by Sarah Price
It was almost time for the singing to end. Some of the young men were starting to approach the young women, and slowly, the crowd began to thin out as couples left the barn and headed toward the buggies.
Joshua was looking around the room. Amanda saw him and straightened her back. She held her breath when he started to walk toward her. Oh, she thought, if only he asks me! She tried to act natural as she stood with her friends, Emma and Hannah. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him walking toward their group. Her heart began to beat faster and her palms started to sweat. What would she say to him in the buggy? What would they talk about?
“Hannah,” he said as he approached the group, sparing a shy smile to the other girls. “Might I have a word with you?”
And just like that, Amanda knew. He wasn’t interested in her at all.
She was quiet on the way back to the condo later that afternoon. It had been a busy day with people, noise, and music. Alejandro hadn’t spent much time with her. He was constantly surrounded by other people who demanded his attention. She had sat in the shadows, watching with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she wished that she was back at the condo. It was so peaceful and removed from the rest of the world. She liked being home and tending the plants. She had even started a small container garden with some vegetables at the back of the patio with the help of Rodriego. Yet, she loved being near Alejandro . . . just not caring for the visual of him taking another woman into his arms. Still, she recognized that this was all part of the game of the music industry.
“You are quiet, no?”
She glanced at him but looked away. “Tired,” she offered meekly, knowing that it wasn’t entirely true.
“Hmm,” he responded, pondering her explanation. He studied her from the back of the town car that was driving them home after a long day of work. “I think that’s not it, Amanda.”
She kept staring out of the window.
“Princesa,” he said, shifting his weight so that he was looking directly at her. “You have to understand that it is all make-believe.”
“I . . . I know that.” But her voice gave away some of the doubt. If that was make-believe, perhaps other things were, too. Perhaps everything was make-believe, including her being at his side. Was everything planned for image building and sales?
His hand touched hers. “It’s what the fans want.”
She looked at him. “Is that it? The fans?” She raised an eyebrow in question. “They want to see you practically making love to a strange woman?”
“They would, sí,” he admitted truthfully, his expression somber. “But that was hardly making love, Amanda.”
“Then what was it?” she demanded. The woman had been barely dressed in his arms, and he had held her, his hands on her bare skin. The image flashed through her mind, and she had to look away.
“Acting.”
She hated that word. Acting meant lying, she had come to realize. Even their own interactions in the face of the public were nothing more than acting. She noticed that he changed whenever the paparazzi and the public were around. He was much more open and friendly toward them, posing with them as if he was happy to do it. She knew that he enjoyed the interactions, but she also knew that he was busy and tired. Still, he always made time for the fans when he was able to do so.
Even more disarming was how he treated her. The gentle caresses, the sweet words in her ear. Was it mostly for the benefit of the public? How much of that was acting?
Behind the scenes, he had been more reserved at home when it came to her. When they had first arrived in Miami, his attention had disarmed her while, at the same time, excited her. But since he had started working on his music, he seemed to be in a different world. He worked in private in his office and studio. He spent more time away from her. Alone. It worried her.
He lived a fast life. There was no denying that. The work, the travel, the people, the parties. He had expressed such an interest in her, but she also knew that, in his world, intimacy was a fleeting fancy. He had told her that much when he was on the farm back in Pennsylvania. He had also told her that he respected her too much to sleep with her, not that she would ever have done such a thing. Perhaps he was bored of her. Perhaps it had all been an act, she thought despondently as she stared out the car window.
Still, her mind remembered his kisses.
She realized that it had been several days since he had approached her with any sort of intimacy on his mind. Just like her mother had always told her: “Best leave kissing for marriage.”
Back at the condominium, Alejandro helped her from the car. Once inside the condo, he excused himself to go into the studio once again. She watched him leave her, standing in the foyer, and felt the all-too-familiar pang in her chest. She had no idea what she would do if he no longer wanted her to stay with him. Where would she go? Returning to Pennsylvania seemed more and more like a far-fetched reality to her. Besides missing her parents, she didn’t miss much else, not even the familiar routine of her day-to-day chores.
Wandering into the kitchen, she saw Señora Perez busy with the beginning of preparations for supper. Amanda sighed and sat down at the granite counter, leaning her elbow on it and staring out the back window.
“¿Qué pasa, mamacita?” Señora Perez asked.
Amanda glanced at Señora Perez, then shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m sad.”
“Sad? No sad!” Señora Perez waved her finger at Amanda. “No!”
“Ja, sad,” Amanda said. “I feel lost.”
It took a moment for Señora Perez to interpret in her head what Amanda meant. “¿Por qué?” she asked in Spanish before quickly switching to English. “Why?”
Another shrug. “I don’t think he cares for me anymore,” she said sadly.
At this, Señora Perez hesitated, then laughed. “Oh, mamacita,” she said, waving her hand. “¡No es verdad!” Quickly, she repeated what she had said in English. “It’s not true! He adores you, mamacita. Adores you!”
Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Adores me?” she repeated, not believing what she heard.
