Her Perfect Affair

by Priscilla Oliveras

  Jeremy might say he was kidding. The satisfied smirk on Cecile’s bowed lips might imply she agreed with him. But one result of Rosa’s keen infatuation for Jeremy was that she had gotten pretty skilled at reading his expressions, clueing her into his moods.

  For instance, she knew that when the right side of his mouth turned down the slightest bit, he was annoyed. When the edges of his eyes crinkled, or one of his brows twitched in a slight quirk, his laugh was about to roll from his chest.

  When the pupils of his eyes flared, his desire sparked and he wanted to kiss her. Which she usually didn’t mind.

  Or, like now, when the muscles in his jaw flexed, his anger or frustration simmered and he fought to not let it boil over.

  But which was it now. Anger? Or frustration? And why?

  Somewhere in the penthouse, a door opened and two male voices could be heard talking.

  Laura rose from the wing chair. Her mouth trembled as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated.

  “Drop it, Mom,” Jeremy grumbled. “It’s all good.”

  Rosa glanced from him to his mom, ignoring Cecile, who seemed to have set off this underlying tension. Whatever the root cause of it might be. Forget Rosa’s nervousness about meeting Jeremy’s parents for the first time, or the fear of them thinking she might not be good enough for their oldest son. There was more going on here and apparently she was the only one in the dark about it.

  Her discomfort grew as Rosa found herself doubting Jeremy, certain he was keeping something from her. Something his “old family friend/flame” and pot-stirrer Cecile was privy to.

  “Before I forget—” Cecile propped an elbow on her armrest and leaned toward Jeremy. “Sharon and Morgan have two extra box seat tickets to the ballet on Thursday. I told them I’d see if you were free. How about it? Dinner and drinks beforehand. The four us, like old times.”

  The bold woman actually reached out to put her manicured hand on Jeremy’s knee.

  Rosa wanted to smack Cecile’s grubby paw away, stake her own claim on Jeremy. Only, she didn’t have a right to do that. Not really.

  She may have thought they were growing closer over the course of this past week. Now she wasn’t so sure. Not with whatever secrets he was keeping from her.

  “I don’t think so, Cecile. Rosa and I already have plans. You guys have fun.” Jeremy pushed up off the couch, and Cecile’s hand dropped away. He combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it mussed. Something Rosa had mostly seen him do when agitated.

  Cecile shot Rosa a brittle smile. “Another time, maybe.”

  “Hello, beautiful. Sorry to keep everyone waiting.” Sherman Taylor entered the room with gusto, his vibrant personality like a visible force. One arm outstretched, he curved it around Laura’s shoulders, bringing her closer to him so he could kiss her temple.

  Jeremy must have gotten his height from his mom because even in her low heels Laura stood even with Sherman, both maybe five-foot-ten or so. Sherman’s brown hair was peppered with grey, but with the long sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up and his crisp grey slacks, it was evident he was fit for his age.

  Behind him trailed a shorter, slightly paunchy older man, his cheeks had large jowls that spread with joy when he spotted his daughter.

  Rosa and Cecile stood at the same time, the other woman moving to her father’s side.

  “Jeremy, good to see you, son,” Sherman greeted him.

  “You, too, Dad. Harold, it’s been a while.”

  The men shook hands while exchanging pleasantries.

  Rosa tried to catch any sign of discomfort between Jeremy and his dad, but she came up empty. Sherman appeared happy Jeremy was here. Jeremy showed no signs of his earlier frustration.

  She could almost convince herself that she’d misinterpreted everything. Only, the tiny V marring the area between Laura’s thin brows hinted at the woman’s lingering worry.

  “And this young lady must be Rosa.”

  This time, Rosa knew to hold out her hand, forgoing the hug that was second nature to her and her family.

  “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Taylor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  He winked at her, a habit Jeremy had evidently inherited from his dad. “When the weather is nicer and we can enjoy a meal out on the terrace, you’ll have to come for dinner.”

