Page 6 of American Sweethearts

chapter four

priscilla

The smiles and whoops of joy were already resounding through the plane and we hadn’t even touched down yet. I looked at my mom and dad, who were sitting side by side, clutching hands, excited as they always were to come home. They’d left the DR only weeks after getting married at nineteen and twenty-one. No English, no promised jobs.

Nothing.

They made it work though, for us, for me, and I never forgot that. There wasn’t enough that I could do to repay what my parents had lived through. Working multiple jobs, tireless, so they could hand me the American Dream they came here for. No, they weren’t perfect, but I’d never seen anything in my house but work and love.

I felt a soft pat on my arm and turned to look at where Juanpa was pointing, “You’d think it would get old for them,” he said with a smile, looking at his Puerto Rican father’s beatific smile as he looked down at the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea.

I laughed softly and shook my head. “Nunca.” Seeing their land would never ever get old for them. For us either, if we were honest.

Suddenly I felt a strong, rough hand gripping mine and time stopped, as the plane finally touched the tarmac. I should’vepulled it back, but as I sat there and cheered as we always did when we landed home, I let J’s touch be part of the moment.

“Landing in style. Que cache.” That was my dad trying to make us all laugh. “Rafa, who could’ve told us we’d be flying in a private jet, mano?”

“If anyone was going to figure out how to get himself a billionaire from DR, it would be Camilo.” That was Patrice, and we all lost it then.

This was going to be a good week. There was too much good to celebrate for anything to mess it up. As long as I kept my shit together and didn’t land on Juan Pablo’s dick. And because that motherfucker could read my mind, I felt his breath right by my ear as the captain told us that we should be arriving at the private gate soon.

“You feeling more relaxed? Ready for nonstop family time?”

I wasn’t sure why his perfectly reasonable questions sounded like a lascivious offer, but I could feel a bead of sweat forming at the base of my back. I almost shook my head, marveling at the fact that Juan Pablo Campos still had that effect on me. Thankfully our parents were all half drunk and raring to get out of the plane, so no one noticed our little private moment.

I looked around and Juan Pablo’s eyes on me were…blistering. But we were having none of that.

“No bullshit, Juan Pablo.”

That grin was the one I knew meant he saw right through my protests.

“No BS, Morena.” He crossed his thumb over his index finger and brought them up to his lips. “Promise.”

Him using the nickname that only my family ever used should’ve annoyed me, but it just made me ever more flustered. Fuck, why was it always like this?

I could fool myself and act like none of it felt good or familiar. Tell myself that being here with everyone I loved was not justa little better because Juan was here, but I’d be a fool. And a liar. I’d be doing what I always did: pretending that he was not getting under my skin with every word.

“No BS. I will keep you to it, Juan Pablo Campos. Nobody needs our mess this week. We’re here for Milo and Tom. No games please.”

Something about the way it came out made his expression change. Suddenly all playfulness was gone, and I hated myself a little for causing that.

“I’ve never played games with you. But I promised you something the last time and I don’t plan to go back on my word.”

There it was, the words I’d wanted. He was giving me what I’d asked for. But as I stepped onto the hangar, feeling the sea breeze running through the rafters, and as Juanpa hung back with the others, I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

chapter five

juan pablo

“Ma, hurry you’re gonna make us late.” It was way too early for anything that required this level of energy. We were rushing to get on some sort of limo-bus thing getting ready to head out to a morning tour to some famous caves about an hour from the hotel. Since arriving last night, we’d been on some sort of Instagram dreamscape: Camilo’s fiancé had rented out an entire boutique hotel for the week. The whole wedding party and our families were staying there and the place was pretty swank. We’d had an insane seafood dinner waiting for us when we arrived and everyone had turned in early, so we’d be ready for the tour.

Things with Priscilla and I had cooled off significantly after we’d landed, but I hadn’t been in my head too much about it. This wasn’t the Juan Pablo and Priscilla show after all; we were here for Camilo.

“Are those mimosas?”

I rolled my eyes as my mother gaped at the clear plastic cups that Patrice and Nesto’s mom were drinking from. “No, Ma, it’s just OJ. You don’t want to get to those caves all dehydrated, do you? We’ll have plenty of cold bubbly waiting for us when we get back.” My mother nodded, not looking a hundred percent convinced that there wasn’t a bottomless mimosa situation on the bus.

Nesto grinned and leaned down to give my mother a peck on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Irene, you’ll get your drink on soon enough. It’s been like this since we got here. Milo’s really getting the hang of spending Tom’s money, because the flex is real.” I laughed at the awe in Nesto’s voice. He’d been at the hotel for a few days already, working out the details for the food at the reception and the rehearsal dinner. Nesto ran his own successful Afro-Caribbean restaurant in Upstate New York and Camilo and Tom had asked him to help them come up with the perfect Afro-Caribbean fusion menu for the wedding.