Her Perfect Affair

by Priscilla Oliveras

  “That’s why I’m here, to relieve you of some of that fear. Any way I can.” Cupping his other hand, he caressed her smooth cheek with his knuckles. “Whatever you need. A ride home from work, a chef to cook your dinner, a companion for your doctor appointments, a housemate so you’re not alone if you wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick. Someone to hold back your hair when you’re puking over the toilet.”

  She huffed out a laugh and rolled her eyes at his last suggestion. But she hadn’t immediately put the kibosh on his housemate idea. Progress.

  “The bottom line is, you’re in control here. I’ll follow your lead. Even if it’s not always easy for me.”

  Jeremy paused. He wanted to tell her about his own fears, how they drove him to do and be better. But, they’d never spoken about Roger before.

  He needed her to keep seeing him for himself. Not Sherman Taylor’s money and influence. Certainly not Roger Wilson’s selfish behavior. Too many others viewed him from either skewed lens. It would hurt too much if Rosa joined them.

  So he kept his secret.

  “Just, don’t push me away,” he went on. “Let’s do this together. Whatever ‘together’ means for us. I won’t walk away from you and our baby. I can’t.”

  He stared into the innocent depths of Rosa’s eyes, praying like the saint he wasn’t that she’d acquiesce. Take him at his word and help them try to get back to the comfortable relationship they’d shared before.

  If marriage wasn’t the answer for her right now, he’d have to accept friendship and mutual respect. And maybe, if things worked out right, down the road they’d have more.

  He could take things slow. Especially if it meant he’d eventually get what he wanted—an active part in Rosa and their child’s lives.

  She caught her plump bottom lip between her teeth. Her I’m-giving-it-some-thought tell was a relief to see.

  After several long, drawn-out beats, Rosa nodded.

  “Okay?” he asked, his voice a rough rasp of relief. He needed to hear her say the word. Make sure there was no uncertainty between them.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Yes! He gave a silent whoop of joy, mentally high-fiving himself.

  “But we need to establish—”

  The doorbell rang, interrupting Rosa’s caveat.

  He didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. No telling what condition she’d been about to put down. Then again, their visitor was probably Dolores, here to check on Rosa. More than likely cutting his visit short.

  She moved to set her food tray on the wooden coffee table, and Jeremy put a hand on her forearm to stop her.

  “Bed rest, remember?” he told her as he stood up, then bent to drop a quick kiss on top of her head to cement their new agreement. “Eat a little more dinner. I’ll let Dolores in.”

  “Bossy, bossy,” Rosa mumbled.

  Jeremy chuckled at her complaint, a lightness finally in his step.

  Unfortunately, one look at the suspicious scowl on Dolores Torres’s face when he opened the door sent his mood plummeting.

  Too late, he realized his miscalculation. He’d forgotten to ask Rosa whether or not her godmother, or madrina as the Fernandez girls referred to the older woman, knew about the pregnancy and his role as the father. If not, no telling how Dolores would react when she found out.

  Throw him out. Grab the pair of decorative maracas off the wall and give him a good whack. Set the date for a shotgun wedding.

  He’d promised Rosa that he would go along with whatever she wanted. Fingers crossed that Dolores, even in mother-hen mode, would do the same.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosa forced herself to take another bite of the pureed soup while Jeremy answered the door. She didn’t know why Yazmine had called Dolores. As if sending Jeremy to pick her up wasn’t enough. Her sister knew she despised being the center of all this attention.

  She stirred her soup absently, relieved that she and Jeremy had at least reached some level of understanding. Though things were far from settled, and now with Dolores here there’d be no chance for a private conversation with him, at least the two of them might be able to show a united front.

  Because once her madrina found out about the pregnancy, all hell was going to break loose. Telling Dolores would be like confessing to her own mother.

  Ave Maria purísima. Rosa made a quick sign of the cross, asking for the confidence and strength to get through the inevitable confrontation.

  “¿Ay, nena, qué pasa?¿No te sientes bien?” Dolores hurried into the living room, her black low-heeled boots tap-tapping on the hardwood floor.

