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

Normal. Plain. And I was. Everything about me was pretty standard where I came from. Brown eyes and brown hair. On the shorter side. Not thin, but not fat. Wide hips but rather small bust. We were millions of women that fit that description. So, I was … average. Not a big deal. “It wouldn’t hurt, losing a couple of pounds for the wedding, but I don’t think whatever I’m doing is working.”

A sound came from my side, making me realize that I had not only overshared, but I had also rambled my way out of the topic at hand with Aaron, who didn’t even compute small talk.

“Anyway”—I cleared my throat—“Gerald doesn’t like me being where I am, and it has nothing to do with me not being an American or me being younger than him. But that’s how the world works, and it will work that way until it doesn’t anymore.”

More silence followed my words.

I peeked at him, curious to know what it was that he was thinking that kept him from lecturing me or telling me that I was whining or if he did not care what I had to say. But he only looked mad. Again. His jaw was all bunched up, and his brows furrowed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the intersection that signaled my street. “Oh, take the next right, please,” I instructed Aaron, taking my eyes off him. “It’s at the end of that street.”

Aaron followed my directions in silence, still looking like he was bothered by something I had said. Thankfully, my block came into view before I was tempted to ask.

“There.” I pointed with my finger. “The building on the right. The one with the dark red front door.”

Aaron pulled up and stationed the car on a free spot that had somehow been magically waiting right in front of my door. My gaze followed his right hand as he killed the engine.

Silence engulfed the confined space of the vehicle.

Swallowing hard, I looked around. I tried to focus on the characteristics of the brownstones of this borough of Brooklyn, the few trees scattered along the street, the pizzeria on the corner—where I usually picked up dinner when I was feeling lazy. Or just hungry. I focused on everything, except the way in which the silence pressed on me, the more I waited inside the car.

Fumbling with my seat belt and feeling the tops of my ears heat for no reason, I opened my mouth. “All right, I’m going to—”

“Have you thought about my offer?” Aaron said.

My fingers froze on my seat belt. My head lifted very slowly until I was facing him.

For the first time since I had placed my drenched ass inside, I let myself really look at Aaron. Study all of him. His profile was lit by the dim glow coming from the few lamps perched on my street. The storm had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come.

We found ourselves pretty much in the dark, so I couldn’t be sure if his eyes were the deep shade of blue that usually told me he was serious and all business—which I hoped wasn’t the case—or that lighter blue that preceded a battle. The only thing I could notice was how his shoulders seemed tense. A little wider than usual. They almost dwarfed the otherwise spacious interior of the car. Hell, looking at him now, his whole body seemed to do exactly that. Even the distance between his seat and the steering wheel was overly wide to accommodate his long legs. So much that I bet a person could easily fit in there.

By the time I found myself wondering what he would say if I jumped on his lap to test my theory, Aaron cleared his throat. Probably twice.

“Catalina.” He drew my attention back to his face.

“Do you …” I trailed off, a little shaken by the fact that my mind had taken me to Aaron’s lap. I am ridiculous. “Do you want to pee or something?”

Aaron frowned and rearranged his body in his seat, angling it toward me. “No.” He looked at me weirdly. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but why do you think I want to?”

“You are parked in my street. In front of my building. I thought maybe you needed to use the bathroom. And I hoped it wouldn’t be number two, honestly.”

I watched his chest inflate with a deep breath and then release all the air out.

“No, I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

His gaze studied me, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was there, inside his car. And in the meantime, I wondered exactly the same thing.

My fingers finally made work of the seat belt, snapping it free as I felt his eyes boring holes into my side.

“So, what’s your answer?”

My whole body froze. “My answer?”

“To my offer. Have you thought about it? And please”—dammit, that word again—“stop pretending you don’t remember. I know you do.”

My heart tripped, tumbling down for a horrifying second. “I’m not pretending,” I murmured, doing exactly what he had asked me not to.

But in my defense, I needed to win some time to figure this out. How to … deal with the situation. And more importantly, to figure out why.

Why was he offering? Why was he insisting? Why was he going through the hassle? Why did he think he could be the one to help me? Why did he sound like he meant it? Why …

Just why?

Expecting a sarcastic comment, or a roll of his blue eyes at me playing dumb, or even him to retract his words because I was being difficult on purpose and he never had patience for that, I braced myself. But of all the things I expected him to go with, he went with the only one I wasn’t ready for.

A defeated sigh left his lips.

I blinked.

“Your sister’s wedding. I’ll be your date,” Aaron