The Unexpected Honeymoon (15 page)

The return address indicated the letter was from somewhere in Colorado. Carlos didn't recognize where. Upon opening, he found a gold-and-white note card. Nothing fancy. The hotel received dozens of similar cards every year. For some reason, however, this particular card made his stomach tighten. Slowly, he opened it and read:

Dear Señor Chavez:

I wanted to take this time to thank you for the incredible recommitment ceremony you and Señorita Boyd arranged for us. Linda didn't stop smiling the entire day and must have said a hundred times that it was better than she imagined. It truly was the trip of a lifetime.

Unfortunately, Linda suffered complications shortly after we returned. She passed away last week. Whenever I start to miss her, I pull out the photographs from that day. Seeing her smile, and remembering how happy she was helps ease the pain. Thank you for helping us make one last memory.

Sincerely,

Paul Stevas

PS: Could you please tell Señorita Boyd again how much Linda and I appreciated all her help? I don't have her address. Thank you.

The card slipped from Carlos's fingers. Poor Paul. Life kicked the poor lovesick bastard in the teeth exactly as Carlos knew it would. All that love and what happened? The kid was stuck at home with nothing more than memories.

Proof what he'd told Larissa was right.

Jorge picked up the card. “I remember this couple. They seemed like nice people.”

“They were.” Too nice for something like this to happen. “Have Louisa send flowers with our condolences.”

“Are you going to let Larissa know?”

He nearly missed the question. It was the sound of Larissa's name that pulled him from his thoughts.

“The card says they don't have her address,” Jorge said. “She'd probably want to know what happened.”

She would be heartbroken, as well. Paul and Linda had become special to her. “Will you call her?” he asked his cousin.

“Don't you think she'd rather hear the news from you?”

He couldn't. Memories of her visit plagued him enough without hearing her voice.

Funny how Paul's memories brought him comfort, while thinking of a weeklong affair brought him nothing but insomnia and heartburn.

The ache in his chest started to spread. So much for antacid. “Given how we said goodbye, I'm sure hearing from me would be awkward.”

“Since when has ‘awkward' ever bothered you? I've heard you talk to guests over some pretty sensitive subjects.”

“I never slept with any of those guests.”
Slept with.
Sounded way too crude a term for what he and Larissa shared. When he was with her, he felt...

He felt.

Heaving a sigh, he shoved the thought from his brain, where it joined the countless other thoughts waging war in the center of his chest.

“She doesn't want to hear from me, Jorge,” he said. Looking to the papers on his desk, he made a production of fishing through them. Perhaps his cousin would get the hint that he didn't want to have this conversation any longer.

No such luck. “I think she does,
primo.
I think she wants to hear from you quite badly.”

“She also wants more than I can give her,” Carlos snapped. “My calling would only open the wound. I'm asking you to do it. Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do.” He went back to shuffling through his paperwork.

Jorge stood, but rather than leave, he crossed around to the other side of the desk. Carlos tried to ignore him, but his hulking presence cast too big a shadow.

“What are you afraid of,
primo?
”

“Other than not signing off on these contracts in time?”

“You know what I mean. Larissa. I watched you when she was here. She was special.”

More than special. “I'm not afraid of anything. Larissa and I had a weeklong affair that ended badly. I wish it hadn't, but it did. Life goes on.” Eventually his guilt and regret would fade away. That's what this ache in his chest was, right? Guilt over leading her on?

“Rich talk, coming from you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, dear cousin, that Mirabelle is dead.”

“I know that,” Carlos snapped. Dear God, but he knew that. Why were they talking about Mirabelle all of a sudden anyway?

“Because Larissa isn't,” Jorge said when he asked. “She's alive and waiting for your phone call.”

“No, she's alive and in New York City,” Carlos replied. Even if he did call her, what good would talking do? Eventually she'd hang up, and he'd be faced with her absence again. “Calling her won't bring her back.”

“Are you sure?”

“She has a life there. A family. A career.”

“So?”

“So, she's not coming back,” he said, slamming his hand on the top of his desk. Jorge's questions served nothing other than to churn up the acid in his stomach. Needing space, he shoved himself to his feet.

Outside his office window, the beach reached out to meet the crystal-blue water. It was a view he'd tried to avoid all month long. Too many associations.

“How do you know? Have you asked her?”

Of course he didn't ask her. “You saw how we ended things.” Her asking him questions he didn't have answers to.

Not true. You know the answers.

Carlos closed his eyes. The voice had been taunting him more and more over the past three weeks, as well. Pushing him to have unwanted thoughts, asking him to open doors he'd be better off keeping closed.

“You know, I don't think I've ever hated her as much as I do right now,” he heard his cousin say.

“Hate who?” Although he already knew the answer. Certainly couldn't be Larissa. She'd done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

“I know it's wrong for me to say because she had so many demons. She needed so much. Too much. I saw how much you loved her.”

