Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i read book txt) 📕

The further I advance on the wall, the more fun I’m having. Perhaps I could add bouldering to my regular workout. I’ve been looking for a way to tone my arms anyway. And if I get better at this, maybe I can join Nathan when he trains in his gym sometime?

The idea to enjoy his hobby together comes so instinctively. And it is exactly this naturalness that turns my innards upside down. Could it be that Nathan qualifying our relationship as “dating” is starting to rub off on me? Or did Abuelita and Laia insert some remote controlled chips into my brain that they’re triggering right now? That could certainly explain why I’m suddenly comfortable with the idea of being around Nathan as if he were my boyfriend, instead of freaking out.

I’m so occupied figuring out the answers to these questions that I miss my last foothold and flounder backwards. Luckily, Nathan’s reflexes are quick and, instead of stumbling to the ground, I end up in his arms. Which is a way better place to be.

He lowers me to the mat and turns me around. “Everything okay?” he asks with a worried glance.

“Oh, sorry. I zoned out. I was thinking about…” Whether I can trust you and let you in my life…and how your lips may taste. “…that painting in your house.”

His brows arch. “The Chagall?”

“Yes.” Why not? It is an exquisite piece of art. And it’s a far better excuse for my phasing out than the truth.

Nathan strokes his five-o-clock shadow, which is even more prominent now than it was at the lake. The gesture gives him an enigmatic expression, and I can’t say whether he believed my white lie. Just as I’m about to add something to strengthen my story, he surprises me. “I was thinking about it, too. Just before you slipped.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, or rather, I thought of what you told me when we were in front of that painting. You know, that story of La Mujer Sin Alma.”

I shuffle my foot. “Do you find it weird?” I wasn’t sure if it was a mistake to tell Nathan my mother’s cautionary tale.

Nathan’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Not at all. But it made me remember something I learned from Old Sam back in St. James.”

“The gardener at your school?”

“Yes. Once, I planted a small geranium with him. That plant almost died because I forgot to water it regularly. The leaves dried and flowers dried up and fell off.”

I furrow my brows, wondering how this has anything to do with my tale. Or me for that matter.

Nathan notices my puzzled expression and adds, “When I realized what happened, I swore I’d never garden again. But Old Sam laughed at me. He said I just needed to shear the plant back by one-third and water it properly, and it’d encourage another heavy show of flowers. I didn’t believe him, but it worked. You know what he said to me when he saw my surprise?” Nathan captures my gaze and brushes back a strand of hair behind my ear. “He said that sometimes our fear of failure makes us believe that things are lost when they aren’t. He claimed that geraniums are like our hearts—resilient. They can endure so much and bounce back from it.”

I gape at him, my pulse throbbing in my throat. “Wow, he was a wise man.”

“Yes, he was,” Nathan says with a throaty undertone as if he’s aware of the full effect of his words on me and patient enough to wait till I wrap my head around it.

And there is much to think about indeed. I know by now that I made an error by shoving Nathan into the “arrogant rich men” category. I was probably mistaken to have such a polarized black-white vision of wealthy guys at all. These are realizations I’ve already made and accepted.

But now, a new insight is making its way into my soul, and it’s more unsettling than any previous discovery about myself. By choosing to accept the conclusions of my mother’s story and believing that another mistake like the one I made with Fernando would destroy my heart for good, I’ve sold myself short. I didn’t trust my own soul’s power to regenerate and to find happiness.

A faint beeping interrupts us.

“It’s my alarm,” Nathan tilts his head toward his pants that sit neatly folded on the crush pad. “I set it because I didn’t want to make you late for the Desert Rose. We need to get changed and get going if you want to be there on time.”

Soft thrills spread in my chest at his sweet gesture. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

It’s very like him to be so organized, but knowing that he built this precaution into our time together, warms my heart.

As I look at Nathan’s kind, almost apologetic smile, something moves inside of me. It’s like a dormant fairy, who still has difficulty spreading her wings, but is awake enough to finally see. And suddenly I find myself thinking that, by not granting myself another shot at love, I could be committing the worst error of all…

Chapter 23

(Eva)

The darkness has started to descend by the time Nathan slows his car in front of the Desert Rose. The parking is already crammed, making me anticipate a night where three performances might not be sufficient. I was right to warn Abuelita I’d be home late.

Nathan switches off the engine. “Here we are. Right on time, just like I promised.”

As I unbuckle my seatbelt, still contemplating my feelings for Nathan and their undeniable existence, getting out of Nathan’s car to go to Alfonso’s bar feels…good. No, it feels right. Despite a giant part of my brain trying to convince me that it isn’t, something changed in me in Nathan’s gym. Was it the fun we had when climbing together? Was it our sharing about the past? Nathan’s metaphor about gardening?

I’m not sure,