A Proposal They Can't Refuse (Vega Family Love Stories, #1)

by Natalie Caña

outside the director’s office. She tried her best to keep the anger out of her voice because she already knew how the two troublemakers in front of her would react to it. “What did you do now?” That garnered an immediate and very predictable response of “Nothing” from both occupants. It was a lie, of course. It always was whenever these two started claiming innocence in unison. Kamilah rubbed both hands over her face and let out the type of deep and weary sigh that someone should let out at midnight after a hard and long day—not at eight thirty in the morning. She dropped her hands. “Don’t you think it’s time to stop with the shenanigans? You’re eighty years old, Abuelo.” Her grandfather gasped in outrage at the mention of his age and scowled at her. His salt-and-pepper hair was sticking up all over the place like a fuzzy baby monkey, making him look adorable despite the baleful glare.

LMFAO I LOVE HIM ALREADY

Abuelo’s roommate and best friend gave her his own version of the stink eye. “You’re only as old as you feel,” Killian replied in his deep Irish brogue. “And that means what? That you two feel twelve?”

thought I had made myself clear after the bird incident that being banned from pet therapy would be the least of your worries if there were any more pranks pulled.” Kamilah closed her eyes and shook her head. It was a variation on what she’d said right before giving the Devious Duo a monthlong suspension from bingo for starting an illicit gambling ring; before that, there was a security-enforced curfew after the strip-poker fiasco. “What did they do now?” she asked, well aware that it was the third or fourth time she’d asked the question that morning and had yet to get a response. “This morning we had two residents with high blood pressure show alarmingly high readings after breakfast. We did some investigating and found that Mr. Kane and Mr. Vega had snuck into the cafeteria last night and replaced the decaffeinated coffee grounds with fully caffeinated espresso.”

“You two have more freedom than anyone else in here.” It was true. Because of their relatively good physical health and stable mental health, Abuelo and Killian didn’t require as much care as many of the other residents. It was more as if Casa del Sol were their college dorm rather than their senior-care facility. It didn’t help that the two tended to view the senior-living center’s strict rules as friendly suggestions.

But Killian had other concerns. “You hear that, Papo? Freedom,” he harrumphed. “They won’t even let me drink café con leche,” Abuelo added. “They give me light brown poop water and call it coffee.” “It’s decaf with a splash of coconut milk, and your doctor says it’s better for your heart,” Kamilah pointed out.

“Ese doctor no sabe na’. Cuando me duele el pecho, me pongo un poco de Vaporú y ya.” Kamilah sucked her teeth more at the claim that his doctor knew nothing than at the miraculous healing quality of Vicks VapoRub. All Latinx people knew Vaporú was the cure for everything from a common cold to heartbreak.

“You guys have to stop this,” she said in her voice of reason tone. She placed a hand on each of theirs. “I don’t have time for you to be staging weekly high jinks like you’re the Little Rascals. I can’t be here all the time making sure that you don’t get kicked out.” Abuelo turned his face away. “Nobody told you to come act like our mother.” Killian nodded. “We are grown men.”

When he fell to his knees, Kamilah suddenly found herself face-to-face with the exact man she’d just prayed wasn’t there. Big, broad, and brooding, Killian’s grandson didn’t resemble him in the least. Where Killian had a round face and wide nose with a bit of a hook at the end, Liam looked like something conjured out of the tie me up and spank me books her sister-in-law was always reading. His face was all sharp angles, set off by dark stubble, a stern mouth, and cool eyes.

She should own up to her part and apologize, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Pride was the only thing protecting her from Liam. She couldn’t let it go now.

“What the hell, Granda? You are willing to get kicked out of this place over coffee? Seriously?” “It’s not the coffee. It’s the principle,” Killian replied, his nose in the air. Liam threw up his hands and let out a sound of exasperation. “What principle? That the people you pay to take care of you actually take care of you?” Killian crossed his arms. “You don’t get it because you’re young.”

“Would you two just get a room already?” Killian said. Liam turned his dark look on his grandfather, and she made a disgusted noise. “What?” Killian shrugged. “All I’m saying is you two fight like a couple.” “Yeah.” Abuelo added his two cents. “You should just get married already.”