  She dropped her shoulder bag on the coffee table and pushed up a sleeve on her black sweater, her gold bangles jangling.

  “I’m feeling fine, tía,” Rosa answered. “I don’t know why Yaz called you.”

  “Pero, nena, you’ve had this flu for several weeks now, have you gone to the doctor?” Dolores pressed the inside of her wrist to Rosa’s forehead, checking for a fever.

  Over her madrina’s shoulder, Rosa caught Jeremy’s questioning look from the foyer where he still stood, holding on to Dolores’s winter coat. She knew what he was asking: Does Dolores know?

  Rosa gave the tiniest of head shakes.

  He frowned back at her, but thankfully turned to hang up the coat without complaint.

  Dolores cupped Rosa’s cheeks with cool hands, still checking her temperature. “You’re not warm. What are you feeling?”

  Rosa eased back from her tía’s motherly touch. “Some nausea, but I’ll be okay. I’m sorry Yazmine bothered you.”

  “Your sister said you needed someone to take care of you. ¿Por qué?”

  Dolores sat down next to Rosa on the couch. She eyed the dinner tray, her eyes narrowing as they moved from the barely touched soup, to the crackers, finally landing on the apple juice.

  Dios mío, was her shrewd madrina putting the pieces together?

  Rosa’s stomach clenched, which of course made the few bites of food she’d managed to swallow decide they wanted to make a reappearance. Immediately.

  Pushing herself off the couch, Rosa made a beeline for the hall bathroom.

  She raced by Jeremy, shoving the dinner tray at him on her way.

  “¿Ay, nena, what’s going on?”

  Her madrina’s cry of surprise didn’t stop Rosa as she shoved open the bathroom door.

  “Here, take this please, Dolores.”

  Rosa heard Jeremy, but his words didn’t really register until he knelt beside her, his hip bumping up against hers as his large body took up most of the space in the tiny half bath.

  He scooped her hair out of the way, clutching it in his fist as her whole body clenched and her stomach convulsed.

  “Remember what Dr. Jiménez advised. Don’t fight it. Relax as much as you can and go with it,” he said softly.

  Warmth from his hand on her back seeped through her sweater, like a heating pad soothing her tired muscles. Despite avoiding him for the past week, she was relieved to have him here with her. His touch and deep yet gentle voice soothing.

  Eventually, the body-racking spasms slowed to a stop. But they had taken a toll and when she tried to stand, her shaky legs threatened to give out.

  “Here, lean on me.” Jeremy slid his left arm around her waist to pull her snug against his side.

  One-handed, he managed to turn on the faucet, wet part of the hand towel hanging on the rack, then gently press it to her forehead. The cool moisture revived her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured after he finished wiping her cheeks. Feeling a little less wobbly, she eased a step away. “I’m—I’m good now.”

  “You sure?” Jeremy gazed down at her, one arm loosely draped along her lower back. His long fingers curved around her hip, causing little pinpricks of awareness to fan out. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering to brush her neck.

  Part of her wanted to burrow against him. Give in to his Sir Gawain tendencies. Let him be
her Knight of the Roundtable, ready to fight her battles. Namely, Tía Dolores waiting in the living room.

  But if they were going to be partners in all of this, she had to be equally strong.

  If she couldn’t stand up to her madrina, how was she going to face the naysayers who would undoubtedly share their opinions, especially once word spread in Jeremy’s social circle? Yaz had warned her about that already.

  “Yeah, I’m better.” She leaned on the wall behind her, locking her knees to steady herself. “Let me freshen up a bit and I’ll be right out.”

  Jeremy eyed her for a few seconds before he backed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give her some privacy.

  Resting her forearms on the sink’s cool ceramic edge, Rosa cupped some water in her hand and rinsed her mouth. She pushed herself to a shaky stand, then finger-combed her hair out of her face to peer at her reflection in the oval-shaped mirror.

  Great. She looked like hell. Dark circles casting a raccoon-ish appeal, skin a pukey shade of tan, lips chapped. For a second, she had the crazy idea to hang out in the bathroom longer, see if Dolores would tire of waiting and leave.

