“You could marry me.”
“Not that again.”
“Why not?”
“Are you serious? You think you can marry me and work in immigration enforcement? That’s like a judge marrying a criminal he locked up.”
“You could wait for me.”
“What do you mean?”
He stood with her, gripping her upper arms. “Wait for me to finish my assignment. Two years isn’t forever. After that I can request a placement at the border, or somewhere close. I won’t forget you. These feelings aren’t going away. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to you.”
She shook her head in denial.
“Why?”
“I waited for my father to return. He never did.”
“I’m not him.”
“You’re not me, either. You don’t know how it feels to wait for someone. You are…impulsive.”
“Impulsive,” he said in a flat voice, releasing her arms.
“You are a strong, physical person. You take action. This is what makes you a good police officer, and good in bed. But you don’t think about the future.”
“Fuck the future. We belong together.”
“Now you really sound like an American.”
“Don’t insult me.”
She raked a hand through her hair, frustrated. “You can’t have everything you want!”
“So I should give up? You expect me to walk away from this relationship because the future is uncertain and waiting is hard?”
“There is no relationship,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Oh, I see. I’ve been celibate for four years, and I’ve asked you to marry me twice, but we don’t have a relationship. I’m just a convenient vehicle for you to use to catch up with your brother. I’m physical and impulsive and down to fuck. I’ll jump whenever you sayacábame.”
She frowned in confusion. When he was angry, he spoke too fast for her to catch every word. “What is celibate?”
“It means I haven’t slept with anyone.”
“In four years?”
“In four years. How’s that for impulsive?”
She sank to the edge of the bed, her knees weak. She pictured Armando’s lifeless body. Sarai’s tortured face. Hugo’s broken arm. She pictured the decorations for the homecoming party her father had never come home to.
Love was pain.
Then she thought about Adam and Kari. Love hadn’t been a picnic for them, either. But it was passionate and it was pure. They looked at each other as if no one else mattered, and nothing could ever come between them.
That was the way Ian looked at Maria. It was the same way she looked at him.
“I’m in love with you too,” she whispered.
