by R.S. Grey
Translation: I’m so hungry. They starve me here.
I smile innocently and turn to the adults. “She means to say she’s pleased to meet you.”
Alejandro smiles appreciatively at Luciana, and then Nicolás ushers us all to the table. A large glass of wine is placed in my hand just before I’m pushed into the chair beside Alejandro. I feel like a marionette.
I shoot him a death stare over my shoulder, but he’s oblivious, too focused on his crusade to make Alejandro fall in love with me. As they start doling out appetizers, I’m forced to sit as Nicolás performs the role of a mother in the 1800s trying to marry off her eldest daughter.
“Did you know, Alejandro, that our Brooke is an excellent chef? She just recently took a class with the girls.”
I smile sheepishly. “Chef is a strong word.”
Diego leans forward. “And she’s very accomplished in languages. She speaks English, Spanish, and French fluently.”
Alejandro nods at me, impressed.
“Not to mention,” Nicolás adds impatiently, “she’s an angel with our girls. I mean, they’re impossible to handle on a good day—”
“HEY!” Luciana cuts in.
“But Brooke quells their worst tantrums with great aplomb.”
Alejandro’s smile fades gently. “Aplomb?”
Nicolás waves away the language barrier. “Oh, it just means she’s calm in tough situations.”
“Oh.” Alejandro’s gaze cuts to me as he nods and smiles tightly. “Okay.”
They take his lackluster response to mean they haven’t played up my attributes enough, so for another 10 minutes, I sit in silence as they continue to regale Alejandro with all of my talents and skills. Apparently I am “an avid reader”, “a world traveler”, and “a laundry expert”, and when that’s still not enough to convince him, they turn to a cheap tactic: outright talking about my looks.
“I mean, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Diego says.
“Not many women like her,” Nicolás adds. “Look at those sapphire eyes!”
Luciana crosses her arms and furrows her brows, announcing, “You guys are being really weird.”
Olive agrees. “It’s like you’re trying to sell Ms. Brooke off or something.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and then I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to salvage the moment. Diego aims a hard stare at me, probably annoyed that I’m not doing more to sell myself. I shrug and sip my wine, glad Alejandro isn’t making the situation any worse. He’s staring down at the table, probably too embarrassed to meet my eye at this point. I’m not sure what they told him to convince him to come to dinner, but I doubt it involved anything close to the truth.
Before we’re done with appetizers, I’ve drained my wine and am in desperate need of a refill.
I push my chair back and ask if I can get anyone else anything while I’m up. Alejandro stands and accompanies me over to the kitchen, insisting that he’d like to help me. I can feel Diego and Nicolás staring us down as we walk away. They probably think we’re going to sneak off and make out, but the moment we’re out of earshot of the table, I turn to Alejandro.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
His Spanish accent is so damn adorable that for a moment, I try very hard to feel something for him…anything. God, it would be fun to love a man like Alejandro, but then I’m reminded of another pair of dark eyes back home in Austin and I turn away.
“Yes.” I smile tightly and point between us. “I think Diego and Nicolás want us to date.”
He looks down at his shoes and sighs before addressing me. “Brooke, I’m not really…er, well, you’re beautiful, of course…but this isn’t a good time for me.”
Though he’s struggling to come up with the right words, it’s clear what he’s trying to say.
“No. Don’t worry,” I tell him, meeting his eyes with a bright, honest smile. “They’re just convinced I need to be set up with a nice guy and you fit the bill. Consider it a compliment.”
His brown eyes light up with amusement. “But you don’t want that? To be set up?”
I refill our wine glasses before I work up the nerve to answer honestly. “No. I don’t want that.”
He smiles, visibly relieved. “Then here.” He holds his glass up for a toast. “To new friends.”
His emphasis on the word ensures that we’re both on the same page. When we return to the table, shoulder to shoulder, the family’s faces light up expectantly. I let the illusion linger for a moment before proudly announcing that Alejandro and I are not going on a date.