  Ha, right.

  And maybe Rosa would find the courage to spit one of her own poems at the Poetry Club’s open mic night. Fat chance.

  No, hiding out was not an option. Time for her to own up to her choices.

  Minutes later, Rosa skulked back to the living room. Jeremy sat on the ottoman, his handsome face marred by an uncomfortable frown.

  Her madrina perched on the edge of the sofa, fingers tapping a silent but impatient rhythm on her knees. Dolores stood up when she saw Rosa, her expression grim.

  “I take it you have been to visit Dr. Jiménez already, ha, nena?”

  Busted.

  Rosa paused at the edge of the floral area rug. She met her madrina’s stern gaze, reminding herself that her tía’s concern came from a loving place. “Sí, I had an appointment last week.”

  “And this gring—young man—has something to do with the situation.”

  It was more a statement than a question, punctuated by a head tilt and an arched brow in Jeremy’s direction. Never mind Dolores’s near slip of the tongue.

  Gringo. Aka Anglo. Spoken in a derogatory tone that implied he wasn’t worthy of her.

  The negative connotation of the familiar term, used in conjunction with Jeremy, who’d been a close family friend for several years now, caught Rosa by surprise.

  Based on the blue fire lighting his eyes, his rudimentary Spanish was enough for him to catch the dig, too.

  Dios mío, Rosa prayed Dolores hadn’t said something rude to him while she’d been cowering in the bathroom.

  A spurt of protective anger ricocheted around Rosa’s chest like one of the fireflies Maria often caught in a glass jar.

  When Rosa had needed someone today because Yazmine was busy taking care of her own sick family, Jeremy had stepped in. No questions asked. When she’d needed a connection to family during her last semester after Papi’s death, Jeremy had been there. A lifeline that helped her keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  Her madrina had no right to treat him so rudely.

  “Sí, tía, Jeremy is involved. He’s been adamant about staying by my side. And I want him here.”

  Straightening her shoulders to stand taller, Rosa held a hand out to Jeremy, counting on him to understand the importance of them presenting a united front.

  In hindsight, she should have expected this reaction from Dolores. But with her thoughts on her job and being freaked out about Jeremy’s proposal, she hadn’t even considered how, in the eyes of her community, he might be considered persona non grata. If there was any doubt about his treatment of Rosa, or his commitment to their child, the people in her Latino community would run him out of Oakton. Send him straight back to his fancy penthouse in downtown Chicago. No questions asked.

  One thing you could count on, they would stand up to protect their own.

  Never mind that Rosa’d been the one with doubts from the very beginning. Not him.

  Thankfully, as if he’d received her telepathic unity message, Jeremy rounded the coffee table to clasp Rosa’s hand in his. He linked their fingers, a callus on his palm rubbing against her smooth one.

  “We’re figuring things out. But the baby and I will be fine.” Rosa pressed a protective hand to her belly.

  In that moment, standing side by side with Jeremy, facing the woman who was like a mother to her, the reality of their situation crystallized in Rosa’s mind.

  They were having a baby. Together.

  Questions she hadn’t allowed herself to consider suddenly bombarded her in a firestorm.

  Would he or she have Jeremy’s blue eyes? Maybe her brown ones? His thick dirty-blond hair or her wavy black locks? She hoped their child possessed Jeremy’s sharp mind; math had never been her favorite subject. But without question she’d make sure their little one inherited her love of reading.

  A pang of pleasure-pain pierced her heart.

  So many things to consider when a child’s life was in your hands.

  Dolores’s dark eyes shifted between Jeremy and Rosa. Considering. No doubt measuring Jeremy’s suitability. Questioning Rosa’s emotional state.

  Rosa made herself maintain eye contact.

  This was not the time to let her shyness prevail. She was going to be a mamá. Soon joining the young mothers group at church. A rite of passage.

  The silence dragged on and Jeremy squeezed her hand.

  She leaned her shoulder against the side of his arm, gaining strength from his presence, hoping her touch did the same for him.

