Say Forever (17 page)

That throbbing temple above my eye swells like a raging river. I jab my finger in his chest. "And I was fucking fed up!"

Andrés's jaw drops and he takes a step back, holding out his palms in a defensive gesture. "Christina, don't get your blood pressure up. It's not good for the baby."

Really, Andrés? It's a little late to think about my blood pressure now.
"Then don't upset me!"

Andrés's face falls faster than a pile of dominoes. Something about that wounded look in his eyes tugs at my heartstrings. He runs his hands over his cheeks, before flashing a sad smile. Now those heartstrings are about to snap, and I feel like a total bitch for hurting him.

"I'm sorry, mija." The rawness in his voice makes it sound like his chest has been split open. "I've had a stressful day at work and then this."

I slump back onto the bed and groan at the heavy discomfort in my feet. "You always have a stressful day at work." I lie down, thinking the pain will lessen if I elevate my feet.

"You don't know what it's like running five businesses at once." When Andrés looks down at me, his big, sad eyes remind me of a frightened child who's lost his mother.

My heart quickens, pounding out a painful staccato in my ears. I hate this. I hate knowing Andrés is dealing with stress all day and then coming home to more stress, and I fear the days ahead may not be any better. I don't even want to think about what we have to look forward to each night.

"Then quit." I drape my arm over my eyes, not just because I'm exhausted, but because I don't think I can stand to see his reaction.

I realize the significance of what I asked him to do; walk away from a thriving business and a good income. But Andrés is clearly not happy, and I don't see how we can go on with him coming home in a bad mood every day. Is this the life we have to look forward to? Because right now I'm thinking it's hardly a life at all.

"What?" he rasps, his voice barely audible above the din of my pounding heart.

"Tell your uncle you don't want to do it." I try to keep my tone even, which is in complete contrast to the quickening of the blood pumping through my veins.

"I can't do that. Who's going to provide for you and the baby?"

I sit up, resting on my elbows as I stare pointedly at him. Andrés is still standing by the bed, and though he's tall with a solid build, he appears to be shrinking. It's then that it hits me, just how much this job is stressing him. This is not the same strong, confident man I met last summer. This man, whom I once thought of as a tower of strength, is crumbling piece by piece, and now the pressure of the baby has to be making his stress worse.

My throat tightens at the realization. "There are other jobs."

"None that pay this well. We can have a big down payment for a house in a few more months. Don't you want our child to have a yard to play in?"

Again, it's all about the baby. Though I've had my suspicions before, I can no longer deny this baby is the underlying cause of Andrés's stress. He's letting this job break him down all because we got pregnant.

"I like our apartment." I try to sound hopeful, but my voice comes out flat. My gaze circles our small bedroom. Our home is barely big enough for the two of us. Where will we put a baby? The spare bedroom is my art studio, which means I'll either need to give up my passion or we'd need to get a bigger place. A bigger place means more money, more money means more work, and more work means more stress.

"So you don't want our child to have nice things?"

My heart stops beating for an eternal second as I look up into Andrés's accusing glare. How many more people are going to make me feel like shit before I crack? I'm so damn sick of being a passenger on the guilt trip express. When is this ride going to end, or will it be stuck in fourth gear for the rest of my life?

That throbbing in my temple returns with a vengeance, and I'm starting to feel nauseous. The swelling in my ankles is not going down. All I can think of is
Why me?

Because of the baby,
that nagging voice inside my head answers.

Panic seizes me and my limbs turn heavy as if my veins are filing up with concrete.

I jerk up and pound my fists on the bed. "I don't even want this child!"

Andrés crumbles before my eyes, like a cliff face caught in a landslide. He falls to his knees beside the bed, his eyes watering with unshed tears. He picks up my hand, squeezing it to his chest. "Do you mean that, mija?"

The pain in his eyes is harder to bear than staring into the blinding sun. I look away, feeling a familiar wave of shame wash over me. "Everything was fine until I got pregnant." I look down at my fingers as I twist them in my lap. "Now you're having nightmares, and we have to get married."

"You don't want to marry me?"

"I do but not like this. Everything is being rushed and forced."

"Would you rather wait?"

The sorrow that weighs down my chest is so heavy, I fear I may suffocate. "Yes, but the baby."

