Open Up To Love: A BWWM Romance

By Nia Arthurs

Three weeks before her wedding, she meets the love of her life. But choosing true love could destroy everything.
Abigail Palacio is living life waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Her fiancé has a dangerous temper; her father pretends she doesn’t exist, and the man she loves is halfway across the world.
When Abigail returns to Belize to prepare for her wedding, she runs headfirst into Mateo.
Handsome, sweet and a successful doctor, Mateo Hernandez makes her feel alive.
He and his adopted family welcome her with open and arms and Abigail feels safe for the first time in her life.
But her feelings for Mateo bring him and everything he loves closer to danger.
Her fiancé isn’t going to let her go easily and her father is determined to keep her from calling off the wedding.
Can Abigail open herself up to trusting Mateo with all her darkness? Or will her evil fiancé and wicked father keep her from a happily ever after?

Open Up To Love is a heartfelt BWWM romance about the family we choose. Contains scenes that may be triggering to some. *Note: This book was previously titled ‘TRUST’ .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nia Arthurs
• Release date: Apr 7, 2022

Book preview

1

The pot on the stove bubbled over and Abigail Palacio rushed to lower the flames. Paul was coming home any minute. He’d expect his meal to be plated and warm. Not hot. Not cold.

She checked her watch and bit on a fingernail. The potatoes were taking a while to soften, but everything else was ready. Her gaze scanned the crispy, brown fried chicken, the coleslaw and the garlic rolls that sat in a basket in the middle of the table.

Come on, potatoes

The sound of a car door slamming shut pierced the stillness. Abigail froze as panic snatched her heart by the throat and shook it like a rag doll. She grabbed the pot with her bare hands—having no time to reach for the oven mitts—and poured the water into the sink.

Footsteps brushed the wooden planks of the porch and she threw her strength into mashing the potatoes. Sweat beaded on her forehead and tendrils of her straight, brown hair clung to her cheek.

Three…

Two…

She scooped the potatoes into the middle of a plate and set it on the table a moment before the door opened and Paul stepped through. His blue eyes zeroed in on the dinner before her and he sneered.

Even though the grimace spoke of displeasure, his handsome face lost none of its appeal. Paul’s gorgeous eyes and pretty-boy features had made him the most wanted bachelor in her father’s company. Abigail had fancied herself the luckiest woman in the world when he’d looked her way.

Hello, honey, she said. How was your day?

Paul shook his head and gestured to her body with a sweep of his hand. A man proposes to a girl and she suddenly loses all incentive to look good for him. Didn’t I tell you to work out more? You’re getting fat.

Abigail brushed her hand down her stomach. She was watching her diet and working out, but the weight kept clinging to her like stubborn ivy on a post. Her slim figure was fast becoming a forgotten memory.

I’m sorry. She bowed her head and wrung her hands together. Looking Paul in the eyes could spur his anger and the last time… the last time things had escalated to a point Abigail hadn’t expected.

Don’t apologize. Do something about it. He took his seat around the table and when she joined him, he arched an eyebrow. You don’t honestly think I’ll let you eat any of this, do you? Go eat a salad.

Yes, Paul.

Abigail walked to the fridge and pulled out the lettuce and tomatoes. The cold vegetables burned to the touch. She looked down and saw the reddish hue of her fingertips. Inhaling a deep breath, Abigail hid the wounds from view. Tears stung her eyes, but she managed to work as if nothing was wrong.

Your dad called me up today, Paul said.

He did? Abigail spun and looked to Paul for more information. Her dad hadn’t spoken to her in ages. Not since he’d banished her to the States almost ten years ago.

He wants us to have our wedding over there.

Over there, you mean, in Belize?

Are you stupid? Paul yelled. Of course in Belize!

That’s good, right. We’re happy about this?

Do I look happy? Paul narrowed his eyes. If your dad didn’t live there, I wouldn’t even know Belize exists. Now I have to move to a backwater, mosquito infested, crap colony for three months…

Abigail felt the familiar stirrings of anger. Paul had managed to break her spirit and she had no expectations that he’d be kind to her, but all of her dearest memories were locked up in Belize.

It’s not like that! she blurted and then slapped a hand to her mouth.

Paul stopped mid-sentence. What did you say?