  “I’d like that, thank you.” She could see why Sherman was known for swaying juries. The intensity of his gaze zeroed in on her and made her feel like she was the most important person in the room.

  Jeremy stepped closer to place a hand on the small of her back. She angled her head to look at him, catching the barely discernible question in his deep blue eyes.

  Before she could consider what he might be trying to ask her, Sherman was introducing her to Harold Millward.

  Right away, it became apparent that while his physical appearance could mistakenly lead you to think him soft, Harold Millward’s quick wit matched Sherman’s. Explaining how the two men had, together, built Taylor & Millward into the most sought-after boutique law firm in the Midwest.

  “We’re going to head out now,” Mr. Millward said after their colorful discussion about the must-see sunset view and the don’t-miss gatherings often held on the Taylors’ terrace. “I promised my gorgeous daughter an early dinner treat, and I don’t like to disappoint her.” He held out a crooked elbow, and Cecile slid her arm through it. “Looking forward to the holiday party Wednesday night.”

  “Oh yes, Rosa, I’m sure Jeremy’s mentioned it. We hope you can join us.” Laura held out her hands in welcome to Rosa, who had no idea what party they referred to.

  “We’ve both been so busy, I hadn’t even thought about the firm’s annual party,” Jeremy said. “We might, um, have to take a rain check, right?”

  He turned to Rosa for confirmation.

  Anger sparked in her. She didn’t appreciate feeling like a pawn in some game she didn’t even know she was playing.

  Confused, refusing to lie, she answered with a half-hearted shrug.

  Disappointment flashed in Laura’s eyes.

  Sherman’s mouth thinned the tiniest bit.

  “Well, hopefully things work out and you can make it,” Harold answered. “We’ll be off now. Sherman, we’ll need to have Henderson take a look at your laptop, maybe poke around the ones in the office. Something’s off. Or, hell, have Jeremy give it a look over. The kid’s got more computer degrees than most folks we know. Probably even more than Henderson.”

  Jeremy’s hand flexed, his fingers pressing into Rosa’s back.

  “I don’t mind giving it a try,” he replied, his lazy tone contrary to the tension Rosa sensed in him.

  “There you go.” Harold gestured at Jeremy. “What good is it having a son who turns down law school and winds up an IT whiz if you don’t take advantage of his skills?”

  Jeremy’s shoulders stiffened. Rosa cut a quick glance at Laura Taylor and could swear the woman’s pale skin had blanched a shade lighter.

  Despite the friendly smiles on everyone’s faces, a strained undercurrent vibrated in the air, snapping at Rosa’s already stressed nerves.

  “That’s okay, son. I won’t bother you about it.” Sherman pshawed, brushing off Harold’s idea. “Henderson can take care of everything tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure he can.” Jeremy’s stiff response didn’t seem to bother anyone else. But it certainly confused her.

  Dios mío, the subtext she couldn’t grasp made Rosa’s head spin with questions.

  Laura offered to walk Harold and Cecile to the door. Thankfully Sherman joined the group, leaving Rosa and Jeremy alone in the living room.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Jeremy sank onto the couch with a muffled groan. He gripped his thighs, his pale skin tone in stark contrast to his black jeans.

  An inexplicable pain shadowed his blue eyes, twisted his lips in a grimace.

  Confused, Rosa battled with anger and betrayal. Jeremy should have given her a heads-u
p about whatever everyone else was dancing around here.

  At the same time, seeing him hurting like this tugged at her heart. She cared for him too much not to want to ease whatever caused his pain.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

  “It’s okay.” Rosa laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  He hung his head, shaking it from side to side. “God, Rosa, you’re too good. Even when you’re dropped in the middle of someone else’s family drama, you don’t complain. And you should. Hell, I would!”

  “Hey!” She joined him on the couch, slipping her hand from his shoulder to wrap around his back to offer comfort. “I’m not saying you don’t have some explaining to do. But right now, I feel like you could use a hug more than I need answers.”

