“I can’t just leave.” She brings a hand to her forehead, and I frown a little as her head swings to Mickey…and stays there. He smiles at me like he’s in on some secret I don’t know, and I have to smother the possessive growl that tries to break free.
Calmly, I raise a hand to touch Rosie’s elbow, anything to get her gaze back on mine. “Why not?”
“Because…” She sputters, but her eyes finally come back to me and the caramel swirls spin a storm of frustration as she fights back all the emotions she refuses to show. “I’m meant to be spending the day with…these pieces of shit.” She gestures behind her, rolling her eyes. There is something a little lost, a little broken about her in this moment, and I hate how helpless she looks. I don’t understand it, but I know I want it to go away. I want to take away all of it, and I want her to smile up at me again, in that way that makes my chest ache and has me wanting to declare a whole bunch of crazy caveman possessive things.
I drop the door and take a step closer to her, lifting her chin with a knuckle to make sure she’s looking right up at me. With lips an inch apart, I whisper, “Yourpower. Remember? They can’t take it if you don’t give it to them.” I keep my eyes on hers, not even blinking, hoping like hell she fights against her pain, fights them, those that seek to control her. I have a lot of built-up rage at her family, at the Castillos for how they treat her. But I won’t unleash, not here. Rosie is a strong woman and she’ll get to the right path, nothing wrong with a little guidance though.
I see it all behind her eyes, and when her lips part, my eyes can’t help themselves but latch there. Those pouty and pillowy soft lips that I fucking love. And after what feels like an eternity, she lets go of a heavy breath.
“Okay, I’ll go with you.”
I internally cheer but externally fist-pump. My joy is short-lived as Mickey takes an angry step forward. Ensuring to get in the way, I gently move Rosie to the side and block his path. I’d sooner sell my soul than let him get his hands on her.
“Rosita, don’t be stupid,” he directs to her, ignoring me like I’m not physically blocking him from her. “You can’t just leave? When the hell are you going to grow up? Spending yourtime galivanting around the city with some boy like you’re a teenager,” he spits, and I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get stuck.
“Fuck me. Do they have a script for all you villainous rich dudes?” I wipe a hand down my face before looking appropriately bored at Mickey. “Who are you calling ‘boy’? I’ve got at least six inches on you at both ends…and I’m almost certain I’m older.”
“Put a sock in it, Mickey.” Rosie sighs before he has a chance to respond, heading for the door and dragging me with her. “Tell Father dearest that something came up. I’m sure he’ll call me a billion times to scold me.” With one final fake smile over her shoulder, she connects her eyes with mine, twining our fingers together and dragging me out the door.
“You look so pretty, Rosebud.”
“That didn’t answer my question.” She pouts adorably, but she can’t hide her smile at the compliment, and something about her enjoying the things I say to her really does something for me.
“That’s because I already told you it’s a surprise.” I can’t take my eyes off her, especially when she looks adorably nervous in the way she fiddles with the hem of her dress and the little blush of pink high on her cheekbones that hasn’t disappeared since we got in the Uber.
“Is this going to be one of those places you take other dates?” Rosie spits through a forced snarky pout and it makes me smile wider. With her arms crossed over her chest and the defensive way she holds her posture, I know she’s feeling out of hercomfort zone because she’s never let a man take her on a date before, and I’m aware that this makes us feel like…more.But I couldn’t help myself. Rosie Garcia deserves to be dated. And she also deserves to celebrate her people’s national holiday, the right way.
“No, pretty girl.” I sigh, reaching over to pry her hands away and then lacing my fingers through one hand. My breath briefly stills in my lungs when she allows the touch. “I’ve never even been myself. I promise you’ll like it.” I bring our hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles, unable to fight my smile when all she does is roll her eyes. “And lucky for you, we’re here.” The Uber comes to a stop as Rosie scans the area through the window. There isn’t much to see from where we are, because it’s around the corner, but after we say a quick thank-you to our driver and climb out, the sound of the music tells us where we need to go. Rosie has a small crease between her brows as she looks at me for a moment, but her expression is otherwise wholly unreadable. I really hadn’t thought about how nervous I was until right at this moment; it feels like my heart is in my throat, my palms clammy, and I work to wipe them on my pants.
Of course Rosie is the most impatient person on the planet and is already stalking around the corner. I jog a few paces to catch up to her and we round the corner together.
