CHAPTER 8 - THE WEIGHT OF EXPECTATIONS

Bella's POV

Papa's truck smelled like cilantro and his morning cologne. Same cologne he'd worn since I was twelve. Some things never changed. Unlike the way my stomach flipped when I thought about Alex watching security cameras.

No. Mr. Blackwood. Had to stop thinking of him as Alex.

"You're quiet, mija." Papa glanced over as he drove. "Tough morning?"

"Just thinking about work stuff."

"Work stuff." He grinned. "Look at my baby girl. Corporate woman now. Your mother would be so proud."

My throat got tight. Mom would've seen right through me. Would've known something was different. Wrong. Right. Whatever this was.

"Here we are!" Papa pulled up to his restaurant. Martinez's glowed in noon sunlight. "Lunch rush should be slowing down."

Inside smelled like home. Onions and peppers and that special mix of spices Papa guarded like state secrets. Half the tables still full. Faces I'd known my whole life.

"Isabella!" Mrs. Vargas waved from her corner booth. "Roberto told us about your new job!"

"Mija's working for Alexander Blackwood himself," Papa announced. Loud. Like he was selling newspapers. "Our Alex! You remember, he used to carry her on his shoulders at the beach."

Kill me now.

"Such a good man," Mr. Delgado chimed in. "Still single too, no? Maybe you could..."

"She's much too young for him," Papa laughed. "Besides, Alex thinks of her like a daughter."

Like a daughter. The words hit weird. Made my skin feel too tight. Because the way he'd looked at me in that conference room was not... fatherly.

"Come, come." Papa steered me toward the kitchen. "Miguel made your favorite empanadas."

The kitchen was chaos. Steam and shouting and Miguel dancing between stations like a bullfighter. He spotted me and smiled.

"Little Bella! Not so little anymore. How's the corporate world?"

"Complicated."

"Ha! Wait until you have three orders going and the freezer breaks. That's complicated."

Papa led me to the small office in back. His domain. Papers everywhere. Pictures of Mom on every surface. Me at five. At fifteen. At graduation with Marcus's arm around me.

I looked away from that one.

"Sit, sit." He pulled out Chinese takeout containers. "I ordered from the place you like. Figured you'd want comfort food."

"Papa, you own a restaurant."

"Sometimes a girl needs lo mein." He handed me chopsticks. "Now tell me. How's Alex treating you?"

I almost choked on a noodle. "Fine. Good. Very professional."

"Of course he is. I told him to take care of you." Papa dug into his rice. "He promised he would. Alex always keeps his promises."

Take care of you. There it was again. That phrase that made me feel five years old.

"I don't need taking care of."

"Everyone needs taking care of sometimes." He studied me. "You look tired. Are you sleeping?"

Not really. Not when I kept replaying that moment in the garden. The way the air had shifted. How his eyes had gone dark and hungry and...

"I'm fine."

"You say that a lot lately." He set down his chopsticks. "Mija, I know the divorce from Marcus was hard..."

"We weren't married, Papa."

"Engaged is almost married. Three years is a long time. It's natural to feel lost."

Lost. Sure. That's what this was. Not obsessing over my boss who happened to be his best friend. Not lying awake wondering what his hands would feel like in my hair.

"Which is why," Papa continued, "I think you should meet someone new."

My stomach dropped. "Papa..."

"Thomas Walker! From my accountant's office. Such a nice boy. Smart. Stable job. Good family."

"I'm not ready to date."

"Who said anything about dating? Just dinner. This Sunday."

"Papa, no."

"I already invited him."

"You what?"

"Family dinner. Very casual. Alex will be there too, so you'll have familiar faces."

Alex. At dinner. Watching me get set up with some accountant. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it.

"I might have to work Sunday."

"Nonsense. Alex would never make you work weekends." Papa's face lit up. "Oh! There's Thomas now!"

"What? Where?"

But Papa was already up, moving through the restaurant. I followed, lo mein turning to cement in my stomach.

Thomas Walker was... fine. Average height. Nice suit. Smile that probably made grandmothers happy. Everything Marcus had been. Safe. Appropriate. Boring.

"Thomas! Come meet Isabella!"

He shook my hand. Firm grip. Soft palms. Nothing like Alex's hands that had calluses from... what? What gave a hotel CEO calluses?

"Your father talks about you constantly," Thomas said. "All good things."

"That's... nice."

"PhD in Art History, right? That's fascinating."

It wasn't fascinating to him. I could tell. The polite glaze over his eyes. The same look Marcus got when I talked about work.

"Thomas was just telling me about tax law changes," Papa beamed. "So interesting!"

Tax law. Kill me twice.

"I should really get back to work," I said. "Big project deadline."

"Of course!" Papa hugged me. Tight. "But Sunday, yes? Six o'clock?"

"Papa..."

"Thomas, you'll come? My wife's recipes. Best Mexican food in the city."

"Wouldn't miss it," Thomas said. Looking at me like I was already his.

I escaped. Practically ran to the street. My phone buzzed as I waited for an Uber.

Unknown number. I almost didn't answer.

"Bella Martinez."

"Ms. Martinez." That voice. Deep. Controlled. Making my name sound like expensive whiskey. "Are you available this evening?"

My whole body went hot. "Mr. Blackwood?"

"The Gilded Rose catalogs arrived. I'd like your input before tomorrow's vendor meetings."

"Tonight?"

"If it's convenient. I know it's after hours, but the site is finally quiet. We could actually hear ourselves think."

The site. Just us. At night. Professional. Totally professional.

"What time?"

"Eight? I'll have dinner sent over."

Dinner. Together. At night. My pulse did something ridiculous.

"I'll be there."

"Excellent. Oh, and Ms. Martinez? Wear something comfortable. We'll be there a while."

He hung up. I stood on the sidewalk staring at my phone. Wear something comfortable. What did that mean? Was that code? Was I reading into everything now?

My Uber pulled up. The driver had to say my name twice before I heard him.

Eight o'clock. Alex and me. Alone at The Gilded Rose.

What was I doing?