“Sí,” Señora Perez said, placing a hand on Amanda’s arm. “I have never seen el señor so happy in the five years that I have worked here.” She smiled and patted Amanda’s arm twice before she returned to her work.
Happy? Amanda wondered about that. What was it that truly made Alejandro happy? Was it being Alejandro or being Viper? She was having a hard time balancing the two personalities. And to hear that he adored her? Could it be true? He was so busy, always working, rarely relaxing. Was it possible that this man, this incredible man, could possibly have deep feelings for her? Feelings that she knew she felt but sometimes had difficulty showing. It wasn’t in the nature of the Amish to be demonstrative of affection. If only she knew how to let him know, to show him how she felt.
And then, her idea from the week before hit her. She had wanted to do something special for Alejandro. Perhaps tonight would be the right time. She had wanted to make him a special dinner, home cooked and served to him in the dining room that he never used. She wanted to wait on him, the way she would have if they were back in Pennsylvania with food that was made fresh and wholesome, not from a restaurant or store.
She confided in Señora Perez, who merely looked at her in a strange way but with a smile on her lips. The look of wisdom. She nodded her head and held up her hands as if saying, “The kitchen is all yours.” Within minutes, Amanda was opening the refrigerator and cabinets, pulling out food and setting it on the counter. She had a new purpose, and it gave her the energy and enthusiasm to continue.
It was close to seven thirty when Alejandro emerged from his studio. He looked tired and was rubbing the back of his neck when he walked into the kitchen. The lights were down low, and he saw candles flickering from the dining room. He looked around, surprised to not see Señora Perez hovering nearby but Amanda, smi
ling as if she were the cat who had swallowed the canary.
“¿Que es eso?” he said. Then, as if remembering that she didn’t speak Spanish, he repeated his question. “What is this?” He sniffed at the air and looked at her, his blue eyes large and wide, bright and gleaming. “What is that smell? ¡Qué rica!”
“You like?” she asked.
“¡Sí, sí!” He smiled and, despite his weariness, approached her. “What did you do? That is definitely not Señora Perez’s cooking!”
Amanda stretched out her arms, gesturing to the kitchen. “I made you supper, Alejandro! A home-cooked meal so that you can relax, not go out, and have some good food.” She wanted to add for once after that, but kept it to herself.
“You cooked?” That seemed to please him, and he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her. “What other surprises do you have for me, Amanda?” he asked, smiling. “That is perfect for tonight. You must know me very well.”
If only I did, she thought. But she blushed at the compliment and lowered her eyes. “I know you are working so hard. I wanted to surprise you. To do something nice for you for a change.”
He rubbed his cheeks with his hand, his eyes still studying her as she stood there, proud of her achievement. There was something knowing in his expression, and when it dawned on him, he nodded his head. “I see,” he said solemnly. “And you have, Princesa.”
Like an eager child, she led him into the dining room and had him sit at the head of the table. She had set it with his best china and had even asked Rodriego to help her pick out a bottle of wine from Alejandro’s wine cellar so that she could pour him a glass. He watched all of this with an amused expression on his face, taking in her enthusiasm and joy at serving him.
When she had finally served the food and sat beside him, he lifted his wineglass toward her in a silent toast. Then, after sipping it, he handed her the glass. “Please,” he insisted. “One taste.”
Reluctantly, she took the glass. Not wanting to spoil his good mood and attention, she did as she was instructed and tasted the wine. It was different from the wine he had given to her in Los Angeles, but she noticed that it was stronger and deeper in flavor. If it wasn’t wine, she thought, I might even like it.
She had cooked him a simple meal. Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and salad. But it smelled good, the meal filling the room with the fragrance of home-cooked food.
“I’ve been busy, sí?” he said, his voice serious as he watched her.
She nodded. “Ja, but that’s your life.”
He didn’t respond right away.
Happily, she dished out his plate and set it before him, sitting back to watch as he ate. But, to her surprise, he didn’t move. Instead, he continued to watch her, his smoldering blue eyes seeming to drink her in. She glanced around, curious as to what he was looking at. “Alejandro?”
Leaning forward, he pushed his plate away and reached out for her hand. When she placed it in his, he pulled so that she had no choice but to move from her seat and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and maintained her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ll make it up to you.”
She tried to laugh. “I don’t know what you have to make up.”
“Sí,” he said. “You do. But you don’t understand, Amanda.” Aman-tha. She loved how he said her name. His thumb caressed her shoulder and the gesture sent shivers down her spine. “I have fallen into my regular routine and forgotten that this is all new to you, no?” He waited for a reaction, but she had none. “My video is recorded, and my new song is finished. I have time now. I will make it up to you.”
“Alejandro . . .” she started to protest.
He lifted his finger and pressed it to her lips.
It reminded her of earlier in the day, the gesture he had made with the woman during the video, and it chilled her. He noticed and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he studied her reaction.
“Ah,” he said. “That really bothered you today, no?”
She shrugged, wishing she could deny it, but that would be a lie.
“You were jealous,” he stated simply. Then, when she said nothing, he smiled. “That is good.”
