Say Forever (25 page)

Christina takes a sip from her wine, eyeing me skeptically. "Your Uncle Arturo called me a few days ago."

Why would he do that? Is he using her to convince me to work for him? I set my silverware down and push aside the grilled salmon plate. I have to force myself to unclench my jaw as I wait for her to finish.

She downs the rest of her wine, and then exhales slowly. "He wanted to offer his condolences about the baby and then he started telling me stories about how you used to follow him around in the kitchen. How whenever he would come over, you'd run and get your apron. How you'd rather help him cook than go outside and work on something for Tio."

I force myself to ignore the increasing tempo of my heart and try to keep my expression even. "That was a long time ago."

Biting on her lip, she runs a finger across the rim of her glass. Her expression is erotic, distracting. I realize the stakes must be high if Christina is using her sexual charms this early. "He thinks you've missed your true calling. He said something about his new catering business."

I shake my head. "I can't leave Tio."

She slumps in the booth, sighing. "It's obvious you're unhappy with your job, Andrés. Tio wouldn't want you to be miserable for the rest of your life."

"Catering doesn't pay enough, mija."

"Arturo said he offered you eighty thousand a year."

She says this as if I'm supposed to be impressed. Actually, the bills we have now don't exceed that income. Considering Christina was raised by a rich bitch, she's pretty low maintenance, with the exception of the money she spends on paint. I know we could be comfortable on eighty-thousand plus whatever she makes. But I also can't forget she broke up with a billionaire's son to be with me. Ten years from now, when she doesn't have a luxury car or mansion, I don't want her regretting her decision.

"I've made almost two-hundred thousand this year working for Tio," I say. "I'll make double that next year."

I'm expecting her to be shocked by this news, but she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. We haven't discussed how much I'll be making, other than it will be a lot. It was only last week, as Tio and I were going over the books with his accountant, that we discussed what I might expect to make in the coming years. They said I could easily pull in half a million a year.

Frowning, her gaze searches mine. I tense up, wondering what she's searching for. Finally, she folds her hands, staring at me with those penetrating eyes, as if she's trying to melt away my layers of resistance.

"But will you be happy?" she asks.

No,
I think to myself, but I'm still unwilling to admit it. "We could buy a house. A nice house, maybe even a ranch of our own."

She strokes my hand with her delicate fingers. "How nice will it be if you're never there to share it with me?"

***

Christina

We walk hand-in-hand beneath the colorful, flashing lights on Freemont Street. A video plays on a large canopy screen above us. It's like the whole ceiling is a rock video, and hot music filters in from the loudspeakers surrounding us. The street is teaming with vendors selling all kind of goods, from chocolate to personalized license plates. And the entertainers on the street are hilarious. After growing up in Austin, the weird capital of Texas, I should be used to strange, right? But I don't know how to classify some of the people I meet in downtown Vegas. There's the topless woman who's somehow managed to avoid being labeled a flasher by painting giant strawberries on her Double-D, saggy breasts. Not quite sure who she's pretending to be other than a middle-aged woman with delusional Strawberry Shortcake fantasies. There's the old guy in a diaper, wearing cupid wings and a bow strung across his back. My favorite has to be the bronze cowboy. That's right. He's painted every part of his body, from his boots to his hat, bronze , and he stands as still as a statue while people pose for pictures. Of course, none of them do it for free, so Andrés hands three Elvises some bills and we snap a few pictures with them.

We're strolling arm-in-arm, eating cotton candy and enjoying the odd attractions, when I stop suddenly, as if I've run into a brick wall.

Omigod!

I break into a run until I reach the storefront window. I place my hands on the glass, and I think my jaw hits the concrete as I stare at the shoes the mannequin is wearing. And when I say
the shoes
, I mean
my shoes
.

These red, strappy heels with pretty shimmery flower bows match the flowers on my wedding gown perfectly.

"What is it, mija?" Andrés asks as he joins me.

I point at the window and jump up and down. "The shoes!"

He looks at me as if I've gone loco.

