My ass is as hard as a gourd, but it’s not flat.
I’m lucky. Genetically blessed.
I am also hot.
_________________________________________
From: Lily
To: August
Subject: Come on
You’re giving me everything but the important details. How big is your penis?
_________________________________________
From: August
To: Lily
Subject: Re: Come on
My mistake. :) I should’ve known that’s all women care about. I’ve been told my cock is huge, but I’m not one to brag about it in emails. Just feels…pathetic.
Rest assured, it gets the job done.
I have to sleep, but I had a great time chatting with you. If you ever want to talk on the phone, let me know.
Good night,
August
5
I’ve dreaded this part for weeks. This road trip has all the flavors of a romantic getaway, but I’m not excited about visiting my parents. What an understatement. My teeth are clenched in anticipation.
I try to lose myself in the joy of boundless freedom. Wind blasts my face, cooling my skin from the harsh sunshine. Soft music pulses from the speakers. The scenery looks brighter with August by my side. The drab, brown landscape transforms into golden, rolling hills. Against the cloudless blue, it’s picturesque.
August watches the world slide past the windows, grinning with joie de vivre. Life used to be full of opportunities. Somehow my choices whittled to living in destitute poverty in an unsafe warehouse or accepting a stranger’s marriage proposal.
Not that I’m complaining. I’ve accepted it.
“I’ve been there!” August points at the In-N-Out restaurant. “Great food.”
I laugh. “If that’s your idea of a good burger, I feel sorry for you.”
He releases a wistful sigh. “I wish you could show me around.”
I’d enjoy that. “Where did you go last time?”
“Everywhere. I toured San Francisco, drove down the coast, visited Yosemite, and still felt like I barely scratched the surface.” He smiles at the memory. “It was awesome.”
“Didn’t you stay for two weeks?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“What kept you from returning?”
“My dad, mostly.”
I cross my arms. “Who are you?”
“I’ve given you my name,” he says. “August Espada.”
My eyes can’t roll any further back. “You know what I mean. Why do you have bodyguards?”
“My father is a powerful man.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.”
“He’s a general in the military. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but that meant a lifetime of serving him. So I made sure I was disqualified.” He pulls his sock, revealing a ghastly scar running down his ankle.
“Jesus.” I trace the solid, white line. “You did that to yourself?”
“I had to. No one refuses General Espada. Not even his son.”
I picture dragging a blade across my flesh. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It was like ripping a Band-Aid.”
“I doubt that.” In all our conversations, he never mentioned this monumental event. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs, looking outside. “I couldn’t think of a polite way to work it into conversation.”
“That makes me nervous, August.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m going out on a limb for you.” I bite my lip to keep the tremble from my voice. “My whole life is here.”
He touches my jaw. “Yes.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes. “I’m giving up a lot, and your identity was a mystery until yesterday. I don’t even know our destination.”
“Colombia.”
A tear skates down my cheek. “That’s where you live?”
He slides over the seat until our thighs touch, his arm heavy over my shoulders. “We’ll land, drive a few hours, and be home. I promise.”
Colombia. That’s in South America. At least I have the name of the country.
“You can still change your mind.”
“I have nowhere to go.” And it feels awful admitting it. “The real reason I lived in that warehouse was because I’m a failure.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. My parents didn’t teach me a damn thing about money. I was in such a hurry to get out that I ruined my credit, made bad decisions, and by the time I learned how to fix everything, it was over.”
August smiles. “This will sound horribly lame, but it’s never too late.”
“You’re right. That is a cliché.”
He squeezes my hip with a playful smirk that sends liquid-hot warmth down my throat. When my laughter dies, his grin flattens.
“Seriously, though. We could turn around.”
And lose him for good? Hell no. “I’d hate myself.”
I thought maybe the attraction would fizzle once we met each other, that perhaps this insane chemistry was in my head.
It’s not. Sitting next to him is a contact high.
He splays a hand over my thigh. “Look, I can’t give you a perfect life. But I promise you it’ll be better than this.”
Heat rises to my cheeks at the mention of the scrap heap I called home. “For so long, it was a breath of fresh air.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because at least I was free from them. I hate that I’m heading back there. Never thought I’d see them again.”
“We’ll be quick.”
That won’t matter if Dad slams the door in his face. “You remember what I told you?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever they say—whatever happens—”
“Babe, I know.”
No, he doesn’t. “I might have understated how crazy he is.”
“How nuts are we talking? Like drooling in the corner or—”
“There may be weapons involved.”
“Ah.” His eyebrow arches. “We’ll be fine.”
I gape at him. “I’m not joking.”
He scoffs at my concern. “My guards have handled worse. Trust me.”
Confiding in August was tough. It’s difficult admitting the people who gave me life are terrible. Every Christmas, I send a text. That’s how strained our relationship is.
“I always felt like a stranger in a strange land.” As a kid, I buried my nose in books while Mom binged soap operas. “We’re nothing alike. I hope you don’t think less of me.”