“Okay,” Luciana says, sitting up straight and pointing her fork at Alejandro. “So does that mean he’s up for grabs?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
My family has finally convinced me to come home for a visit. It’s mid-December, and ever since I skipped out on the holidays last year, my dad has made it a point to guilt me into returning home this year. He bought my ticket last December just so I couldn’t back out. That’s a year of planning, friends. Now, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m excited to see him and Ellie, and—dare I say—even Martha. All these months apart have actually helped me to see how much I genuinely care for her. I know, shocking. I’ll probably promptly renew my annoyance with her upon my arrival, but those first few moments of our reunion will be wholesome and Hallmark-y.
Diego and Nicolás are happy that I’m going home, but Luciana has been moody for the last two weeks, punishing me for having the audacity to leave her. Last week, she tried to hide my laptop in the hopes that I couldn’t go home without it. I found it under her mattress, unharmed except for the ominous record of transatlantic flight crashes on Wikipedia that she left open as a warning. This week, she’s subjected me to the silent treatment. Not a peep has left her mouth in over 72 hours, and I haven’t decided if I should be annoyed or impressed by her resolution. Even now, as I finish packing up my suitcase, she sits on the edge of my bed, aiming her best death glare at me.
“Is there something you’d like to say, Luce?” I ask, amused.
She zips her lips with her thumb and forefinger, proving just how far she’s willing to go to prove her point.
“Now I wish I had taught you sign language! I’m going to miss you when I’m gone,” I say, knowing that’s what she needs to hear most. “And if you tell me what you want, I’ll bring back some good stuff from the States. You know those Central Market chocolate truffles you always talk about missing? Maybe if you speak up, I’ll bring some back.”
She fidgets and her face reddens, as if the strain of staying silent is starting to take its toll.
“Oh, I wonder if a cupcake from Sugar Mama’s would travel well?” I ask, sounding casual and aloof.
She stifles a groan.
“No, you’re right, probably not.”
That does it.
With an explosive exhale, she leaps off the bed and grabs my forearms. “PLEASE BRING ME BACK A CUPCAKE!”
I smile, proud of my hard-won victory. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She sneers and tosses my arms away, returning to her perch on my bed. “Are you sure you want to go? It’s such a long way.”
“I want to see my family.”
“But you FaceTime with Ellie like every day. What’s the difference?”
“Luce, c’mon. Think of how much you would miss Olive if she was halfway around the world.”
She shrugs, staring down at her nails, completely unbothered by the concept. “Sometimes I wish she was on another world entirely.” I glare at her until she relents. “Fine, sure, I guess I’d miss her a little.”
I throw a cardigan into my carry-on. “You weren’t like this when I left for that trip with my mom last year. How is this any different?”
She looks down at her dangling feet as they sway back and forth off the side of my bed. “Because it feels different.”
“How?”
�
�Because…I don’t know. My dad said something the other day…”
She still won’t look up and answer me, but I know exactly what she’s referencing. I had a conversation with Diego a few nights ago. I was in the kitchen, enjoying a bowl of cereal as a midnight snack when he walked in and took a seat beside me at the island. I’d already gathered a bowl and spoon for him, so he poured himself some cereal and together, we ate in silence.
It’s a nightly ritual for us because I’m a night owl and he’s an insomniac. Sometimes we talk, but that night, we enjoyed the quiet cadence of spoons clinking against bowls and teeth munching on cereal. I was halfway finished when he finally spoke up, catching me off guard with his topic of choice: “I’m glad you’re going home.”
“Oh…” I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I am too.”
He aimed his furrowed brows down at his cereal bowl. “I know when you first started, we didn’t put an end date in your contract.”
“Right.”
“But, I think that was a mistake.”
I dropped my spoon into my bowl with a loud CLINK and turned to him, stricken by the idea that I was being let go.
“Have I done something wrong?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, of course not, and I’m not firing you, Brooke,” he said with a low chuckle. “You’ve been wonderful, and I want you to stay with us until I’m 80. God, Luciana would love it.”
I frowned, confused by where the conversation was headed.