Nothing.

He stood and tossed the plate of food she’d so painstakingly made for him. The crash of glass against the hardwood floor rang like a gunshot.

Get out of my sight and don’t show yourself until we leave next week. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see your face.

Abigail scurried up the stairs and into the bedroom across from the master. She locked the door and clutched her chest. Fear and anticipation swirled inside, creating a strange sensation.

Paul was good for his threat. She knew that, but the despondency that usually accompanied these moments was overshadowed by the prospect of returning to Belize.

Abigail was sure her fiancé had only shared a part of the story. Dad always had his reasons and he liked being right more than anything, which was why things had exploded when she defied him and pursued art instead of business.

The decision had been spurred mostly by her but with a little help from Mateo Hernandez—an exasperating, but whole-hearted friend.

It was because of Mateo that she’d had the courage to face her father ten years ago. She was grateful, even if it had resulted in being hauled to the States and banned from returning home, even if it had led to her meeting Paul and falling for his empty charms.

Through the years and especially after Paul revealed his true colors, she leaned on memories of Mateo. In her mind, he had a wife, three kids, and all the love he deserved. Thinking of his perfect circumstances made her own hellish existence feel a little brighter.

And now she would meet him again.

Abigail! Paul knocked on the door. Abigail, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. Come out and let’s talk.

She ventured closer to the door and reached her hand out to turn the knob, shaking herself from the haze of better days. It was a mistake to get caught up in her memories. They were simply lost moments in time.

This was her life now.

When she opened the door, Paul stood with his hands out in front of him. His pursed lips and downcast expression was one Abigail was quite familiar with.

I’m sorry, he said. I don’t know what came over me.

She said nothing. Interrupting him would just warrant another scolding and she was too tired to throw herself headfirst into the minefield of a conversation with Paul.

I’ve been going to the counseling sessions. I swear I have, but with everything going on, I’ve been really busy. I have to hand over the office to my secretary and figure out how I’m going to lead everything from Belize… it’s just a lot. I messed up. Say you forgive me.

I forgive you.

Good. He held her hand and pulled her to his chest. You know you’re my African Queen, right? You’ve been trying your best not to make me mad, haven’t you?

Abigail held herself stiffly as he started to grope her. The apology, the sweet words, they’d been Paul’s desperate attempt to get her in the mood. She wanted to laugh, but there was nothing funny about it.

His lips fell on her mouth and she knew that he was transforming into the good Paul, the one that had pursued her for months, the one that gave her flowers, told her she was beautiful, and made life feel like a dream.

He was very different from the angry Paul, the one that crushed her self-esteem to tiny fragments beneath his boots, the one that gave her anxiety, the one that so altered her perception of life that her paintings had become dark and haunted.

She’d been with Paul for three years and was no longer fooled by good Paul’s disguise. She heard the mocking call in his flattery. Felt the calculated sweep of his touch. Saw the strings dangling from every loving gesture.

He was a selfish man, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

Abigail wasn’t blind or idealistic. She didn’t stay because she expected him to change or because she was afraid of what he would do if she moved on. She didn’t stay because she loved him—love was a notion she’d debunked a long, long time ago.

Abigail Palacio, the valedictorian of her high school class and acclaimed painter, was just an incredibly foolish woman, so she allowed him to lead her into the bedroom and when he was done, she got up and went downstairs to clean the mess he’d made.

This was her life now.

As she picked up the shattered pieces of glass with fingertips that were forming tiny, white blisters, she thought of Mateo. She heard his rumbling laughter and imagined his youngest daughter running into his arms. She imagined his wife cuddling close to his side and being safe there.

Usually, these memories fed life to her soul and gave her the energy to get through one more day, but the images had lost their comfort. When Abigail held up Mateo’s imaginary life to the one she lived, she was deeply ashamed.

Gathering her knees to her chest, she cried softly. It was best to get it all out now, for when she saw Mateo again, she didn’t want him to know just how pathetic she truly was.

2

Blood gushed down the sides of the table like a river, dripping incessantly. The men behind him shuffled closer, their large bodies creating shadows that were wall-like in their effect.

Get back! Mateo Hernandez waved his gloved hands and then returned his attention to the boy lying on the table. Light blissfully returned and he focused on extracting the object that had become lodged in his patient’s side.

