The Spanish Love Deception

So, I ignored my mother’s innuendo, and after wrapping my parents in a big hug, I shooed them out the door. In the meantime, Aaron politely thanked them again—in Spanish, for my mom’s benefit—and remained in the corner, where he had been standing.

With my parents finally gone, I turned to Aaron and found him placing both of our suitcases on the bed. He unzipped his and started extracting pieces of clothing and toiletries.

“Actually, you don’t need to do that,” I told him, not bothering to open my bags.

Aaron cocked an eyebrow.

“We will sleep in separate rooms,” I explained.

“Oh?” That was the only thing that came from him.

Ignoring that puzzled look he had just shot me, I made my way to the hallway to lead him to what would be his room.

With his very own bed.

Right behind me, Aaron stepped in the space only a few seconds after.

“Ta-da!” I gestured with my arms. “Here’s your room. Your dresser. Your bathroom is out in the hall though. And, yeah, that will be your bed.”

I pointed at the twin bed as I took in its ridiculous dimensions. The room was much smaller than I remembered.

Glancing at Aaron, who was right by my side, I found him inspecting the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. Just how my mother had done a few minutes ago, I eyed him up and down.

Yeah. That was not going to work.

“All right,” I said, accepting he would never, ever fit there. “I’ll change rooms with you. Take the other one; it’s bigger. I’ll take the twin.”

“It’s okay, Catalina. I’ll sleep here.”

“No, you won’t. You won’t fit in that tiny bed,” I pointed out the obvious. “Not even diagonally, I think.”

“It’s fine. Go unpack your things. I’ll make it work.”

“You won’t. There’s no way you can sleep here,” I insisted, ignoring the dirty look Aaron sent me over his shoulder.

“I will.”

Stubborn, hardheaded man, I thought.

“You are the only hardheaded one here,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at the mind reader. “Well, if you want to be my pot, I’d gladly be your kettle.” I pointed at the bed. “Prove it. Show me you fit in there, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Aaron sighed as he uncrossed his arms and brought a hand to his face. “Would you just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “You know what? This one time, I’m going to humor you. Just to avoid wasting away both our lives, arguing over this until we are rolling on matching wheelchairs.”

He was wrong; matching wheelchairs was something that would never be in my plans where Aaron Blackford was concerned.

In two strides, my fake and very tall boyfriend was right in front of the modest twin.

He won’t fit. I was sure of it. So, I leaned back and waited for him to prove how right I was.

As soon as Aaron climbed onto the tiny piece of furniture, the mattress bounced a little too wildly under his weight. With a loud squeak, he adjusted his body, lying on his back. Changed his position a couple of times as the mattress complained under his weight. Nothing.

He. Did. Not. Fit.

Taking in the clearly larger-than-the-bed man in front of me, feet dangling off of the frame and glaring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but let the grin I had been fighting finally break free.

It wasn’t the fact that I had been right all along. Nope. The satisfied and toothy smile that split my face had everything to do with the grumpy Aaron who was lying diagonally on the tiny twin bed with a scowl that went for miles. The best part was that he had humored me and proven it, just because I’d told him to. Just because we were equally stubborn.