The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

in New York City to dedicate this much space—and money because the decor was right out of hipsterland—to a coworking and shared space for a bunch of workaholics who didn’t make use of it outside of their lunch break. No more than a couple of tables to my right were occupied by now—the ones closest to the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, of course.

“Don’t look at me like that.” My friend pouted across from me. “And please, I love you, but that’s not a nice look. I can see some … lettuce hanging out of your mouth.”

I rolled my eyes, chewing and finally washing down my mouthful.

Contrary to what I had hoped, food had done nothing to appease my mood. This pounding ball of anxiety was still asking to be fed. “I should have ordered a second panini.” On any other day, I would have. But the wedding would be in no time, and I was trying to watch what I ate.

“Yes, and something else you should have done? Told me about all of this before.” Her voice was soft, just how all things Rosie were, but the weight behind those words prickled at my skin all the same. “You know, like from the moment you decided to make up a boyfriend.”

I deserved it. I had known Rosie would—sweetly—kick my ass as soon as she found out that I had kept from her all that me lying to my family about being in a relationship business.

“I’m sorry.” I reached my hand out across the table, taking hers. “I’m so sorry, Rosalyn Graham. I should never have kept this from you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have done that.” She pouted some more.

“In my defense, I was going to tell you on Monday, but we were interrupted by you know who.” I wouldn’t say his name out loud, as he often appeared out of thin air when I did. I squeezed her hand. “To make it up to you, I will ask my abuela to light a few candles to one of her saints, so you are rewarded with many children.”

Rosie sighed, pretending to think about it for a moment. “Fine, I accept your apology.” She squeezed back. “But instead of children, I’d much rather get introduced to one of your cousins maybe?”

I reared back, shock etched on my face. “One of my what?”

As I watched the light blush rise in her cheeks, my surprise only grew when she said, “The one who surfs and has a Belgian shepherd? He is kind of dreamy.”

“Dreamy?” None of my savage cousins could ever be considered dreamy.

Rosie’s cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

How the hell is my friend acquainted with one of the members of the Martín clan? Unless …

“Lucas?” I sputtered, immediately remembering that I had shown her a few of his Instagram stories. But it had all been because of Taco, his dog. Not because of him. “Lucas, the one with the buzzed head?”

My friend nodded casually, shrugging her shoulders.

“You are too good for Lucas,” I hissed. “I’ll let you take part in the kidnapping of his dog though. Taco is also too good for him.”

“Taco.” Rosie giggled. “That’s such an adorable name.”

“Rosie, no.” I retrieved my hand and reached for my bottle of water. “No.”

“No, what?” Her smile was still there. Hanging on to her lips as she thought of my cousin, I supposed, in ways that—

“No. Ew. Yikes, woman. He is a barbarian, a brute. He has no manners. Stop daydreaming of my cousin.” I took a cleansing gulp of water. “Stop, or I’ll be forced to tell you some horror stories from our childhood, and in the process, I’ll probably ruin the male specimen for you.”

My friend’s shoulders fell. “If you must … not that it would help my case anyway. I don’t think I need extra assistance for that.” She paused, sighing sadly. Making me want to reach out again and tell her that her prince would eventually show up. She just needed to stop picking up only the assholes. My relatives included. “But before that, we can actually talk about your horror story.”

Oh. That.

“I already told you everything about it.” My gaze fell to my hands as I played with the label on the bottle. “I gave you a play-by-play recap. From the moment I blurted out to my parents that I was dating a man who doesn’t exist to the moment I somehow made my mom believe his name was Aaron because of a certain blue-eyed jerk who had appeared out of thin air.” I scratched harder, ripping the label completely off the plastic surface. “What else do you want to know?”

“Okay, those are the facts. But what’s on your mind?”

“Right now?” I asked, to which she nodded. “That we should have picked up dessert.”

“Lina …” Rosie placed both arms on the table and leaned on them. “You know what I am asking.” She glanced at me sharply, which, when it came to Rosie, meant patiently but without a smile. Or a smaller than usual one. “What are you going to do about all of this?”

What the hell do I know?

Shrugging, I let my gaze roam around the coworking space, taking in the chipped, old barn tables and the hanging ferns adorning the red brick wall to my left. “Ignore this until my plane touches Spanish ground and I have to explain why my boyfriend is not with me?”

“Sweetie, are you sure you want to do that?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Yes.” Bringing both hands to my temples, I tried to massage away the start of a headache. “I don’t know.”

Rosie seemed to take that in for a long moment. “What if you actually consider him for this?”

My hands dropped from my temples to the wooden surface, and my stomach plunged to my feet. “Consider who?”

I knew exactly who. I just couldn’t believe she was even suggesting it.

She humored me by replying, “Aaron.”

“Oh, Lucifer’s favorite son? I don’t see how I should consider him for anything.”

Watching how Rosie clasped her