The quick hitch of her breath over the sound of the festive music has me holding mine.
“Surprise?” I hitch my shoulders, nervous as all get out, hoping I haven’t overstepped and that this isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.
“What is this?” she whispers, her attention on the celebrations in front of us, a soft smile slowly spreading across her face.
“Well,” I scratch the back of my head, looking over the little community I found online who look like they are now havingthe time of their lives, “I did some research about that festival you said your family celebrates?Fiestas Patrias?Your family is mostly from Chile, yeah?” Her head snaps in confirmation. “Well, this is them celebrating. I figured you’d want to escape a stuffy penthouse luncheon and celebrate the right way.” I let my hand drop from where I’m nervously scratching the back of my head, my eyes reluctantly meeting Rosie’s and they look suspiciously wet as she stares agape at me.Fuck.Maybe I fucked up, maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t know her culture, I was an idiot for even?—
Rosie launches herself at me, her arms wrapping around my neck. “Thank you,” she whispers, and I quickly wrap my arms around her waist, holding her against me. I let go of the anxious breath and let my nose fall into her hair, the skin between her neck and shoulders, breathing her in before pulling back to peer down at her large almond eyes, the swirls of caramel and whiskey that now shine with something I can’t name. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she murmurs and then her eyes drop a tear. It still baffles me when I see her cry, considering she spent so long never showing any emotion. I realize that I’m quickly falling for each new version she shows me, and each time there is something new, I steal it and file it away, loving that I get all these sides of her no one has ever seen before.
She clears her throat and disentangles herself from our embrace as she spins and takes in the street in front of us. It’s been barricaded off, set up like a festival, food truck carnival, or parade; something of that nature. There are folklore dancers dressed in what I assume is the national or historical attire, musicians, and many, many stalls of traditional Chilean food and a lot of different games and activities. We quickly get lost among the celebrations.
The closer we walk into the party, the wider Rosie’s smile grows. She greets a few people and then she is suddenly laughing and talking animatedly to the stall owners, to other patrons, and even a couple of dancers, who are set to perform theCueca, which is apparently the traditional dance of Chile. I don’t follow along well with the conversations; she speaks primarily in Spanish, but I don’t much care. I try to join in where I’m needed, but otherwise, I am just happy to follow behind while Rosie enjoys her day. I let her drag me around, and we gorge ourselves on theanticuchos,which are skewers of the most delicious grilled meats I’ve ever tasted, and thesopaipillasandpebre,a pastry with a green salsa concoction that I’m mentally noting to find a recipe for later. Rosie does her best to teach me some of the Spanish words and tells me different things about the food and the celebration itself. A lot of what she tells me, she explains herniñerataught her. She used to dream of coming to these types of celebrations; Carmela would talk about them all the time.
Rosie immerses herself completely, stopping at a kite-making area, which I am apparently terrible at. Rosie laughs her pretty face off when I trip multiple times during the sack race. There is also therayuela,which is some game with a disc. Rosie managed to flirt her way into a win, though the old man was aware of her little game; Rosie’s smile is just pretty enough that he went easy on her. And though I seem to stick out like a sore thumb with my horrible game skills, Rosie has never looked happier, at least until she spotted some of the food stalls, turned, fisted her hand in my shirt, and all but dragged me to it.
“You’re going to love this.” She sits us down at a table and chairs, our plates loaded, and then she holds up a green-looking sausage thing. “Here, try.”
“I saw these…I didn’t pick one up for a reason.” I pout at the thing hovering in front of my mouth.
“Don’t be a baby, eat.” I love that her accent slips through now that she’s spent a day celebrating her culture. I love that she bites her lip as she smiles at me, and the sparkle in her eyes looks like she’s had a whole new part of life breathed into her. I feel myself sag against my chair. Seeing her like this is oddly…peaceful.
“Just tell me what it is,” I hedge, raising my hands.
“It’s like a corn…thing. Have you ever had tamales?” I raise a brow in confusion and she grunts. “Just eat it already!” She shoves it in my face again and I lean forward, taking a bite of thecorn thing.She watches me with wide eyes, and I take a moment to savor the flavors on my tongue. To my complete surprise, it’s delicious. Savory but also a little sweet.
“Yum.” I hum over the mouthful and her smile grows.