LMFAOOOO

curve behind her hand, and she saw Killian’s pleased smile. “Don’t get too happy,” she warned. “You think they denied you? Just wait to see what I have in store. When I’m done with you, you are going to wish you could eat rabbit food.” They were completely unfazed by her threats. Probably because they knew Kamilah was a crème brûlée—right below a crackly hard surface, she was really just pudding.

Kamilah didn’t have a problem with other folks making their way into the neighborhood, especially if that meant new opportunities and an influx of money. Her issue was that a majority of the original residents were being denied access to those opportunities and the financial possibilities that came with the changes.

The caucasity, as her best friend, Sofi, would say.

A tall blond man standing on the patio in chef’s whites drew her eye. He was walking from table to table shaking hands and chitchatting with customers. Something about the way he stood reminded her of— “No.” She thumped her hand against the console beneath her. It can’t be. Chase was supposed to be in LA, where he stayed after winning American Chef Battle. The selfish, treacherous jackass. Kamilah leaned farther across the console to get a better look. Her face was almost smooshed against the passenger-side window when the man threw back his head and laughed. It was him. “Son of a—”

An ass who turned and locked eyes with her ex-fiancé through the passenger-side window.

After all the shit the Forest Glen born-and-raised jerk talked about Humboldt Park—namely, that it was a gang haven that would one day swallow her whole—Chase opened a restaurant barely two miles from her own. How dare he? Humboldt Park was hers.

Division Street, particularly between Western and California Avenues, was the epicenter of Humboldt Park’s Puerto Rican community. In its heyday, the area nearly resembled the neighborhoods of the island, many buildings imitating the Spanish colonial architecture found in Viejo San Juan. Colorful murals blurred by her window, paying homage to the culture and the walk of fame that honored prominent Puerto Ricans. Her lips curved as offices of local Puerto Rican politicians flew by, the storefronts dotted with local art galleries and dance academies. But now? Now things were changing. Her brow furrowed. Paseo Boricua was still a microcosm of Chicago’s Puerto Rican community, but the miniature had begun to show cracks and chips just like an antique portrait painted on a porcelain pendant. Puerto Rican pride was still visible up and down the avenue, but it was no longer as loud or as vibrant as it had once been.

“No me importa,” Papi said. “Ain’t nobody sticking a finger in my butt.” He lifted a wooden chair from the floor, slammed it onto the table, and wiped it down with unnecessary vigor. Mami stopped scrubbing the tables, spun on her heel to face him, and placed both hands on her hips. “You didn’t have a problem when I did it last week,” she snipped in Spanish.

LMFAO HELPPP

“¿Y tu? You can’t find pants without holes in them?” She paused and zeroed in on Kamilah’s head. “Or a brush?” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “If you’re going to show up late, the least you can do is fix your hair. I don’t understand how you girls these days leave the house looking homeless.” Mami was not a fan of the distressed look.

latine moms be like (read: my mom)

Poor Mami: she wanted so badly for her only girl to be a polished princess. Instead, she’d got a high-strung hot mess. “No wonder you’re single,” Mami finished. Kamilah grimaced.

“Remember my cousin Jencarlos? One day he was fine, the next day he was dead.” “Wasn’t he hit by a car crossing the street?” Leo asked, placing two glasses back on the shelf. Kamilah hid her laugh behind a cough. Papi nodded.

“The point is you never know.” “I’m not going to die.” “You’d better hope not. I’m telling you right now, Santiago Vega. I’m too young and too pretty to be a widow.” Both of Papi’s eyebrows went up, and he blinked. “What does that mean? Mujer, you better not be telling me that you’ll marry someone else if I die first.”

LMFAOOO

Liam Kane was one hundred percent over it too. Unfortunately for them all, Liam’s grandfather had taken off for some unknown errand, so this nightmare of a guided tour of Kane Distillery was up to him. Never mind that on his very best day, Liam would give his ability to deal with people a six out of ten. But after his run-in with Kamilah and her junk-punch that morning, he was currently at two...and falling.