  Hands clasped at her chest as if in prayer, Dolores turned toward Rosa. “Bueno, espero que los dos estén—”

  “English, please, Tía,” Rosa interrupted, mindful to keep her tone respectful. “Jeremy doesn’t speak Spanish.”

  “But I’m learning!” he quickly threw in.

  Dolores gifted him with her famous how-you-have-disappointed-me frown. The one Rosa had avoided most of her life. Yazmine and Lilí had typically been recipients of Tía Dolores’s glass-melting glare because of their antics. Especially Lilí.

  “Bueno, I hope that you both,” Dolores repeated, in English this time, “are prepared for what you are getting into. From the looks of you, Rosita, I would say you are suffering like your mamá did with all three of her pregnancies. ¿Verdad?”

  Rosa nodded, tears of regret burning her throat when her madrina called her by the childhood nickname Mami had often used. Oh, how she wished her mamá were here to offer counsel and reassurance.

  Jeremy let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunately, Rosa hasn’t been feeling too well. But we saw Dr. Jiménez last week and she provided some guidance. She put Rosa on half days at work with bed rest at home after.”

  “So, you will need someone to stay with you. It was right for Yazmine to call me,” Dolores said, still not having spoken directly to Jeremy. “Pablo and I were supposed to leave for Puerto Rico on Friday for the holidays. I will change my ticket and leave later so I can take care of you.”

  “No, please don’t!” The last thing Rosa wanted was people making a big deal, throwing their own schedules out of whack because of her.

  Her skin itched with the terrible thought of drawing attention to herself. If Dolores changed her flight, people would wonder why. There’d be talk, gossiping. Especially at church, and that wouldn’t help her cause with Father Yosef.

  Dios mío, her heart raced with anxiety.

  She needed to maintain an air of normalcy. For herself, her sanity, not to mention her job security.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Jeremy said, “I plan to pick Rosa up after work and spend the evenings with her so she’s not alone.” He looked down at Rosa. His blue eyes flashed with a question, waiting for her confirmation.

  She hesitated. They’d come to a friendly agreement about him not pushing. But they ha
dn’t actually discussed what that meant before Dolores arrived.

  “And if she is sick at night? Or in the early mornings? Who will make our special teas to ease her nausea?” Dolores folded her arms across her chest with authority.

  Now that she’d finally acknowledged him, she punctuated her questions with her fiery glare. The same one she had perfected while volunteering with the often-rowdy youth group.

  “I know my way around a kitchen,” Jeremy answered. “And if Rosa needs someone here overnight, or in the mornings, I have no problem staying. In Yazmine’s old room,” he added when Dolores’s glare turned glacial.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rosa argued. She held her hands up to stall the conversation before it became train-wrecked. “I doubt—”

  “And you would do that?” her madrina interrupted.

  “For Rosa and our baby, I’ll do anything.” A steely resolution wove its way through Jeremy’s words. The same implacable expression Rosa had come up against all last week tightened his jaw muscles.

  “And what kind of job do you have to provide for your family that would allow you to be here playing nursemaid to my Rosita?”

  “¡Tía, por favor!”

  Rosa had never raised her voice to Dolores before. Respecting her elders had been drummed into her since birth, but her madrina’s questioning was beyond insulting to Jeremy, and embarrassing to her.

  “I don’t see this as ‘playing nursemaid,’” Jeremy answered, admirably calm in the face of Dolores’s interrogation. “It’s helping someone I care for. Who also happens to be the mother of my child.” His arm tightened around Rosa’s shoulders again, pressing her more tightly to his side. “As for my job. I have a dam—darn good one that provides flexibility, so it’s not a problem for me to be here for Rosa. If that’s what she wants.”

  Great, he’d finally gotten the message that she didn’t want to be coerced into something they weren’t ready for. Only now Dolores had stepped into the role of aggressor.

  Somehow, the downhill snowball that had become Rosa’s life had gained in speed and size, leaving her few options to stop it.

  She rolled her eyes, then quickly blinked to hide the act—smart enough to remember it was one of her tía’s pet peeves. Lilí had gotten enough head thumps for the two of them because of a disrespectful eye roll over the years.