  Jeremy pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

  “Uh-uh, if we’re doing this—whatever ‘this’ is—it’s fifty-fifty. I won’t accept anything else.”

  They stared deeply into each other’s eyes and she caught the flare of his pupils. She knew what was coming and, despite his parents in the nearby foyer, she let her eyes flutter closed.

  His lips brushed against hers in a kiss so feather soft she could almost think she’d dreamt it.

  He held her face with both palms as he kissed her again. And again.

  Little nips that teased her. Enticed her desire. Leaving her wanting more.

  The elevator doors dinged, signaling its arrival. Goodbyes could be heard from the foyer.

  Jeremy pulled back with a muttered groan.

  Rosa’s eyes fluttered open, meeting the chagrined smile in his baby blues.

  “Look, my mom knows you haven’t been feeling well. Us coming today was tentative, based on how you were doing. Would you mind if we kept this short, then headed home?”

  Home.

  She liked the sound of that.

  Oh, make no mistake about it. They had a major conversation ahead of them. Rosa the quiet dormouse was no longer in residence at casa Fernandez.

  Jeremy might think she was okay being kept in the dark and walking into his parents’ intimidating home without a clue that there might be a drop of bad blood.

  If so, her handsome housemate was going to have to think again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Balancing a dinner tray in one hand, Jeremy knocked tentatively on Rosa’s bedroom door with the other.

  He didn’t relish bothering her, but she’d been holed up in there since they’d come back from the awkward visit with his parents. It was past her regular dinnertime. He figured she had to be hungry.

  Bringing up her food gave him an excuse to check on her. Find a way to explain what he should have explained before getting to his parents’ place.

  Right now, his quiet librarian was also an angry librarian. Deservedly so.

  She’d barely said a word during their drive home. After abruptly telling him she wasn’t ready to talk, she’d sat in the front passenger seat, eyes closed, dozing. Or pretending to anyway.

  As soon as they’d gotten inside her house, she’d marched straight upstairs, claiming she was tired.

  Talk about disastrous.

  He had hoped the visit would reassure her that she was welcome with his family, the same way he always felt with hers.

  Of course, he hadn’t counted on Harold and Cecile being there. Or that his father’s partner would dredge up the uncomfortable reminder of the huge disappointment Jeremy had given Sherman, thumbing his nose at his father’s dream of having his sons join his law practice.

  Most of the time, Jeremy assumed they had moved past the deep disillusion Sherman had felt and the overwhelming sense of suffocation Jeremy had struggled with before making the decision to go his own way.

  His mom claimed he was the only one who hadn’t moved past it. But while Sherman asked about his work and career aspirations, Jeremy sensed a difference between the way his father viewed him and his younger brother. As if Michael and their dad now shared a bond beyond that of DNA, something Jeremy and Sherman would never share.

  “Come in,” Rosa called at his knock.

  The disgruntled tone of her voice wasn’t quite the welcome he’d wanted, but at least she hadn’t told him to go away.

  “I thought you might be getting a little hungry,” he said as he entered.

  She sat on the red upholstered armchair next to her bookshelf, feet propped up on the matching ottoman, her poetry journal lying open on her lap. She glanced between the tray he held and his face, a mix of emotions clashing in her eyes—annoyance, disappointment, and finally resignation.

  “I want to tell you to go away. That I’m not ready to argue with you.” She narrowed her eyes in a glare that lasted all of a few seconds before her generous, occasionally sassy and always forgiving personality shifted back into place. “But I am getting hungry, surprisingly, and I’m not foolish enough to bite the hand that feeds me.”

  “Whatever reason lets me in, I’ll take what I can get,” Jeremy answered.

  “Wise man.”

  Marking her place with her father’s letter, she closed the journal, then put it on top of the low bookcase. He bent down, and she deftly reached for the cup of apple juice balancing precariously on the wicker tray.