Per usual, he’d been unprepared for Kamilah Vega. He tried his very best to build up immunity between their interactions. Like an athlete before a big game, he had to psych himself up before seeing her. You won’t stare at her. You won’t be an ass. You’ll act like a normal human being. It never worked. One day, he told himself. One day she wouldn’t affect him like this, and a brief interaction wouldn’t completely throw him off his game for hours. Until that day came, he had a business to run and a tour to give.

And that, right there, was why Liam hated giving tours. These people didn’t give a shit about the level of craftsmanship that went into the process or the building. They couldn’t care less about the endless years of hard work and dedication he and his grandfather had put into their distillery just to get to the point where they could even give tours. They only wanted to get tipsy for ten bucks and take cute pictures for their Instagram accounts. “The tasting is at the end of the tour.”

“What the feck is wrong with you, lad?” According to the therapist Liam was forced to see as a kid, the answer was PTSD and depression, but Liam knew Granda wasn’t talking about that since he’d solely referred to Dr. Kofsky as “that self-important quack who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.”

Liam could feel his patience slipping. Granda always had to push. He always wanted more. It wasn’t enough that Liam bent over backward to try to be what he wanted. He needed to reinvent himself. Be something he wasn’t capable of being.

“No. Dead.” Liam laughed. That was a new one. Usually when his grandpa wanted to guilt him into something, he just brought up the fact that he took Liam in when his mother moved to the East Coast with her new husband. “Yeah, well, how much do you think I could get if I sell your liver for research? Because it has to be some scientific anomaly that it’s still functional.” “Funny you should mention my liver function.”

“No.” Granda leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms along the rests. His fingers curled around the ends and squeezed. “Because I have stage four liver cancer and will be dead before the end of the year.” Liam’s wry smile fell, and he scowled. “That’s not funny.” “It sure as hell isn’t,” his grandfather agreed.

There was absolutely no way that his grandfather, his partner, his rock, the only person who truly gave a shit about Liam, was telling him that he wasn’t going to treat his cancer. There was no way he was telling his grandson that he was prepared to just die. That, just like everyone else in Liam’s life, he was going to leave. Liam did the only thing he could think of. The thing he’d been doing since he was old enough to discover the power play. Without even a glance at the man who’d just betrayed him, Liam left first.

“If we have to get rid of everything that makes us who we are, then what’s the point?” Papi snapped. “My parents opened this place to celebrate us and our neighbors and the community. To show their pride and love of our culture. They didn’t open this place to cater to a bunch of yuppies who want everything vegan and locally sourced.”

“It’s not about catering to any one group of people, Papi. It’s about making sure everyone who comes here feels welcome and valued and that they leave feeling happy and satisfied. All we have to do is update the menu and give the place a face-lift.”

“Mila, I’m not trying to be hurtful, but we have to be realistic, and realistically...” He seemed at a loss for words. “You’ve always been a dreamer, mamita.

“That has nothing to do with anything.” That wasn’t exactly true. It had a lot to do with how they viewed her. She was their aimless daughter, who went through the motions but never really accomplished anything. All talk and no follow-through. Kamilah bit her lip. True, she hadn’t followed through with some of her plans, but it wasn’t because she lacked the drive, like they seemed to think.

“Kamilah, I know you want to help, but I’ve been giving this place my all since I was fifteen. My blood, sweat, and tears are soaked into the floorboards. I think I deserve the right to say what happens next, and I’d rather see it close how it opened, authentic and humble, than change completely into something I don’t respect.”

There was no next for Kamilah. Her future was tied irrevocably to El Coquí. She had known that since the day Abuela’s cancer had returned twelve years earlier. The day Kamilah gave up her dream school for her family. No one ever knew the truth of Le Cordon Bleu. They thought it was another thing Kamilah had never followed through on. They thought she didn’t want to be forced into making difficult choices about her future. They didn’t know she’d already made those choices. She’d chosen to stay, and when Abuela had asked, she’d promised she’d do whatever it took to keep El Coquí open. You are the only one who understands. Who knows that this place is more than just a restaurant. Fight for it.

It was clear she was a woman on a mission, and while Liam usually resented the hell out of her controlling and meddlesome ways, he thought that she just might be the person to convince Granda to change his mind.