Andrés settles his hand on my belly. "Our baby, mija." He speaks with such tenderness, I feel as if my heart may burst into a million pieces. He's cherishing our unborn child, and I'm resenting it. I don't deserve Andrés, and I definitely don't deserve to be a mother.

I sniffle. "I know," I barely manage to say as my throat constricts. I lay back and close my eyes, even as tears slip out from beneath my lashes.

I sigh as Andrés tenderly strokes my cheek. He rubs my belly with the other hand, as if he's soothing our unborn child. The pain from my guilt is so severe now, I imagine it cutting a hole through my chest. I deserve it for admitting I don't want this child.

What's worse is that I'm not so sure I didn't mean it. Though Andrés is five years older than me, I still feel so young, like a baby myself. Now I'm going to be a mother, and the father is always working. Though he says he'll help me, I fear he'll be too busy. I don't know if I can do this alone. And what about my new job? Will I have time to get our design business off the ground? I also fear Tia will be visiting all the time. If she's this pushy about our wedding, I can imagine how she'll be when the baby comes. She'll be telling me how to raise my child, intruding on my life and my sanity.

"What did you mean when you said things are being forced?" My eyes fly open. Andrés's hands have stilled, and his dark brows are drawn together.

Because you're pregnant
, Christina, a voice inside me echoes.
Shut up!
I tell the voice. I was going to marry him, anyway, but not like this. We were going to take our time and plan the wedding we wanted, not the one that's being forced on us. My mom has forced Nora and shrimp puffs. Tia has forced Marie plus more bridesmaids, and now she's trying to make me change my dress.

Andrés stares at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. My mom is my problem. I'm too ashamed to bring up the baby again, but he should know about his aunt. If anyone can get her off my back, he can.

I sit up and straighten my shoulders. "Tia says I can't paint flowers on my gown. It makes me look
soiled
," I emphasize the "soiled" part with as much venom as I can muster. "She's forcing me to have four bridesmaids. Marie doesn't even like me. Why would she want to be in our wedding? And now Karri... ."

"Druggie Karri?" he interrupts.

I let out a slow and shaky breath. "Yeah, only I don't think she was on drugs today."

Andrés's shoulders stiffen. "I don't care. She is not going to be in our wedding. I'll talk to Tia tomorrow, mija, okay?"

Relief floods through me as I nod.

Andrés strokes my cheek again as the clouds in his eyes disperse. "So one bridesmaid and flowers on your gown, right?"

"Yes."

Andrés clasps my hands, and his thumb comes to rest on my ring finger. He strokes that diamond and emerald band with tenderness.

"So if I change it back, will you want to marry me?" The veins in his neck strain as he clenches his jaw. His voice drops to a shaky whisper. "Will you want to have our baby?"

The longing reflecting in his gaze is more than I can bear. I throw my arms around him and sob against his chest. "I'm sorry, Andrés. I'm just feeling overwhelmed."

He sits beside me and pulls me into his lap. "Shhh, mija," his says in a heated breath against my ear. "It's going to be okay."

But the more he tries to soothe me, the more the tears fall, and I'm not sure how I can stop up this dam of sorrow. I want to believe him, so very badly, but none of us acknowledge the words I left unspoken.
Do I want to marry him?
Deep in my heart I know I do, although I was hoping we could wait until this spring or even next year. But we can't. All because I'm pregnant, and though I loathe myself for feeling this way, I can no longer deny the surge of bitterness that has created a chasm in my heart. I do not want this baby.

***

After I cry my heart out for what feels like an eternity, Andrés fixes me a steaming bubble bath. He later dresses me in an oversized T-shirt, and we eat pizza on the sofa in unnerving silence. I can tell Andrés has a lot on his mind, and I'm afraid I may have said too much.

Does he resent me now for admitting I don't want his child?

Instinctively, I lift my T-shirt and settle my hand over my abdomen. The muscles there are still taut from all the sit-ups I do with Andrés almost every morning. I find it hard to believe a child is growing in there. I rub my fingers across the smooth surface, wondering what the baby is doing. Is it digesting the food I ate today? Maybe sleeping? Does it have a heartbeat yet? Can it feel me touching my stomach?

