Page 82 of LA King

Alejandro shrugs, a smirk on his face.

“She usually does, but I like to cook too,” I reply.

He hums and sizes me up. “And you make your own cheeseburgers?”

“I do.”

“And they taste better than any burger you’ve ever eaten before. I guarantee it,” Alejandro adds, and I blush at his compliment.

“Well, if that is true, you’d better not tell your Uncle Phillipe, or he’ll be finding excuses to visit you every weekend.” Mateo lets out a loud, barking laugh and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “My Maria also loves to cook, much to Magda’s annoyance when Alejandro was a boy. You are a brave woman to enter her kitchen.” He winks conspiratorially.

“I believe she has mellowed since then, Papá.” Alejandro chuckles. “But yes, my Alana would have been a match for Magda even on her best day.” He hands me a drink, and I bloom beneath such open praise.

“Thanks,” I say, and he slips his arm around my waist, skimming across my ass as he does.

Mateo is temporarily distracted by Magda walking into the kitchen. She throws her hands up in the air and says something in Spanish upon seeing him, but it’s clear they have a warm relationship, and the two of them engage in an animated conversation in Spanish.

Alejandro takes the opportunity to whisper in my ear and squeeze my ass. “You have permission to go put panties on, princesa.”

Two hours later, Alejandro, Mateo, and I have eaten our dinner and are sitting at the dining table. “That was delicious, Alana.” Mateo pats his flat stomach. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“My grandma,” I say with a smile. “I lived with my grandparents until I was fourteen. She cooked all of her meals from scratch. They never had much money, so if I ever wanted a burger, it had to be homemade. I used to get embarrassed that we could never get takeout when my friends came over, but once they tasted my grandma’s burgers, they started coming around every Friday night.”

Alejandro and his father stare at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. “Sorry. Was I prattling on?” I can’t help it. I have such lovely memories of my grandparents.

“You weren’t,” Mateo replies. “But I didn’t realize you were raised by your grandparents.”

“I wasn’t raised by them exactly. But I spent most of my time there, especially when I was younger. My mom and dad were often on the campaign trail, so I used to stay behind a lot. But I loved it there in their little neighborhood in Brooklyn.”

“You grew up in Brooklyn?” Alejandro asks.

“Partly, I guess. Until my grandma died, and then I lived in Manhattan with my folks full-time.”

Alejandro and his father share a look that I can’t figure out, but the subject changes before I can ask about it, and I let it go.

We lie in bed later that night, my head on Alejandro’s chest and him tracing his fingertips up and down my arm. This is my favorite post-sex position, our warm bodies pressed together—his hard and mine soft—and nothing to do but fall asleep.

“I had no idea you spent so much time with your grandparents,” he says.

“Why would you? I think we’ve already established you know very little about me, Mr. Montoya.” I run my fingertips across the tattoos on his chest.

“There’s nothing about that in any of the information online.”

“You read my online bios?” I look up at him and laugh.

“I always research the people I’m going into business with.”

“Well, your research into me was pretty shocking to say the least. Everyone knows online personas are a crock of shit.”

He runs his thumb across my lower lip, pulling it down so my mouth opens slightly. “Careful, princesa,” he warns. “Besides, your father gave me all the information I needed to make my decision, so I didn’t actually research you. But why don’t you tell me what I’m missing? Who is the real Alana Carmichael?”

I’m not sure I even know that myself anymore. And just what information did my father give Alejandro about me? My father who has been distant and dismissive since my marriage. And given that what he told me about Alejandro isn’t quite playing out as the truth, I have to wonder what lies he might have told about me. I did only what he asked, yet he seems to have brushed me aside. A fact that has been easy to forget about with him so far away. I don’t particularly want to unpack any of that now though.

“Who do you think she is?” I purr, running my hand down his chest toward his groin.

He grabs my wrist, stopping me from going any farther. “Stop trying to distract me with sex. Why did you live with your grandparents for most of your childhood, and why is that a secret?”

“It’s not a secret. Anyone who actually knows me or my family knows the truth. But living with my grandparents isn’t something my family advertises, that’s all. My dad’s all about family. His political career is built on family values, and I guess it was better for his image not to publicize it.”