“She was my world. Not that it did any good.”

“I know, and that's why I hate her. Because she was too sick to see that and because when she died, she passed on her demons to you. I hate that she turned you into a coward.”

Carlos shook his head. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He didn't want to talk about Mirabelle. Lately, when he thought of his late wife, the thoughts morphed into memories of Larissa. Her laugh, her innocent sense of wonder. He pictured her eyes when she saw the
cenote
for the first time, and her face every time their bodies joined together. Each and every memory twisted in his gut, begging for him not to push them away.

Perhaps Jorge was right. He was a coward. But couldn't his cousin see, cowardice was the only thing keeping his heart from ripping into pieces a second time?

Hasn't it torn already?
The truth finally won the battle. All his lying to himself, all the walls he so desperately tried to keep erected, and in the end, Larissa still claimed his heart. Somewhere between the moment she opened her hotel door and their fight on the beach, despite all his best defenses, he'd fallen in love with her.

Whoever said the truth would set you free, lied. His pain was worse than ever.

“Call her,
primo,
” Jorge urged.

“I can't.”

Can't or won't?
Larissa's final question came floating back, mocking him. So desperate to hear him admit his feelings. “She isn't coming back.”

“How do you know unless you ask her?”

Before Carlos could argue otherwise, the two-way radio on Jorge's waist went off. A problem in the ballroom. “You better go,” Carlos told him.

“Sending me off on an errand won't change my opinion, you know.”

“Go.”

“Fine, I'm going, but we will revisit this conversation. Along with the fact that we need a new wedding coordinator so I don't have to deal with catering crises every five minutes.”

His cousin faced failure on both points. Carlos was done talking about Larissa. And as for a wedding coordinator, he doubted any future candidates would ever be as good as the woman who checked out a few weeks ago.

No one in general would be as good as her.

How long he stayed staring out the window, he didn't know. As he watched the sun drift from one corner of his window to another, hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind, all coming back to one central question.
What are you afraid of?

Turned out his fear had been a self-fulfilling one, didn't it? With all his effort to hold Larissa at arm's length, to keep from feeling pain, he created even more.

Slowly, he walked back to his desk, where Paul Stevas's letter lay. What was it Larissa said that day on the beach? About Paul and Linda facing the bad together? He wished he could remember her exact words, but he'd been too busy scrambling to protect himself and they didn't permeate his brain until now.

Before he realized what he was doing, he'd taken out a piece of hotel stationery and started writing.

Dear Paul,

I am so sorry to hear about Linda. She seemed like a very wonderful person. It was obvious the two of you loved each other very much. I'm glad we could help you enjoy your final days together.

Cherish the memories. Love is too precious a gift to forget.

He folded the note and set it aside to accompany the condolence flowers. Love was a precious gift, he thought. Mirabelle's demons hadn't let her see that. And as a result, his demons hadn't let him see the same thing when Larissa came into his life. If only he'd been brave enough to realize how lucky he was to be given a second chance at happiness.

How do you know until you ask her?

He reached for the phone.

 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
WO
 
WEEKS
,
FIVE
DAYS
and twenty-seven hours. That's how long it had been since she said goodbye to Carlos and flown back to New York, and the hole in Larissa's heart loomed larger than ever.

“If you love him set him free,” she muttered. What a joke. She heaved her pen across her desk where it hit the postcard pinned to her wall before landing on a stack of media contracts. A nice red dot now marred the sky over the La Joya swimming pool. She should take the darn pictures down anyway. Looking at them only made the longing worse.

God, but she missed Carlos. Why did she have to be so stubborn about insisting he admit his feelings? She should have stayed the extra day and had one last wonderful memory. Granted, she'd still be sitting here in New York without him, but at least she wouldn't keep picturing the way his forlorn expression reflected in the glass as she walked out of the lobby.

No, you could torture yourself with some other memory.

“We brought you back a sandwich.” Chloe rattled a white paper sack as she and Delilah invaded her cubicle doorway. “Roast beef with slaw.”

“Thanks, I'll eat it later.” Ignoring the look between exchanged between her friends, she set the back on the corner of her desk.

“You should have joined us,” Chloe said. “Feels like summer has finally kicked in out there. It's even warm enough for you.”

“Sorry I missed it, but I had too much work.”

“Interesting how that's been happening a lot lately,” Delilah remarked. “Work keeping you from lunch, that is.”

“I don't see what's so interesting about it. No different from the way you work late all the time.” Actually, it was a lot different and all three of them knew it. Her work might be piling up, but it was because she'd been unable to focus. While her body sat in New York, her mind and heart were back in Mexico. The other day she went so far as to see if La Joya hired a wedding coordinator yet. At least if she were physically in Mexico, she'd feel like she was putting up a fight.

