Making Love in Spanish by B. Wiser

Author:B. Wiser
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789712731242
Publisher: Anvil Publishing, Inc.

So you’d think my bullshit radar would have been operating flawlessly by the time Romeo arrived on the scene. Romeo, the Central American diplomat with the swagger of a heavyweight boxer, the accent of a drug lord, and the charm of a player.

Latino lover, you said? Romeo was straight out of central casting, smooth, suave, and so sure of himself that, seriously, when he walked he was like a samba, and when he spoke he was Scarface.

Romeo had been lusting after me for years—so he claimed—while I was still with Felipe, and throughout my bumpy relationship with Fidel. I’d met him at a reception a South American embassy was hosting, and there were margaritas and a mariachi band and diplomats who shook hands with sweaty palms and planted wet kisses on your cheeks. Romeo, in a smart gray-flecked suit that matched his hair, came up to me, and with a gallant flourish, took my hand, kissed it and made a slight bow. His palm was definitely not sweaty, and his kiss was far from wet.

“Buenas tardes, señorita,” he said. “You appear before me a vision of loveliness.”

Like I said, straight out of central casting. Antonio Banderas, is that you? Still, there was a certain charm in the blatant cheesiness of it all.

The fact that I had a boyfriend disappointed him, but the knowledge that Felipe lived in a different country, and that he was much older than me perked him up. He straightened his shoulders and smiled as if to say, “Game on.”

It would be game on for at least three years before Romeo got anywhere close to scoring. We had lunch once, soon after we met, the subtext of the meal being, friends have lunch, dinner means date. He was a year older than me, lived in a different city, divorced, with children older than mine. They lived abroad with his ex-wife, and he saw them as often as he could. His manners were impeccable. He called me princesa and made me laugh. He had all the moves. He pulled those piropos out of the hat with such panache. Even Ariane, in all her surly teenage-ness at the time, was charmed when she met him at another embassy function.

“Mom!” she gushed, “He’s such a gentleman.”

No, darling, I wanted to say, he’s a seasoned diplomat. And he’s Latino. My dad, I thought, would have seen through him immediately. But then again, he would have seen though ALL the men I’d dated immediately. And he would have scratched his head in bewilderment.

For Romeo was, simply put, a player.

Thunder only happens when it’s raining

Players only love you when they’re playing

Except I wasn’t free.

But his persistence paid off in the end. In between Dubai and New York, on hiatus from Fidel but before Emilio, there was Cape Town. When Romeo found out that I happened to be single again and en route to Cape Town for work, he rearranged his schedule, booked a flight, and made dinner reservations for two.

“Mi amor,” he said

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