If there was one person in the world Liam respected more than Granda, it was Ricardo Vega, aka Papo. He was the type of person everyone admired and genuinely liked. The father of six, grandfather to eighteen, and great-grandfather to almost a dozen, he was the ringleader of a very large, boisterous circus, and he performed his duties with a stern but playful air.

However, Papo preferred to live with Granda just like Granda preferred living with Papo—the two were nothing if not loyal to one another. They had been since they met in the military at age twenty. They were more than best friends. They were brothers.

“We need to talk about your life.” Liam scrunched his forehead. “My life?” He wasn’t the one with cancer. Granda looked at his hand of dominoes, to the game, and back at his hand. “Actually, more like both of your lives.” “Me?” Kamilah asked. “My life is fine.” The emphasis she placed on the first word made it clear that she thought Liam’s was not. “My life is fine too,” Liam protested. All three of them looked away and stayed silent. “It is.” He doubled down. “It’s not,” Granda returned, picking a domino to play and smirking when Papo muttered a curse. “Neither one of your lives is what could be considered fine. You are both lonely workaholics who are focused on the wrong things.” “I am not,” both he and Kamilah said at the same time. They shot each other the same disgruntled look.

“You see, Killian and I are thinking about selling the building.” Liam must have woken up in some alternative universe where he was a boxer, because he’d taken so many damn one-two punches in less than twelve hours that he felt like he was in a ring getting his ass handed to him. “No, we will sell the building,” Granda corrected. “Unless the two of you get married.”

This is still wrong. Liam shouldn’t have to get married simply because Killian wants him to, and neither one of you has any right to sell me like a high-class hooker.” “How dare you,” Abuelo said, cutting off her rant, and shot her a serious scowl. “We would never sell a woman, especially you. My granddaughter. That’s disgusting to even say. No seas mal pensada.” “Evil-minded? You literally just said that you expect me to marry Liam because Killian wants him to settle down. And neither one of you asked me if I wanted to be offered up like some kind of virgin sacrifice.” Kamilah crossed her arms over her chest. “We aren’t offering you up as a sacrifice.” He pouted. “You need to get married too. You need someone to take care of you.” “I don’t need a man to take care of me, especially not Liam.” A loud throat-clearing from behind reminded her Liam was in the room. She threw him an annoyed look. “No offense.”

Como no lo vas a querer como esposo?” How could she not want him as a husband? Why would she? He was an antisocial ass most of the time. So what if the rest was true? Especially the handsome part. She swallowed, her throat dry. “Claro que no lo quiero. Es un amargado. I’d be all broody and emo within ten minutes of being married to him.” Oops. She turned to glance at him. “No offense.” Liam’s look told her offense had definitely been taken. “Bitter?” “Pft.” Abuelo waved away her comment. “Exagerada.”

“We already decided, and don’t even think of going to your parents for help,” he told Kamilah. “Because they’ve been asking me to sell for years.” He paused and eyed them both. “You two will get married, or we will sell.”

Liam didn’t say much, but he meant what he said.

Everything about this street announced loudly and with pride that this was a Puerto Rican neighborhood where Boricuas could be Boricuas, even if they were on the mainland. Her family had always been a part of it.

“Obviously, us getting married is ridiculous,” she added, when he stayed silent. “I agree. I’d rather jump off the Sears Tower with no parachute.” “Rude.” Why did he always manage to piss her off? He’d be lucky to be married to her. She was a fucking delight. He was the one who’d make someone want to run away screaming.

LMFAO CLOWNS I LOVE THEM

He always brought out the worst in her. Maybe because he only let her see the worst of him. He hadn’t always been so disagreeable. He used to be a really sweet kid who went out of his way to make her smile. After that terrible boating accident, her best friend slowly became someone she didn’t recognize and couldn’t reach no matter how hard she tried. Eventually, Kamilah realized that he was never again going to be the best friend she’d loved. She’d stopped making an effort. Now, as an adult, Kamilah could better comprehend the complexities of how Liam’s trauma had altered him. However, she was still clueless as to what it was about her, specifically, that brought out his animosity. Liam treated Kamilah like a pimple on his ass—unwanted and painful to interact with.

He smiled sardonically as he moved around her. “As always, it’s been a real pleasure. Like lighting myself on fire and then trying to put it out with a screwdriver.”