“Relax, I won’t.” He links hands with mine, squeezing. “Wait until you meet my father.”
I fall silent as we pass through Fremont and continue south. Dried farmland rolls past. I wonder if I’ll ever return. California is my universe. I was born here. I thought I would die here.
We wind through San Jose’s old streets. I close the window as the smog blasts the interior and try to calm my racing pulse. I hate myself for putting this off. If I hadn’t, I’d be enjoying a blissful evening with August at a sushi restaurant—he’s never been. Instead I’m in this shit-hole of a city.
It’ll be fine. Get in and leave.
We find a spot in front of my parents’ condo, which must be divine intervention. Street parking in San Jose is a luxury. The guards step out, muscles bulging under T-shirts. August exchanges a meaningful look with them and barks orders in Spanish.
They walk across the dead lawn. August follows. I’m in awe of his fearlessness.
I catch his sleeve as he approaches the porch. “They know he’s armed, right?”
Dad has two states: Drunk and Not Drunk. I prefer him early in the morning when he’s trapped between both. It’s three in the afternoon on a Saturday. He’s likely into his second case of beer.
This won’t end well.
August brushes my concern aside. “Don’t worry. They’re trained for this.”
“I can’t imagine how a
nyone could be.” Shaking, I approach the door.
August links his hand with mine, kissing my cheek. “I am beside you.”
I’m not scared—it’s more like I’m bracing for the explosion.
“Dad?” I knock, softly at first. “It’s Lily.”
A moment passes in silence. A stream of voices booming from the television silences. Heavy footsteps shake the ground.
My heart jackknifes as the screen flies open, revealing my robe-wearing father. My dad is a slob. A tuft of dishwater blond hair sticks from his head. A stained, white shirt stretches over his massive belly. He opens his mouth, and with it wafts the unmistakable stench of Budweiser.
He peers at the group of people in an alcoholic gaze, frowning at the guards. “I don’t know you spics.”
A flush fills my cheeks. “Dad, it’s me.”
Bewildered, he searches for my voice and finds me standing next to August. He flushes purple, but when he speaks, it’s with a cold, hard fury.
“Jesus.” He settles on our clasped hands. “You’re dating a spic.”
“Don’t say that!” I grit my teeth, but August lets it roll from his shoulders.
Good for him.
August’s grip tightens. “Yes, she is.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Dad snaps. “Where the hell did you find this loser?”
That’s rich considering he probably hasn’t bathed in days. “I want my birth certificate and passport.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving the country.”
“I see.” He glares at August. “You’re taking away my daughter.”
Fuck you. “We haven’t been in each other’s lives for years. Let’s not pretend you give a shit.”
“You’re still my baby girl.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“I mean it. I’m not letting you date a fucking—”
“Shut up.” I won’t stand here and listen to his racist bullshit. “We’re going to France. Give me what I want, and I'll be out of your hair forever.”
Dad hesitates, his watery eyes hardening. “Over my dead body.”
I step closer. “Then I’ll call the police.”
Doubt fills his voice. “You wouldn’t.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” August says.
Dad tries to slam the door, but August stops it with his boot, hands raised in the air. He produces a wallet from his jacket. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I watch the sliver of my father peeking through the frame. He needs the cash. He’ll say yes.
August splays hundred-dollar bills in his hand. At the sight, Dad widens the door. He snatches them, holding the money to the light to determine their authenticity. Then he nods, backing into the house.
“Only her.” He waves me forward. “You stay the fuck out.”
Facing the tense bodyguards, I utter an apology. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Just get in,” August hisses. “Before he throws a fucking punch.”
Sighing, I tread into the pigsty. It looks the same, except they’ve accumulated more crap. Cigarette butts litter the floor in charcoal patches. It’s probably been five years since the carpet’s been cleaned. The walls are covered with sickly-yellow smoke stains. Mom always talked about renting a power washer to get rid of them. Clearly, that didn’t happen. A broken television from the early aughts stands behind a plasma flat-screen. Looking at this room is an insight into my father’s brain. It’s downright depressing.
I search through the clutter for Rocco, my Beagle. He should be greeting me. “Where is my dog?”
Dad doesn’t blink. “Dead.”
Another knife sinks into my stomach. I don’t ask how. Most likely he died from some combination of neglect and abuse. My hurt sharpens into white-hot rage.
“Couldn’t you have kept him alive? You knew how important that dog was to me!”
“He was a pain in the ass,” Dad says, defensive. “Vet said he had kidney problems. They wanted to do dialysis. I had them put Rocco asleep.”
“You should have told me.”
“How?” he barks. “You don’t answer the phone. Anyway, I don’t have thousands of dollars to fix your damn pet. Do you see money laying around here?”
“Where’s Mom?” She wasn’t as awful as Dad. “I want to see her.”