“Good?” she asked, surprised by his reaction.
“Sí, good! You were jealous of that other woman.” He was smiling now. “You care.”
His words shocked her. Had he ever questioned that? Had he ever doubted how she felt about him? She wished that she felt brazen enough to tell him, to let him know that her heart sang whenever he was near her. But that was not her way. It was the way of the man to make the move, not the woman. She looked away from him, but he chuckled and forced her to look back at him.
“That is good that you care,” he said softly, his voice thick and husky. “I care, too.” She blinked and met his gaze, questioning him with her eyes. “Sí, I care more than I want sometimes, but I cannot deny that I care.” His smile softened his words.
“More than you want?” she asked, blinking her eyes in wonder at what he meant.
He gave a small shrug. “It’s true. My life is not one that warrants one woman, Amanda. It isn’t easy to feel so strongly for one woman when there are so many others throwing themselves at me.”
His words stung, but she knew that he was speaking the truth. “Like Maria?” she asked innocently.
“Maria?” he asked, startled by her question. “Maria is an old friend, Amanda. Nothing more.”
“But . . .” She wanted to ask him about the other night when Maria had been hanging on him. The words, however, wouldn’t come. “I . . . I can go back to Pennsylvania,” she said instead.
He laughed. The sound reverberated in the room, and he pulled her close to him, hugging her tightly. “Ay, Dios mío,” he said, breathing in her scent. Pulling back, he held her face in one hand and shook his head. “That is the very last thing I want.”
“Really?”
He smiled and gently kissed her lips. “Really,” he reassured her. Then, tilting his head at her, his eyes sparkling, he nodded toward the food. “Now, let’s have some of this wonderful food that you have prepared, no? You have worked hard, and I am hungry.”
For the next thirty minutes, they had laughed and talked, sharing stories about their youth and life before they had known each other. Amanda listened to Alejandro, enthralled to hear about his years living on the streets of Dade County, fighting with other boys, and stealing to get food just to survive. It contrasted sharply with his current lifestyle as well as with her own upbringing. Even the poorest Amish family was cared for by the community, if need be.
They were almost finished with dinner when Rodriego entered the dining room, excusing himself as he hurried to Alejandro’s side and whispered something in his ear. Amanda watched as Alejandro stiffened and shut his eyes, murmuring a few words under his breath. Then, wiping his mouth with his napkin, he nodded and said something in Spanish to Rodriego.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head and gestured with his hand for her to stay seated while he stood up. “One moment, Princesa,” he said. But his voice was strained and his jaw clenched tight. “I’ll be right back.”
Without another word, he left the room. She stared after him, immediately alarmed that something bad had happened. His reaction and expression told her that. She pushed her plate away and sank into the plush dining room chair, waiting and trying to ignore the heaviness that filled her chest.
He wasn’t gone for long but returned with a serious face. His eyes flickered at her but immediately shifted away. The stress was clear in his expression, but Amanda waited patiently, knowing that he would tell her what was bothering him when and if he wanted to.
Sitting back down in his seat, he took a deep breath and lifted his hand to his temples, rubbing them. “Ay, Dios mío,” he said under his breath. St
ill, Amanda said nothing. He reached for his wineglass and finished it in one solid gulp. As he set the glass down, he looked at Amanda and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Amanda.”
“What is it?” she finally asked.
“Tomorrow . . .” he started but could not complete the sentence. She imagined the worst and braced herself for what was coming. Silence. It was as if he was hoping she would fill in the blanks for him, but she couldn’t. He sighed. “That was my mother on the phone. We must go to her tomorrow.” He paused and reached for the wine bottle to refill his glass. “She insists.”
“Your mother?” Amanda asked, her voice cracking as she said it.
“Sí, my mother,” he repeated.
“I didn’t know she lived here!”
He nodded but avoided meeting her gaze. “Sí, on the outskirts of Miami. I may have mentioned it once . . . back in Pennsylvania.”
Immediately, Amanda moved into action. “Ach vell!” she said. “Of course we must see her! And I must make something! What shall I bring? A dessert? Some bread? Alejandro, help me here!”
He lifted his hand to calm her down. “Easy, Princesa. I don’t think you understand.”
“Of course I do!” she said. “Your mother!”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Sí, mi madre. Mami is . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “She is different. A strong personality, Princesa. She has opinions and isn’t afraid to express them.”
“But she is your mother,” Amanda repeated, pointing out the obvious. “Family is important!” She looked at him, but all she received in response was another sigh. He seemed reluctant, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he was ashamed of her. “Is it me?” she asked.
“¿Qué?”
“Is it me that you are afraid of? Will I embarrass you?”
He shut his eyes for a long moment, leaning back in the chair while he did so. She waited for an answer, too afraid that she might have been correct. But when he opened his eyes, he reached his hand out for her again, and when she took it, he stood up and pulled her into his arms. “Never,” he whispered and nuzzled at her neck. “I would never be embarrassed by you. I told you,” he said. “You are perfect.”