever. We might as well be on different planets. I’d never be able to see them again.
I’d never be able to complain about my aching feet after working a long day at the florist. I’d never grumble over the perpetual scratches on my hands from treacherous pinpricks of hidden rose thorns.
My father would never gently rebuke me for my gripes, reminding me that I was lucky to have a steady job. His tanned, weather-beaten face filled my mind: dark eyes solemn and his wrinkles drawn deeper on a frown. He’d remind me that he’d worked in agriculture when he was young, and I should be grateful that he’d established a family business in town, so that his children wouldn’t have to know the backbreaking labor he’d experienced.
My mother had taken a gentler approach, wrapping me in lavender-scented, fierce hugs as she quietly told me Papá was just being hard on me because he wanted me to succeed in life.
They both loved me—and my little sister and brother—more than anything. Their love was unconditional, and it filled our tiny house to bursting. Love was the rich smells of my mother’s cooking, the fussy wails of my baby brother in his crib, and my sister’s incessant pop music.
And I’d given it all up for a boy. I’d ignored my parents’ warnings and fell headlong into what I’d thought was real love: whirlwind romance.
That wasn’t love; it was a trap. The thrilling, wild pleasure I’d found with Gehovany twisted into pain and abuse. And when I’d tried to leave, my family had paid the price. Despite my stupidity and disrespect, they’d tried to protect me.
But Gehovany refused to give me up. He wouldn’t stop coming for me, not ever. The only way to get him to leave my family in peace was for me to disappear. He wouldn’t storm my home in a drunken rage if I wasn’t there for him to rip me from my parents’ arms.