Dad sits into the couch’s sagging frame. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh.” There’s no way to delicately navigate this. “You divorced?”
He nods. That explains the exponential increase in filth.
I sigh. “That sucks.”
August stands at the threshold, anxiety written over his features. He smiles and mouths encouragement.
Dad’s lips sag as he grasps a manila folder hidden behind the couch and passes it. “Here.”
I look inside, finding my passport book and birth certificate, plus a couple family photos.
Including a picture of me and Rocco.
“I’m sorry about the dog.” Dad pats my arm. “He was a good boy.”
I clutch the documents to my chest. “Thanks.”
“Get out of here,” he says, softly. “Go on.”
What’s there to say after decades of solid dislike? “Bye.”
I leave the house, looking back once after the screen door bounces shut. Dad stares at me.
Tears slide down my cheeks. I stop at the car.
August squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m sorry. He’s such an asshole.”
“He’s a product of his environment. I don’t hold that against him.” August takes my chin, forcing me to meet his penetrating gaze. “I hate him because he hurt you.”
His breath stings my mouth, chasing away the horrible chill. He crushes his lips against mine in a sudden hard kiss. Warmth bursts in a star pattern, blossoming over my skin to nestle in my pounding heart. I throw my arms around his neck and lean into his body. A kiss has never done this before. Butterflies? This is an explosion.
It’s electrifying.
This feels amazing. I made the right choice.
He’s the one.
6
A fierce wind howls as we roll across the tarmac. The motorized luggage cart drops us at August’s private jet. I know nothing about planes beyond the basic details—mainly that they cost a shitload of money. If he’s ex-military, I’ll eat my hat.
But I have more important things on my mind than August’s identity. Like making it through the flight without screaming bloody murder. I’ve never been on a damn airplane. August has no idea. I didn’t want to burden him, but I can’t hide my fear forever.
This is silly. I’ll be fine.
We climb up steps, August ducking under the door. I feel slightly more at ease as I walk into a magnificent living room surrounded by small, vertical windows. All the furniture could’ve been ripped from a Room&Board catalog. Steel blue and ash tones decorate the interior. We strap into two spacious chairs made of white leather.
My back sinks into the plush fabric. I open the arm, revealing a control panel of buttons. I peer at the tiny icons, pressing them at random. A blast of air hits my face. I hit it again, and the flow stops.
August watches me stab them in amusement. “That calls the flight attendant.”
“Wow.” I grimace as a chime sounds. “Oops.”
He waves off a woman in a black skirt as she approaches. “Accidente.”
I rummage through the end table beside me, gasping as I find a drawer filled with bottles. “Look, there are mini vodkas! How cute. Are they free?”
“Of course.” He laughs at my excited gasp. “They’re nothing special.”
“To you, maybe.” I search the next, finding a complimentary bag of toiletries, including a sleeping mask. “Cool.”
August grins, charmed by my ignorance. He does not understand I’m on the verge of a meltdown. “You know, I’m surprised. I thought you’d ask more questions about where we’re going.”
A voice chimes on the speaker, telling us to prepare for takeoff.
“God, this is nuts.” I clutch the armrests as a gear-like sound rumbles under the floor. I’ve never heard such a roar.
“You’re acting as though this is your first time…ah.” He waits for me to contradict him. “Shit.”
A shriek sets my nerves ablaze. “What’s that?”
“It’s normal. Don’t worry.”
“Sorry, I really should’ve warned you, but I didn’t want to bother you. I’ll be all right,” I say, more to myself than August. “At some point, I’ll faint from—fuck.”
I swear as we lurch backward and start spinning in a slow circle.
August grasps my hand, fighting laughter. He bumps his lips against my knuckles. “It will be fine. I’ll distract you.”
“What the hell was that?” A loud bang zips me straight. I look outside, but he closes the shutter.
“It’s better if you don’t know what’s coming.”
Once we pull from the terminal, I white-knuckle his fingers. I brace myself for a burst of acceleration. A mechanical scream fills my ears, and I’m flattened against the chair.
What’s happening?
I open the viewer to watch the tarmac speed away, and then we lift. The pressure on my spine doubles. The roar beneath my feet disappears.
This isn’t too horrible. “Wow.”
San Jose shrinks into a gray sprawl. It’s fascinating to see everything laid in patches of farmland and minuscule boxes that were skyscrapers. Turquoise pools become marbles. Cars the size of ants crawl through mazelike streets.
We soar into thick clouds, which obscure the ground. “I won’t be in California again for weeks. Months, right?”
Beside me, August frowns at the window. “It’ll be a while.”
“Home is that bad, eh?”
He sinks into his seat, resigned. “You’ll get sick of the weather. I hope you’re in for a lot of humid nights.”
“What’s it like?”
“Isolated,” he says after a lengthy pause. “I live in a compound.”
“Don’t tell me it’s a polyamorous community.”
The Secret Arrangement Page 3