Reina de la Muerte

chapter twenty seven

gabriel

I haven't checked the time since entering the bedroom.

Between our heated sessions of love-making and conversing over anything—what little is left of the food I ordered, stories about my mother and sisters before the incident, and even something as simple as favourite pastimes (I got shoved off the bed when I told her mine was her)—Vanessa seems just as willing to stay in this room as I am.

Staying in here means remaining in the fantasy we get to live in when we're away from every problem waiting outside our doors. Once we walk back out, we'll be too busy trying to take down Lucía Morales to give us a moment together. The mission is important, the most significant one of my career, but I want nothing more than to be selfish right now.

I want to keep Vanessa in here and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist.

I want to leave whatever empires we've built and escape somewhere off the face of this damned planet.

I want to pretend we aren't who we were raised to be.

Unfortunately, I live a life where such wishes are out of reach for me. Something so simple for the rest of the world, yet it seems impossible for us.

"I have to be honest. Cold chicken wings taste just as good as hot wings, if not better."

I glance over at Vanessa. She has the bedsheets draped over her shoulders as a thin shawl, devouring her second plate of spicy chicken wings. Even when her reddening cheeks prove the heat is getting to be too much, she keeps eating with an occasional hum of content.

That is true commitment.

I lean in and wipe the glob of sauce near the corner of her lip, grinning at the surprised part of her lips as she watches. Her face flushes darker when I start licking the excess sauce from my thumb.

I hold her chin delicately and rub her bottom lip with my thumb. "They are good."

I don't believe what I'm saying one bit—hot wings are always better—but this woman has me wrapped around her finger. Denying it would be pointless. She's making me agree with something as irrelevant as cold wings being the better chicken wing.

A cheeky grin stretches across her face as she picks up another wing. "You're a terrible liar, Díaz."

I rest my head in my hand, watching her. "I never claimed to be a good one."

"And here I thought you were such a great actor." I lift my head and narrow my eyes when I find her already smirking at me. "What was it you said that one night..."

"The one time I give you a break, you want to test my patience," I mutter under my breath.

"Ah! I remember. That you didn't have to act when you were around me."

"At least I didn't have to play actor all hours of
the day," I retort, removing the sheet and wrapping an arm around her waist. "You always have been good at staying in denial, princesa."

She fails to pull away a when I kiss her shoulder, inhaling slowly. Apple cinnamon. The smell of my personal heaven.

I continue kissing any exposed inch of skin she on display. She feels so soft under my fingertips, like silk.

"That doesn't make what I'm saying about you less true," she breathes. "You can make a career out of making me angry, you know."

Always the one to over exaggerate, my wife. "I had a hunch."

She scoffs and manages to shake my arm off to set her plate on the nightstand.  My first reaction is grabbing a wing to distract my thoughts with it, but I can't drag my eyes away when she sucks on the pad of her thumb. When she turns to me, all traces of amusement is gone, but I can't question it because my attention closely watches her lick the sauce off her fingers.