SOMEONE MORE SUITABLE

VERONICA’S POV

I was a mess in the backseat of the limousine. Crying uncontrollably despite the makeup on my face; I hoped my mascara wasn’t running down my face because I had used the good stuff and instantly felt even more terrible because I still cared about how Rico saw me.

After everything I had done to him.

For a few minutes, he was silent beside me, calm in his usual manner. Which, of course, meant that he wasn’t calm at all. As he sipped slowly from the wine bottle. I could feel the tension coiled up within his buttoned-up black suit. When he reached out to cup my face, the heat from his body pierced through the blast of the air conditioner, unnerving me.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he said, melting me softly. And I found myself leaning into his touch. Caressing his lips with my eyes as he leaned into me. I couldn’t remember making the conscious decision to close my eyes, or how I tilted my head back when he lowered his lips unto mine. All I knew was the power of this heat, this attraction between us.

Our collective sigh as I felt his lips on mine.

The taste of exquisite champagne in his mouth.

My fingers buried in his hair with an insistent hand on his lapel, pulling him closer to me.

It had always been like this between us.

I and Enrique Serrano had always been two moths dancing in the flame.

But there was something different about the way he kissed me now; this was the same Rico who had waited till our third date to kiss me for the very first time because he was shy, only for that first kiss to quickly turn into a full-blown make-out session in front of my hostel. This was the same man, who had later had his way with me on every surface of his private dorm when we finally became official. One thing I knew was that he might exercise control beforehand but once he touched me, he was gone. We were both gone. Yet, this time around, for the first time in seven years – for the first time ever – Enrique Serrano II was trying very hard not to lose himself completely in me.

And he was winning.

A part of me hated that, even as I saw the common sense in what he was doing: giving me passionate but measured kisses, maintaining a tight grip on my body even as he prevented his hands from roaming. He was holding back, and I couldn’t even stop myself from pulling him closer, and kissing him as if my life depended on it. On him.

Perhaps it did.

Eventually, we slowed down – a first for us – and he kissed me softly on my forehead before pulling away from me. As the haze of passion cleared, I realized that I was now sitting securely in his laps, his hands were still touching me, griping tightly as if he would never let go. His eyes were still closed when I opened mine, and I was fascinated by the expressions that danced on his face; expressions I interpreted as a silent fight for self-control.

I saw it on his face when he won. It was the same moment when he opened his eyes.

“You no longer want me,” I said softly. Call it pride or some residual feeling of wanting to be the only woman who could make him go wild with lust to the point where he no longer held any modicum of self-control (which, I guess, was also a form of pride), I felt sad about the fact that I no longer had that undeniable sensual power over him. And I wondered if someone else did.

All this doubt was just another sign that too much had changed between us in these last seven years, and it made me weary.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely, rocking his hips slowly, meaningfully. So that I could feel that hardened symbol of his lust. “I want you so much, Veronica. But this time, I’m going to do it right.”

He reached into his pocket, and my mouth dropped open as I saw the small velvet box in his hand.

“Marry me,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat.

ENRIQUE SERRANO’S POV

“Marry me.”

As I said the words, a shiver ran through her. I felt it, and I didn’t know what to expect.

“You’re crazy,” she said.

I smiled, oddly relieved for some reason. I knew I sounded crazy. But Veronica was mine. It had floored me to discover everything she’d endured until now. Because of me. Her true actions had somehow negated every hurt, every resentment, I’d held against her for leaving me. Now I had an indescribable, almost feral urge to let the world know that she belonged solely to me. No matter what name she went by now.

“I understand,” I said, taking the ring out of its little box. “But you’ll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of being married to me.”

I held out my hand to her, waiting for her to give me hers.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Enrique…” she groaned, slipping her left hand out of reach as I tried to grab it.

“You already said yes once,” I reminded her. “Just think of this as a renewal of sorts.”

“Right,” she snorted. “We’re just going to forget that your father tried to ruin my life and I ended up losing...”