"My shoes," I squeal. "The shoes that match my wedding dress. I gave up looking for them and here they are."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, and then his full lips break into a slow grin. "We need to buy them."

***

I walk out of the store with my brand new shoes strapped to my feet. I know they totally don't go with the black dress I'm wearing, but I don't care. These beauties were practically screaming through the window for me to put them on. And as I sway my hips in front of Andrés before twirling around on my toes, I think these dazzling heels are the perfect fit.

Andrés smiles and whistles at me as we continue to walk down the street, past shops with high dollar clothes, noisy pubs, and blinking slot machines. I'm not quite sure how we end up standing in front of that wedding chapel, but as Andrés laces his fingers through mine, my feet propel me forward, and I'm drawn to the little white church like a moth to a flame.

That's when I realize the shoes, the chapel, the dress Grace packed for me has to be fate. As I look up into Andrés's soul-filled gaze, I know the one thing that would make this already memorable vacation absolutely perfect. As if we are both of one mind, we wordlessly walk inside. We reserve the deluxe Elvis wedding slot. Why we decided on Elvis, I have no idea, but I figure if we're going to get married in Vegas, we might as well go all the way. We rush back to the hotel and Andrés helps me into my gown.

I smooth down the fabric as I admire my reflection in the mirror. The dress isn't too wrinkled now, and the flowers and butterflies I added along the bottom are beautiful, but I think my shimmery red shoes make the gown, which reaches just above my ankles without the heavy train. I sway my skirt a few times, admiring my reflection.

Andrés comes up behind me, placing his strong hands on my hips. He pulls back my veil and plants a soft kiss on my neck. "You're beautiful, mija."

My eyes flutter shut as I savor the way his lips tickle my skin. When he takes a step back, I open my eyes and admire my handsome groom. He's changed into a suit jacket and dress pants. Not too formal, but not too casual, either. Although,Andrés could marry me in jeans for all I care. What matters is he's going to be my husband.

***

Andrés

I feel like the luckiest man in the world right now. Christina is so fucking beautiful. As I take her arm in mine and lead her through the hotel lobby, I still can't believe the girl of my dreams is about to become my bride.

I feel like I'm floating in a dream as we walk hand-in-hand across the crowded downtown sidewalk. Lots of people stop to congratulate us, which makes the trip take longer than it should. I nervously check my watch. We've got ten minutes before our scheduled appointment, and we've still got two more blocks to go. I summon what I learned back in Army training, square my shoulders and dodge, (sometimes push) people out of the way. I jostle that religious nut who says Revelations is upon us. I "accidentally" elbow the guy trying to sell us tickets to a strip club. We narrowly escape the old lady who wants to read our fortunes.

"Don't you fear what your future may hold?" she calls at our backs.

I pretend not to hear her.

The problem is, I do hear her. Because her voice is the same voice of worry that has been running through my head. I do fear what my future may hold. I fear it so fucking much, because once I make Christina my wife, my future will be her future, too. And the thought of it almost makes my knees go weak.

Considering how I buried myself in my job all last month while she mourned the loss of our baby, I know I've already failed her once. I should have insisted on time off. I should have been there for her.

Once we make it to an opening, I pull her along faster, but I don't know why I'm hurrying anymore. I realize we've got to make it to our wedding, but I feel as if something else is propelling my feet forward.

The word takes hold of me like a vice:
fear.
I'm fucking scared.

"Slow down, Andrés."

Christina sounds frustrated.

"Sorry, mija, but our appointment is in"—I check my watch—"four minutes."

She releases my hand and bends over, adjusting a strap on her shoe. "They won't care if we're a few minutes late."

"I don't want them giving away our slot." I pace the sidewalk while I wait for her. I can feel the tension mounting, pressing down on my shoulders like a two-ton sack. "I'm marrying you now before you change your mind." That last part comes out on a rush of air, and I'm not even aware what I say until it's too late.

She stands up, bunching up the sides of her dress in small fists. "Why would I do that?"