A hand settled on her shoulder. She looked up into Chloe's brown eyes. “It's going to be all right,” her friend told her.

“Would you say that if this was Ian?”

Her friend's eyes widened a second, and she shook her head. “No.”

“Exactly. It's not going to be all right as long as he's not part of my life.” That's what she got for wanting real. Her life wasn't a life at all without him. She was no better than Carlos right now, existing in a void.

“You know what? I'm going back.” Time she took a piece of her own advice. How could she expect Carlos to reach out and take a chance, if she wasn't willing to do the same?

She reached for the phone, only to have Delilah's hand curl around her wrist. “What will you do when you get there? Pick up where you left off?”

“Maybe.”

“And then what?” Delilah asked. “Six months from now when he still won't open up to you, are you going to feel any better?”

“I don't know.” She certainly couldn't feel any worse.

In the end, her phone rang, ending the argument. “Hi, Larissa, it's Jenny from first-floor reception. Can you come down for a moment?”

“Sure. I'll be right there.” She hung up with a frown. “That's odd. First-floor reception wants me.”

“Maybe someone sent you a present,” Chloe teased.

A present indeed. She and Delilah had been doing everything under the sun to cheer her up. They'd probably ordered a balloon bouquet or something equally silly. Forget what she said about not being able to feel worse. As horrible as she felt right now, she'd be completely lost without these two.

“I'd better go find out.”

* * *

After four years of working at CMT, Larissa had come to expect all sorts of sights in their corporate lobby. None of them prepared her for the man standing at the reception desk.

Her heart leaped to her throat. “C-Carlos?” She whispered the name in case she was dreaming.

Carlos turned around and smiled. The shyness nearly broke her.
“Buenos dias.”

“Buenas tardes,”
she corrected. “It's afternoon.”

“I guess I've got my time zones mixed up.”

As he started toward the elevator, everything else in the lobby faded away. The only thing worth looking at was his face. Habit already ingrained, Larissa looked to his eyes. They shone like two dark jewels, bright and open. So incredibly, wonderfully open that she wanted to cry.

“
Querida,
no...” He cradled her cheeks in his palm, smoothed her trembling lip with his thumb.

“I can't believe you're really here,” she whispered.

“I can't believe it myself, but I needed to tell you something, and face-to-face was the only way.”

“Tell me something?” She felt her heart skip with a hope she dared not acknowledge.

Carlos nodded. “I wanted to tell you that you were special. That's the reason I did everything I did. Because you were...are...special.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. To feel his lips after all this time... Larissa had to squeeze her eyes tight to steel herself against the thrill building inside. “I spent so many years thinking I was dead inside,” he whispered. “Then this beautiful drunk blonde opened a door and I found out I wasn't dead after all. I was waiting for her. Only I was too scared to take a chance. Too afraid of how badly it would hurt when she walked away. So I tried to lock her out.

“Except,” he said, smiling down with shining eyes, “she got in anyway. I've tried to deny the feelings for three weeks, but I miss you, Larissa. There's been a hole in my chest since you left.”

Oh Lord, how she'd longed to hear those words. “There's been a hole in my chest, too. I've missed you so much.”

“Same here,
querida.”

It felt like an eternity, but at last, Carlos swept her into his arms. His kiss was honest and real, the connection instant. Gone was the distance she used to sense. Larissa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with an intensity that left them both breathless. When they finally broke, and she remembered where they were, she started to giggle.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Looked like his kisses did have the same impact while standing on Madison Avenue.

Still, kisses weren't everything, and while she would far rather spend the next twenty four hours wrapped in Carlos's arms, they needed to talk. “So where do we go from here?” she asked, putting some distance between them.

“What do you mean?”

It meant dealing with nitty-gritty reality. Carlos coming to New York was a start, but if they were to make a real go of things, they needed to negotiate life beyond La Joya's romantic facade.

“For starters, we live three thousand miles apart. I have a job here. Delilah and Chloe are here.” That she had been about to fly back to Mexico was beside the point. That was when she was depressed and thinking illogically.

“I'm well aware of the distance, and I've got a solution.”

“Already? You've only been here five minutes.”

“I've had a long time to think before I got here, and I realize I've been a selfish bastard.”

“No—”

He held up his hand. “No,
querida,
I have been for a long time. By shutting myself off from the world. And, just because I've woken up, doesn't mean I have the right to ask you to give up your life. Not yet.”

Larissa's heart started pounding. “Carlos, what are you trying to say?” She knew what it sounded like, but...would he really make that kind of commitment?

“I've put a call in to Kent Hotels regarding a position here in New York.”

Oh my God, he was making that kind of commitment. “You're leaving La Joya?”

“The hospitality industry has always been a little nomadic. I've moved from hotel to hotel before. What's another move?”

“But it's your family's business.”