The words trailed off but I swore I heard “everything” in her silence, all the pain, the trauma…and I couldn’t bear it. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve only had one goal. I wanted to be as different from my father as possible. I wanted to be his complete opposite. But somehow that wasn’t possible. The old man gave me his name as soon as I was born, as if he’d known what I’d try to do beforehand.” I smiled bitterly. “See, that’s exactly the kind of shit he could pull just to spite me. As if that wasn’t enough, I inherited all his worst traits: his eyes, his face, his intensity. His love of trade and business, his obsession with those he’d deemed were his.” I looked into Veronica’s eyes now, unable to look away. “Of all the things I got from him, it’s that obsession that scares me the most. For most of my life, I’ve battled it. I’ve tried. I tried with you. I tried not to be too possessive, I tried not to cage you. And when you left me, I tried to let you go. I tried not to look for you, and when I failed at that, I tried not to wonder, not to worry by hating you. By telling myself that it’s my fault, I was too weak to protect you. So I tried to get stronger, despite the weight of my father’s shadow. I took every opportunity I could take to build something of my own behind his back and I tried to forget you. Hell, I tried to replace you, V. But…that damned obsession just wouldn’t let me forget you, and I prayed. Deep down inside I prayed that there was some deeper reason why you’d left so that I could forgive you with no regrets. And sometimes, I prayed that I’d find you and take my revenge. But in all those prayers, all those wild fantasies, you’d stumble back into my life and I wouldn’t let you go. I can’t let you go. So, yes. We’re going to forget that my father practically destroyed your life. We’re going to move on, wipe the slate clean and…work through things. And we’re going to start by getting my grandmother’s ring on your finger so that we can go home and start planning our wedding.”

I’d stunned her into silence and I could hear the wheels turning in her head as she stared at me. “Rico, I can’t marry you.”

“Why not? Tell me one reason why.”

“I’m not-I can’t-I’ve learnt my lesson!” She punched a finger into my chest, pushing me back. Only then was I aware that I’d been leaning into her again. “With you! With people like your dad. I’m Icarus and getting tangled up with you was like flying too close to the sun. I fell. I fell hard. Heck, I’m still on the ground broken up in pieces! I don’t need more trauma or the drama of getting involved with your family again.”

“Sweetheart, you’re already part of my family whether you like it or not. You had my kid. You owe me for her. You owe me for the daughter you never let me meet.”

“I’m sorry but I was hiding her from your psychotic father!”

She was still in my laps, her face so close to mine as we traded words, all puffed up in each other’s face. Maddening woman. I wanted to yell some sense into her. I wanted to kiss her and never stop.

My eyes fell to her lips.

I heard her sharp inhale as the sexual attraction heightened in the sudden silence.

“Rico,” she moaned as I leaned in for another kiss. She grabbed my head and tugged me towards her. This time around, I didn’t bother trying to hold on to decorum or control. I caressed her neck, her waist, I filled my hands with her breasts and let them roam all over her luscious curves. This was the only woman who could make me lose this much control.

But my father’s genes were strong in me so the tiny part of my mind that could form coherent thoughts started to tease.

“What about what I need, hmm?” I breathed between our passionate kiss, even as I angled to put Lalanita’s ring on her finger. “I need you, V.”

“No, no,” she whispered back, tearing her lips away from mine as a tear slid down her face. “What you need is someone more suitable. Someone your parents would approve of. Someone like Lucy Godenzano.”

“Hmm.” I stared at her. How could she ever think I’d find someone else? Did she think I hadn’t tried? Had she tried? I couldn’t think straight passed the sudden wave of jealously at the idea that she may have been with someone else in the past seven years. Then I realized the name she mentioned and smiled. “Lucy was never even an option.”

She rolled her eyes, a gesture I found immensely cute. And I knew what was going through her mind; all the press photos and society blogs that reported that I and the elder Godenzano daughter were a thing back in the day, a couple of years after our relationship ended.

“Trust me. She has her own obsession and I was never the one.”

Much like me, Lucy had been in love with someone outside our social circle and had ended up running away to marry him. Her family had kept the scandal out of the press by claiming that she’d gone abroad for further studies. I’d known about it, of course, and for years, I’d even helped by pretending to be “friends” with her lover so that they could fly under the radar while having public dates. Lucy had supplied me with valuable investment information on the part of the investment sector her family dominated every time I’d tagged along as an unwilling third wheel to her public dates (which, judging by the pictures on the internet, the press never quite caught on to). However, I couldn’t exactly tell the elders in our families that when she eloped to Italy and shit hit the fan. Nor could I stop it when our fathers started pushing for a relationship between Layla, Lucy’s younger sister, and D.J to compensate my family for what they perceived as a breech on their part – seeing as our desired “engagement” was more like another clause in our families’ strings of constant business collaborations.

My little brother had been too easy-going to kick up a fuss, and at the end of the day – even though I disliked the hell out of the kid – I was beginning to almost feel grateful to Mario for giving me the reason I needed to help him kick Layla to the curb.

There would be no more arranged marriages. Not for D.J and certainly not for me. I just needed Veronica to realize that, al

ong with the fact that she was the only one for me.