The Spanish Love Deception

Aaron’s lips curled up, and his smile reached the corners of his eyes, transforming his whole face.

Wowie. I hadn’t been prepared for it if the butterflies in my stomach were any indication.

“Lina, Aaron, more wine?” my dad asked from the other side of the table.

My parents had insisted we order wine even if the wedding was tomorrow—where alcohol would certainly flow in rivers of sidra, wine, cava, and whatnot. Nobody had tried to complain. Not even Isabel or Gonzalo, whose faces displayed the repercussions of our almost all-nighter. But in the land of wine, one simply didn’t go to dinner and not order a bottle.

“No, thanks. I think I’m going to save myself for tomorrow,” I answered, removing my glass from my dad’s reach. The bottle had already been hovering midair.

Unlike me, Aaron was too slow. So, before he could muster his answer, my dad was already refilling his glass.

“You snooze, you lose,” I whispered, leaning in his direction.

That bright smile that had taken his face returned, throwing me off my game in the blink of an eye. And then the arm that had been around the back of my seat stretched, and he playfully pinched my side.

I jumped in my seat, almost knocking a few glasses off the table.

Aaron’s other hand reached for his wine, bringing it to his lips. “Don’t be cute,” he said over his glass, pinning me with a look that made me shift in my chair. Then, he dipped his head and lowered his voice. “Next time, I’ll do more than just pinch you.” His lips finally met the glass, taking a sip.

Keeping my eyes on his lips for a few intense seconds, I was sure something had just popped in the vicinity of my female reproductive parts.

Cheeks flushed, I swiveled my head, searching for any evidence that someone at the table had heard that. My abuela was still busy cleaning her plate off. Gonzalo and Isabel seemed about to pass out from exhaustion and most likely a food coma by the time we reached dessert. My parents chitchatted animatedly with a waiter I hadn’t even realized was standing by our table. And Daniel—who had come alone because his and Gonzalo’s parents were arriving early tomorrow—was looking down at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.

That day weeks ago, when I had untruthfully declared that I was dating a man after being told that Daniel was engaged and happier than ever, I had done it in panic after picturing a scene almost identical to the one we’d found ourselves in. Except that the chair next to me would have been empty. Or occupied by someone else like my abuela or Daniel’s fiancée, knowing my luck. Or hey, maybe it would have been that escort I had briefly considered hiring. But either way, it would have been someone who didn’t make my heart race with nothing more than a look or my belly tumble with one of those smiles that I was beginning to covet just for myself.

So, as I looked in Daniel’s direction, I realized a few things. First and foremost, my gut reaction to lie and thrust myself—and Aaron—into this ludicrous plan had been, perhaps, a little excessive. Then, there was the fact that despite being excessive, having Aaron with me had made everything easier in a way that I would never have fathomed. And last—and I struggled with wrapping my head around this one—there was a considerably large part of me, one that I was trying really hard to ignore but failing at it, that didn’t regret any of it.

And that was extremely dumb of me. Because the man I found myself flushing around—and not regretting having by my side—would soon become my boss.

“So, Aaron,” my mother said, returning me back to the present, “Isabel explained how you two met and started dating.” Her eyes sparkled, and I bet it had to do more with the wine. “That story you told them last night in the sidrería. It sounded so romantic, just like one of those movies we watch on the Netflix.”

Of course, my mother would veer the conversation in that direction.

“It’s just Netflix, Mamá,” I muttered, playing with my hands on the table. “And yeah. A proper office romance, just like in the movies, right?”

“Only this one is real,” Aaron said.

Real.

His words came rushing back into my mind. “I talked her into believing that she needed me. Then, I showed her—proved to her—that she did.”

My heart tumbled down my chest.

“So, how much do you two actually work together?” My mother’s gaze was directed at Aaron, an inquisitive smile on her lips that told me she was dying to know everything there was to know.

“We both lead different teams, and we don’t work on the same projects, but we see each other often.” He sent me a side-glance. “And if we don’t, I make sure we do. I try to catch her on her break, steal a glance or two in the hallways, pass by her office without having an excuse. Anything that will put me in her head for just a few moments a day.”

I dipped my head, staring at my empty plate. Was that true? Aaron had had a way of popping up out of thin air. But had that been intentional? Even if it was to get on my nerves. I was beginning to struggle with something as simple as telling apart what was real from what wasn’t. Everything that left Aaron’s mouth was based on reality—us working together, us knowing each other for almost two years. And then it had a part of deceit—us dating, being in love. But everything else, everything that somehow lay between those two sides—all those ornaments he hung off both truth and deceit—belonged to a gray area I did not know how to define.

“Qué maravilloso.” My mother beamed.

Then, she translated what Aaron had said for Abuela, and the old woman I owed my slightly frizzy hair to beamed too. Honestly, Abuela had been charmed by Aaron since the moment he had greeted her with two kisses and told her how proud she must be of her granddaughter. Which, in turn, had turned me into a beaming idiot too.

“You know,” my dad chipped in, “not everyone is able to handle our Lina. She has the biggest heart in the family, but she can be a little …” He trailed off, one of his eyebrows rising on his forehead. “Ay, what’s the word in English?” My dad paused, his lips puckered with frustration. “She can be—”

“A total dork?” suggested Isabel, who had just—very conveniently—come back from the dead.

“Oye!” I exclaimed.