The tweezers locked on the stone-sized bullet and he glanced up, looking for the heart monitor before realizing that nothing was there.

Mateo discarded the bullet and checked the kid’s pulse with his fingers. The boy’s mahogany-colored skin was dotted with sweat and he was slowly regaining consciousness. Mateo winced.

He’d be in for a world of pain.

Acting quickly, he poured b over the wound and started stitching. The boy woke up and screamed his head off.

Hold him down! Mateo instructed.

The men rushed forward, but when they saw the needle pulling through skin, they squeamishly loosened their hold.

He’s going to do more damage to himself if he doesn’t settle down, Mateo said. Frustration built in his chest and he moved on his own, punching the patient solidly so he was knocked out cold.

Mateo finished his stitching and stood, arching his back to loosen the muscles that had become stiff. Change the bandages to prevent infection and keep him from moving around too much so he doesn’t upset the wound.

Got it, a voice said. A tall, thick man emerged from the shadows and clasped his hand on Mateo’s shoulder. I knew I could count on you.

This is the second time, Jamal. I told you, I can’t keep doing this. Keep the kids out of your gang wars so I don’t have to stitch them up.

They’re too inexperienced. That’s why they always get shot. You should be thanking me. I could have left him on the street to die.

Mateo narrowed his eyes and removed his gloves to wash his hands at the sink. You could have taken him to a hospital so he could receive proper care.

Jamal grinned. His white teeth were a stark contrast to his rich, brown skin. He wore a black shirt over low-slung jeans. You know I can’t do that, Mattie.

It was an argument that neither of them would win so Mateo chose to keep silent. He gathered his tools and deposited them into the black case. Jamal led him out of the dark room to the club outside.

The pulsing thump of the bass nearly shook the walls of the corridor and the smell of booze and cigarettes layered the stench of sweat and bodily fluids. He kept his head down as he walked through the crowded room.

Stay! Jamal hauled on his arm. You don’t got nothing to do but stare at the walls in your empty house anyway. I’m tired, bro. Another time.

You’ve been saying that for years. What? Mommy and Daddy still holding you on a tight leash?

"I’ve got a full shift tomorrow and somebody dragged me out of my bed while I was sleeping."

You were sleeping? Jamal scoffed. The night is young. A group of girls, none older than nineteen, passed by in short skirts and low tops. You want me to set you up with a honey?

Another time.

Jamal slanted him a look. "Fine. Fine. Go back to your prissy neighborhood and your Chini-man pops. Tell him I said ching ‘ chong chang’."

That’s not funny, man. Mateo shook his head. I’ll catch you later.

Jamal waved and ran after the group of girls. Mateo walked to the exit, nodding at the bouncer who let him out.

As he drove away, exhaustion pulled him down. Every time he left Jamal’s club, he felt burdened. His friend had managed to survive in the thug life for nearly thirty years, but his luck could change at any time.

If it hadn’t been for his mom, Mateo would have been right there beside Jamal or six feet under. Because the hand he’d drawn had won him a ticket out of that life and Jamal had been stuck there, Mateo couldn’t say no to his old friend.

He just never thought he’d say ‘yes’ to doctoring gunshot victims in the backroom of a club.

Mateo drove over the bridge connecting the South side to the North side and thought of the kid recovering from his first gunshot wound, recalling the pain from his own experience.

He’d been caught on the street when the shots started firing, just a kid riding his bike to the store for a pack of bread. The bullet tore into his side. It was only a nick, but he’d thought he was done for.

Mateo was glad Santi barely remembered that time. In his brother’s mind, all the bad things that happened to them before Mom stepped in were the wisps of a nightmare.

He parked in front of the small white bungalow with the red roof and tilted his head against the window. If he was completely honest, his life today felt like the dream.

Becoming a doctor, owning a home, feeling content, they were all constructs that his friends in the neighborhood would have laughed at. People like him… they didn’t ‘make it’. They hustled, they fought, and then they died.

He sighed and let himself into the house. Tossing his bag on the ground, he took off his shoes and plopped into the sofa. Mom and

Parker had left all the old furniture and Mateo quickly settled into his favorite position on the couch.

The adrenaline