This whole pregnancy thing seems so surreal. Other than a little bit of morning sickness and swollen ankles (which have thankfully returned to normal size), there's not much evidence I'm growing a person. Hard to believe something so small is uprooting our lives in such a big way.

Andrés clears his throat, and I look up to see him staring intently at me. He sets our plates on the coffee table and scoots closer. He settles his hand over my abdomen, too. I'm surprised at how warm it is. Even though I took a hot bath, I'm chilled. I shiver and lean closer to him as he wraps his arm around me, his other hand still cradling my abdomen. I sigh into him, nuzzling his neck. He plants a feather-soft kiss on my forehead, and then another, and another. He kisses my brow, my eyes, the bridge of my nose. I gasp as his hand drifts down my abdomen and dips beneath the elastic of my panties.

I arch my head back, and Andrés kisses my neck as he lowers us onto the sofa. He deftly slides off my panties and cups my pelvis in his hand, dipping his finger into me and circling my clit with moisture. I groan as a wave of pleasure washes over me. I pull him down for a kiss. He tastes like tomatoes and beer, and something more. He tastes like mine. All mine. This man who is kissing me, fingering me, is my fiancé, my future, and I love him with all my heart. Renewed hope surges through me, and I think that as long as Andrés loves me, we will find a way to work it out. We must.

The tempo of Andrés's finger matches the urgency welling inside me. I love him. We
must
find a way to work it out. I can't live without him. "Please, baby," I cry against his mouth. "Please love me."

"I do love you, mija." He groans as he grinds his finger deeper into me. "Forever."

"Make love to me," I beg. "Please."

I cry out as he pulls his finger out. He jerks off his pants and throws them to the floor before he settles between my legs. He pulls my shirt over my head and I arch, wrapping my ankles around his waist, needing him inside me. Wholly. Fully. Mine.

I gasp at the intensity in Andrés's gaze, so dark and thunderous, he looks almost dangerous. His mouth is on mine, crushing me to him. He slips his hand beneath my ass, lifting me as he thrusts deep into me, so far that our hips are locked. He grinds his shaft against me, over and over, in slow, undulating circles.

I lift my legs higher and open them wider, until I feel him gyrating even deeper inside me.

His tongue spears into my mouth, possessing every part of me. Andrés groans as his tempo increases. The length of his engorged cock thrums inside me, as my channel hums with slick desire. My nerve endings are pulsing with need as desire nears its peak. He cries into my mouth, squeezing my ass beneath his bruising grip as his head explodes inside me. His orgasm pushes me over the edge, triggering my own climax. Spirals of ecstasy ripple through me, and I dig my fingers into his back, clinging to him as he stills deep inside me, bathing me with his seed. I pant into his mouth as more pulses of pleasure burst from that point deep inside me.

Andrés feathers kisses across my neck and collar bone. He suckles one nipple, then the other before he rolls off me. I already miss his heat when he disappears into our bedroom and returns with a bath towel.

I lick my lips as I stare at his large shaft. Andrés surprises me by shaking his head, snickering. He lifts me up and settles the towel between my legs. "You need your rest," he breathes into my ear.

"I need you, Andrés," I say as I nuzzle his neck, but my words have fallen on deaf ears. His burning skin cools beneath my touch.

He carries me to bed, lies down beside me, and wraps an arm around my waist. I sigh as I sink against him. Though I want to make love again, Andrés is right. I am tired. My eyelids are heavy,

and as his strong hands massage my neck and shoulders, my eyelids get heavier still. The next thing I know, I'm lying on my back and he's kissing my forehead, my cheek, and finally my lips.

"Goodnight, mija," he says before his weight lifts from the bed. He disappears into the living room without a backward glance. My drunken stupor of lust starts to wear off as reality sets in, and my heart, which was full of peace and love just moments ago, feels empty and cold.

Chapter Fifteen

Andrés

I love the smell of cilantro.

After a long, stressful day at work, and then dealing with my aunt, I need a release, and being surrounded by my new pots and pans full of steaming food is just the way to do it. I chop up spices, garlic, and onion, and add them to the butter before checking the rice. I look at my phone one more time. It's nearly seven-thirty. I'd wanted to start dinner earlier, but, as usual, I had to work late, and the phone call with Tia put me back even more.