Page 1 of Forbidden Fiancé

Chapter 1

Natalie

I don’t think I had ever been more annoyed or upset with a man in my life than I was with my fiancé. Walking around downtown Miami, I heard lively sounds from nearby bars and restaurants, including Latin music, chatter, and laughter. The air was thick with humidity and the enticing aroma of Cuban coffee and delicious foods filled my senses.

My gait was long and purposeful as I walked past the neon lights of the storefronts and towering buildings illuminating the streets. I moved around the street performers showcasing their talents of salsa dancing and the spectators taking in the show. I almost felt jealous of them and their carefree, happy attitude.

I had been so excited about going to on a trip with Ethan, my fiancé. Things had been off between us the last few weeks. I chalked it up to wedding jitters and the fact that I was meeting his parents. Either one of those would be stressful, putting them together was bound to cause some issues.

What I hadn’t counted on was my fiancé turning into an asshole right before my eyes.

I walked with no destination in mind, only wanting to get away from Ethan and his comments as quickly and as far as I could. I turned my head to see the art murals and graffiti and almost stopped at a trendy art gallery that was showcasing some local talent.

If things had gone differently, I would have been walking with Ethan. He would have taken my hand and told me how beautiful I was. We would have stopped in some shop and I would have picked out a pair of earrings, a dress, or some babble that I liked. He would have insisted on buying it. I would have protested but let him. It would have been a nice memento of our trip and the future it represented.

Instead, I had gotten so annoyed at him that I had thrown my engagement ring at him and walked out of the restaurant. It might have been over the top and a little dramatic. But lately, it was the only way to get the man’s attention. I had thought for sure he would follow me. I thought he would tell me that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant it.

But the apology, like the man, had never come.

After standing outside the restaurant for a good five minutes, I had given up and walked away. I was too upset to go back to his apartment. I also didn’t want him to find me there, sulking. Which was exactly what I would have done if I had gone back there.

I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that I was waiting for him. I wanted to go dancing; I wanted to have some good food; I wanted to get a little tipsy on a mojito or two.

It didn’t matter where I went, my only consideration was that it was Cuban, had music, and booze. I didn’t think that would be too hard to find. When I turned down a street and saw a bright pink neon sign that said, Havana Nights, I knew I had found the right place.

As I walked into the bar, I was immediately struck by the lively, upbeat tempo of what I thought was Caribbean or European rhythms. It was almost drowned out by the sound of glasses clinking and the conversations at the bar and tables.

Bright colors of art and pictures of past days lined the walls. There were tables scattered around the middle with a bar and stools lining the east wall. On the other side, was a stage with a dance floor in front. I could see a man playing conga drums, a woman playing two bongos, two trumpet players and a saxophonist playing. In front of them was a couple singing a smooth, passionate song.

I scanned the room looking for an open table, when I didn’t find one, I walked over to the far side of the bar and found an open spot. I smiled politely at the woman sitting next to the empty seat, gesturing to her as if to ask if the seat was available. She gave me a nod and I sat down.

The two bartenders were methodically moving around each other in a dance that was all too familiar in a busy bar. I leaned back and enjoyed the view, taking in the sights and sounds around me. I had hoped that Ethan would have experienced it with me, but maybe it was better that he hadn’t.

If he had, he probably would have hit on some woman while we were there. He certainly had done that while we were at the restaurant. I might have been able to pass it off as him being friendly, courteous to the server, but it was more than that. And it certainly wasn’t the first time it happened.

When I called him out on it, he thought I was being overly sensitive and seeing things that weren’t there. I didn’t appreciate him minimizing my concerns and fears. I was angry and said, "Maybe you should marry the server instead of me." When he had answered that maybe he should, I threw my ring at him.

I had the satisfaction of seeing his shocked face as he grasped the ring as I got up and left. He called out to me to stop and that he was joking but I didn’t listen. Maybe he thought I would cool off and come back and that was why I was sitting alone in the bar.

With a sigh, I looked over at one of the bartenders as he came over and asked what I wanted.

“A Cuba Libre, please,” I said.

He nodded and with a smile went to make the drink. I might have wanted a mojito, but I didn’t want him to make a complicated drink in a busy bar, or have one that was premade. I watched as he poured equal parts rum and coke into a glass and then added some lime. When he came back, I had my credit card ready for him.

With my drink in hand, I leaned back in my seat and took in my surroundings. There seemed to be a good mix of tourists like myself who looked a little undressed and out of place compared to the locals who had dressed up for the evening. The sounds of both English and Spanish moved around me and I tried to grasp some words, but had no luck. The bar had a friendly, laid-back vibe. The music was lively but not overpowering and I could see people laughing and talking easily over the music.

I watched as an elderly man stood up and walked over to who I assumed was his wife and put his hand out, asking her to dance. She blushed as if she was shocked at the offer and the man beamed at her. She slowly lifted her hand and he took it.

With her hand in his, they walked out to the dance floor. A new song had started and as the opening notes moved through the bar, he pulled her close to him. I watched transfixed as he moved his left foot, then shifted his weight to his right, then brought the left back to the starting position. The woman followed his moves.

As the tempo of the song increased so did their movements. The man took the woman through a mix of turns, spins, and dips, all with random footwork that seemed both fast and intimate. Through it all the woman was completely in sync with the man. Even in the dim light, I could see her smiling up at him as he put her into a dip. My chest tightened as I saw the love he felt for her so evident is his eyes.

It was a beautiful dance and moment. It almost felt too intimate to be shared with strangers. Watching them, seeing how happy, connected, and obviously in love they were, I was jealous. I knew I was never going to have that with Ethan. He would never take me into his arms and dance with me like that, much less look at me that way. He might say he loved me; he might want to get married to me, but I wasn’t sure if what we had was what I wanted.

It probably wasn’t the time to be thinking about officially breaking up with my fiancé. I was going to meet his family the next day. It didn’t seem fair to tell him we were done before he left on a trip with them, a trip that I was supposed to be going on. But I couldn’t bring myself to go with him. We had too much that we needed to discuss, or come to terms with, and we couldn’t do that if we were stuck on a boat with his family. It was probably best that I told him I wasn’t going and we would talk when he got back.

I reached into my purse to text him but as I looked at the screen, I couldn’t think of what to say. How did I break up with my fiancé in a text message? How could I even do that? I needed to talk to him, face to face. We had been together for six months. It wasn’t right to end things so impersonally. I put the phone away and took the last sip of my drink. The bartender looked over at me and before I could stop myself, I nodded that I wanted another.

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