Page 52 of Deceptive Desires (The Syndicate #2)

Roman

I think everything is going well. I did extensive research into Colombian and Ecuadorian cultures, traditions, and customs wanting to be able to show them respect.

And gain their approval. I know how much Cecilia values her family.

If they don’t approve of me, I don’t know how she’d react. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

I also want my future in-laws to like me. It’ll make my life easier as their daughter’s husband and their grandchildren’s father.

But now that I’ve met them, my motivation has changed. I want to impress them because they’re great people. I want them to accept me into the family because it’s a family I want to be a part of.

After several rounds of appetizers, all traditional Colombian and Ecuadorian dishes, I’m almost full. I know they prepared a lot in honor of me coming, so I refuse to turn any away.

Cecilia hasn’t eaten nearly as much as me, only taking a few bites of each. But doing the same wasn’t an option for me. Anytime my plate was empty, someone would serve me more. If the weekend continues this way, I’ll have gained significant weight by the time we leave.

Everything has been beyond delicious. If I had my way, we’d never leave.

Or we’d bring her mom, Abuela, and sisters with us.

But now that I think about it, Cecilia can probably make all of this.

But if she doesn’t want to, I’ll learn. I’m not great in the kitchen, but if it yields this, then I can learn.

I look around the house. It’s decorated brightly, with warm orange and yellow accent walls.

There’s pottery and art all over the walls.

All beautiful and handmade. Herbs and leafy plants take up most corners and many shelves.

There are woven blankets over the couches.

Framed family pictures hang on the walls.

I’m looking forward to looking at them and seeing a smiling Cecilia over the years.

The whole place smells of spices, herbs, and coffee.

I think I’m in heaven. Cecilia growing up here makes so much sense.

Even though there’s a lot going on, it isn’t messy. It’s homey and warm.

“Alright, let’s eat dinner,” Cecilia’s father says.

His accent is thick, just like his wife’s and mother’s.

But they’ve all been speaking English. I know it’s for my sake, and I appreciate it.

The Spanish language learning app I downloaded and have been using everyday the past week and a half has been useful, but the few times I’ve heard them talk in the language, I’ve been completely lost. They speak so quickly.

We walk into the kitchen, and my stomach drops at the countless dishes laid out. I just pray I’m not sick by the end of the night. I’ve never eaten so much that I’ve thrown up, but I’ve also never eaten this much.

But there are definitely worse problems to have when meeting your in-laws than overeating delicious South American food.

“Roman, serve yourself first,” Senor Hernando instructs.

I start to decline, knowing ladies should be served first, but Cecilia shakes her head slightly, silently telling me to go along with it. It must be customary for the guest to start.

I load up my plate until you can’t even see the clay. I sit down at one of the seats on the side of the table, knowing not to take the head, and wait. I’m not eating until everyone is seated.

Once everyone is at the table, Cecilia to one side of me and her mother to the other, we say a prayer. It’s in Spanish, so I understand none of it, but I still bow my head reverently.

Conversation is flowing. Food is eaten. Alcohol is drunk. And I’m sporting the most genuine smile I’ve had in a while that isn’t directly caused by Cecilia. It makes sense that her family are the only other ones who can bring out this jovial side of me.

Cecilia and her sisters clear the table. I was physically pushed back into my seat by Cecilia when I stood up to help.

“I’ve never had more delicious food. This was incredible,” I tell her family.

“I’m glad to hear, joven. Is Cecilia not cooking for you?” her abuela asks.

“She cooks for me. I try to help, but I’m not great in the kitchen,” I explain, not wanting them to think I make her cook. “She doesn’t have to though. She’s my girlfriend, not my servant. We’re equals. I’m grateful for all she does for me, and not just in the kitchen.”

The room falls silent, and I realize I might’ve offended her family. I noticed that only the women cooked tonight. I look at Cecilia apologetically, but she’s staring at the table.

All I can hear is my heart pounding.

“I like this one, Ceci María. You should keep him. He has a good head on his shoulders,” her abuela says, and I deflate in relief.

“I intend to,” Cecilia tells her and squeezes my hand under the table.

She’s going to keep me. She doesn’t have a choice. She’s mine, and I’m hers. Forever. But it’s nice to hear she feels the same.

When I look up, Carmen is grinning across from me and winks at me. I wonder if she has the capability to read my mind. Or if it’s obvious how much I want, no, need her.

When Val comes in with dessert, my eyes almost well up. I don’t know how I have any more room in me, but I find a way. I will not turn down any food.

Once I’ve eaten enough to keep me hibernated for months, I stand up.

“Thank you so much for hosting me tonight. I should probably get to the hotel. What time would you like me over tomorrow?” I say, only for Cecilia’s grandmother to scoff at me.

“Roman, you will stay here. We will make room. We could never let you get a hotel,” Cecilia’s mom tells me.

I glance at Cecilia, and she nods.

“Alright. Thank you.”

I’m not surprised when Cecilia and I are separated for the night. I end up on the couch, while Cecilia shares a room with her niece.

As I lay there, I feel more at home than I did in the cold penthouse I lived in for a decade before Cecilia came into my life. I didn’t realize how empty my life was before her.

Now I have a sense of home in her.