I heave a groan as I look from her penetrating eyes to the concrete. Might as well come out and say it. It's only fair she knows what she's getting into. "Because I'm not worthy of you."

Christina grasps my shoulders, pulling herself up on her toes while craning her neck to look up at me. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Her bottom lip trembles.

Damn. I've upset her. Now I feel even less worthy of her.

Shut up, Andrés. Take your beautiful bride and make her all yours. Don't fuck this up now.

But there's this aching in my chest, not strong, not enough to weigh me down. It feels like my heart has been punctured by the smallest hole, and it will never close until I come clean. Until I tell her how I feel, and I know I have to do it now. Before she commits to me for a lifetime, she needs to know this man she's marrying is not worthy of her. Not at all.

I look into her face and swipe a tear form the corner of her eye. "You don't have to be marrying me. You could be marrying a billionaire's son."

She shakes her head, biting down on her lip. "I don't want him. I want you."

I can see it's taking all her willpower not to break down and cry. I'm feeling less worthy of her by the second.

"I might have to quit my job, mija. If this catering thing doesn't work, then I won't have a job at all."

Christina settles back on her heels and crosses her arms. She was on the verge of sobbing just moments ago, and now she looks ready to bite my head off. "We haven't said our vows yet, but I'm pretty sure there's a part in there about for better or for worse, and when I say it, I'll mean it." She jabs me in the chest. "There's nothing that life can throw at us that will be any worse than the life I lived before I met you." Her expression softens as she splays her hand across my heart. "As long as we're together, we'll deal with whatever the future holds."

My heart pounds like a drum beneath her touch. I can still feel that hole, that fucking stupid hole, and though I know she's trying to reassure me now, all her forgiveness does is drive home the fact that I'm definitely not good enough for her.

"I wasn't there for you when you lost the baby." My throat feels so tight, I'm surprised I can speak at all. "I stayed too late at work. You needed me, and I wasn't there."

She frowns and looks at those red shoes of hers. She twists her feet for a moment, as if she's examining the flowers on her toes. And while she's contemplating flowers, I'm holding my breath, because I know it's not flowers she's thinking about. I know she finally realizes she can do better.

She lets out a slow breath of air, punctuated by a soft moan. When she looks at me, my heart stops. In fact, everything around me stops. I don't hear the noise from the crowd behind us or the blaring music. I don't see the flashing lights, either. All I see are those big, soulful green eyes staring at me.

"I did need you, Andrés, but you had a lot to deal with, too."

I shake my head, hardly believing she's trying to justify my behavior. "Don't make excuses for me, mija."

She flashes a weak smile while tracing a pattern on my chest. "You'll do better next time."

"I'm never putting my job ahead of you again. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Can we get married now?"

The impatience in her tone makes me laugh out loud. My fear and guilt seem to melt away as I bend her over and capture her lips in a soul crushing kiss. Yeah, maybe I don't deserve this amazing woman, but goddam, I'm making her mine.

We spend a half an hour filling out marriage certificate paperwork and picking our photography packages before Elvis will marry us. Christina gets offended when the woman at the front desk says she looks as old as her high school daughter. She checks over Christina's ID carefully, as if we've forged it. I stifle a laugh as Christina rolls her eyes at the woman. Christina doesn't bring a ring for me, but since the chapel is nice enough to have wedding rings on hand for an extra three hundred dollars a pop, we buy me a simple silver band. When Christina asks about bands for herself, I hold up a hand, telling her not to worry about it, and then I shrug off her questioning look.

Elvis really plays his part well as he saunters up to us, swaying an ass that is probably thirty years too old and forty pounds too much for those polyester pants with multicolored rhinestones sewn into the seams. He knocks his knees a few times and waves his hands around in an awkward circular motion before pointing at my bride.

"Rhythm is something you either have or don't have, but when you have it, you have it all over." He waves his hands down his body as if he's trying to fan paint fumes off his pants.

I try to pretend that's what he's doing, but I groan when he starts going on about us not stepping on his blue suede shoes.