“It's a business. Businesses can be replaced. Hearts can't.”

“Wow.” She didn't know what do say. He was willing to leave his family's business and move to New York City for her when neither of them knew what the future had in store. An incredibly gigantic chance for a man who feared getting hurt. That Carlos would take such a leap of faith
for her
... “I'm so humbled,” she murmured.

“You're so worth it,” Carlos replied.

If Larissa's heart ever had any doubt whether she belonged with him, those four words erased it. There was still one more question to ask, though. “And when things get rough?” She needed to know.

“We'll deal with them together.”

“Are you sure? Because I want it all. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

“So do I,
querida.
”

They were both tired of keeping space between them. When Carlos stepped close again, Larissa melted into him. “I love you,” she said, resting her head against his chest. “I don't care if it's too soon to say the words, but I—”

“Shh...” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Say them all you want,
querida.
I love you, too.”

His kiss showed her just how much.

“Now,” he said, planting one last kiss on the tip of her nose. “Why don't you take me upstairs to meet these best friends of yours? Then tonight, after you finish work, you can show me around my new adopted home.”

“Okay, but I've got a better idea. How about I introduce you to Chloe and Delilah, and then, I show you how much I missed you.”

He smiled. “I like your idea better.”

“What can I say? I'm a terrific event planner.” As she led him to meet the two most important women in her life, Larissa thought of how lucky she was. She'd gone to paradise to lick her wounds over lost love and discovered a love that was even better. What's more, with Carlos in her life, it wouldn't matter if she ever travelled to paradise again. Because paradise was wherever the two of them were together.

One year later...

“Tell me again why we came on this trip?” Simon Cartwright lifted himself from the infinity pool. Water dripped from his Olympic-fit body as he walked to the nearby lounge chair to grab a towel.

“Near as I can tell,” Ian Black replied, “it's so we have someone to talk to while our wives ignore us.”

He smirked at the nearby table, only to have one of the women stick her tongue out in return. “Watch it, Mister. I'm not your wife yet,” Chloe Abrams said, waggling her index finger at him. “I still have twenty-four hours to change my mind.”

“Idle threats, Curlilocks. You and I both know you're stuck with me for life.”

Rolling her eyes, the brunette turned back to the other women at her table. “I hate when he's right.”

“You think he's bad now, wait until the two of you decide to have children,” Delilah told her. “Simon's been strutting around like a peacock ever since the ultrasound. You'd think I was giving birth to the king of England.” She squealed as Simon splashed water in her direction.

From her seat at the far end of the table, Larissa watched the whole exchange with misty eyes. She missed this—spending time with her friends. It'd been nine months since she returned to Mexico. True to his word, Carlos did stay in New York, although he took a year's leave of absence rather than find a new position. While Larissa knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the two of them belonged together, she told him they should take things slow, and he agreed.

New York lasted exactly six weeks. Surprisingly, it was Larissa who initiated the move back to Mexico. The decision came while she and Carlos were sitting in Bryant Park one brutally hot Sunday afternoon. If she was going to endure oppressive heat, she told him, she wanted egrets to sing her good-night. They returned to La Joya two weeks later. She didn't regret the decision for a moment.

Fishing the pen from behind her ear, she flipped open the file folder on the table in front of her. “Before Simon tosses Delilah into the pool, I want to make sure you're absolutely okay with the plans for tomorrow's ceremony. Are you sure you don't have any changes?”

“Other than the size of my bridesmaid dress?” Delilah quipped. “It appears the future king has decided to take up residence in my rear end.”

“No worries,” Larissa told her. “The dresses I picked out are very figure-forgiving. You're not the only one whose rear end has decided to expand.”

“Perhaps because someone feels the need to sample every wedding cake that comes through the hotel.”

Carlos came strolling out from the restaurant, resplendent as always in his manager's suit. Twelve months together, and the way he moved still sent shivers down her spine. He smiled at her, his eyes warm and bright. “I guarantee tomorrow's ceremony will be flawless. After all, you're using the finest wedding planner in all of Mexico.”

“She's also the only wedding planner who didn't have a wedding of her own,” Delilah noted. “Noontime at City Hall? Seriously, what kind of wedding is that?”

Her cheeks growing warm, Larissa reached up and entwined her fingers with the hand resting on her shoulder. She and Carlos got married right before their return. “I had everything that mattered.”

“And so do I,” Chloe said. “I've got the man of my dreams and my best friends. Tomorrow will be the icing on the cake as far as I'm concerned.” She giggled. “Sorry, La-Roo, did saying the word
cake
made your butt get bigger?”

“It did Delilah's,” Simon said with a laugh. Before the brunette could retort, he gathered her in his arms and gave her a kiss. “And I love every inch.”

“You better,” she grumbled, kissing his nose.

“Ah, the sparkling cider is here.”