  “Here you go.” Jeremy laid the food on her lap, noting that she’d changed out of her skirt and sweater into comfy grey sweats with a matching top. Emblazoned on the front of the sweatshirt was an open book. Written in a flourishing font on the book’s pages were the words: It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

  He smiled as he backed away and sat on the end of her bed.

  “What?” she asked, suspicion lacing her question.

  “What’s the first line of Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m playing our version of Jeopardy with you.”

  She sighed. A heavy, put-upon sigh she mostly reserved for Lilí when she was pushing Rosa’s buttons.

  But she hadn’t told him to leave. That was a good sign.

  He pointed to her sweatshirt. “The answer is: What’s the first line of Pride and Prejudice. Which I know happens to be your favorite classic novel, right?”

  She took a sip of the apple juice, then carefully set the glass next to her Moleskine journal on the bookshelf. Her pensive gaze told him she was either thinking of a way to politely ask him to go, or coming up with her own Jeopardy question.

  He was hoping against hope that she’d play along. Throw him a rope across the vast distance she’d put between them as soon as they’d gotten in the elevator to leave his parents’ house.

  “Fiiiiiine,” she said on a groan. “You’re right.”

  He clapped his hands in triumph.

  “Give me another one,” he said, scooting back and making himself comfortable on her bed.

  He’d kicked off his shoes in Yazmine’s room earlier; now, he tucked his stockinged feet to sit cross-legged. They hadn’t played literature Jeopardy since they’d lived in Champaign.

  He couldn’t remember whose idea it’d been, but they’d had fun challenging each other from time to time while walking across campus or eating dinner. Sometimes it was character names, authors, or, like now, first lines.

  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Rosa monotoned.

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Puh-lease. That’s too easy. What is A Tale of Two Cities?”

  Rosa quirked a brow. Still, he caught the faint twitch of her lips. Her Mona Lisa smile trying to sneak onto her face.

  He arched a brow right back, daring her to test him with something harder.

  Her gaze dropped to the small bowl of pureed chicken soup. Picking up her spoon, she dipped it in the concoction, then brought it up to her mouth.

  Watching her lips close over the utensil, Jeremy nearly sw
allowed his tongue. His body stirred and he shifted, adjusting himself. He could practically see her mind working, searching for a book that might stump him, blissfully unaware of his reaction to her unknowingly sexy eating habits.

  “Okay,” she said after swallowing her baby bite of soup. “Let’s try, ‘You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of . . .’” She broke off, waiting to see if he’d caught it yet.

  The glint of mischief in her brown eyes warmed him. It was a far cry better than the hurt-filled anger that had flashed at him earlier.

  “You give?” she asked after only a few seconds had passed.

  “Wait!” His fingers tapped against his knee. The answer was on the edge of his brain.

  “‘. . . read a book by the name of The Adventures of—’”

  “What is The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn?” He blurted the words in a quick jumble, pointing his finger at her in triumph.

  She laughed, the dinner tray shaking in her lap and making the spoon rattle against the red ceramic bowl. “Right.”

  “Give me another,” he prodded. “C’mon, one more. For old time’s sake.”

  Her smile dimmed, a nostalgic wistfulness covering her features.

  Too late, he realized his faux pas. There was no going back to “old times” now, not with the baby and all the changes ahead of them.

  “How about, ‘We didn’t always live on—’”

  “Mango Street,” he finished, remembering another one of her favorites, this one a young adult novel by a well-known Latina author. He had never read it until Rosa had mentioned how much she’d enjoyed it. High praise he’d never discount. “What is The House on Mango Street?”

  She nodded, dipping her spoon into the soup again.

  “You’re going soft on me, Rosa,” he chided.

  One of her shoulders lifted and fell in a half-shrug. He would rather she yelled at him instead of quietly retreating to seethe. Or worse, push him away.

  God forbid the twilight zone visit with his parents made Rosa pull back again, decide single parenting was better than getting mixed up with him and his hang-ups.

  The idea gutted him.