“But I don’t think that’s what you need. By not setting an end date, I feel like we’re enabling you in running away from something.”
“I love this job,” I insisted.
He nodded. “And we love having you here.”
“So then there’s nothing to discuss,” I declared, turning back to my cereal and attempting to put the kibosh on the whole conversation. He let me have silence for a few minutes before he launched back into the topic at hand.
“Tell me, have you made a single friend since you’ve been here? Have you tried to make it your home?”
I thought back to the few people I encountered in my daily life. There was the teacher at the girls’ school who waved at me when I dropped them off and picked them up. There was the nice old lady who kept the bookshop a few blocks down. Sometimes she talked to me about books, but she also talked to her cat about books, so I didn’t think I was special in that regard. There was the chef I turned down for a date, and of course, Alejandro. Other than that…
I sighed. “No, I guess not.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because I like hanging out with you guys and Luciana and Olive.” Never mind that they’re half my age.
He nodded and stared down thoughtfully at his cereal bowl. “I think you’re leaving out the most important reason.”
There was no other reason, at least not one I had thought of, but he disagreed.
“You haven’t put down roots here because you know it’s not where you want to be.”
Well that’s some psychobabble if I’ve ever heard it.
I scooted my stool away from the island and stood to deposit my bowl in the sink.
“Of course I want to be here.”
He laughed wistfully. “Brooke, when we met you in Austin, you reached for this job like it was a lifeline.”
I snorted. “Because it was one! I hated that stupid job at that country club. Of course I was anxious to leave. Do you know how annoying it is to serve margaritas to snooty assholes?”
He nodded in understanding and then stood to join me at the sink. “I’m worried you still don’t see it.”
“Don’t see what?” I asked, stepping back.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you really here, Brooke?”
I gave him the most basic answer, the answer I’d clung to for the last year and a half. “Because I want to tutor your girls.”
“Why are you here?” he repeated with emphasis.
“Because…” I grappled for another response. “I want to travel…I want to see the world.”
“You have,” he pointed out. “You’ve seen more of the world than most people will see in their entire lifetime. Do you feel any more fulfilled?” I narrowed my eyes, not liking where the conversation was going. Maybe he could tell I’d reached my limit because he stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t keep pushing you. The point of all of this was…I don’t know…to let you know that if you head home and find that you’d like to stay, we’ll be happy for you.”
I frowned. “What about the girls?”
He smiled softly. “You’ve given them so much, but I think you might need them more than they need you.”
Even days later, that conversation is still nagging at me. I know he was trying to give me an out if I wanted it, and though I appreciate his concern, I don’t need it. I’ll be returning to Spain in two weeks no matter what.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I dip toward the air-conditioning vent and close my eyes, sighing as the cold air blasts my face. It’s two weeks until Christmas and Texas is unseasonably warm—we’re talking low 90s. Poor Santa Claus is going to be a sweaty mess in that sleigh of his. I want to shred my bulky knit sweater like I’m the Hulk, but then Ellie would see that I stole her lacy bralette before I left for Spain, so instead, I suffer in silence.
“Jesus, how much stuff did you bring home for two weeks?!” Ellie groans before she slams the trunk.
I shrug. “Winter clothes are heavy.”
“Yeah, and you don’t even need them,” she says, slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling her seatbelt. “You should have brought flip-flops and a bikini.”
I grin. “I did, along with my winter clothes. Why do you think my luggage is so heavy?”
She rolls her eyes and puts the car in drive.
It’s been months since I’ve seen her and though I’ve already pissed her off, I know it’s all for show. She’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her, and if she wasn’t currently hurtling down a highway at 80 MPH, I’d reach across the console and squeeze her as tight as I could. She’d hate it, which only makes me want to do it more.
I just finished nearly 17 hours of travel and smell like an old boot. By contrast, Ellie smells like an Herbal Essences commercial and looks like she could star in one too. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. Her long blonde hair is braided down her back, loose and simple. I would tell her how pretty she looks, but her head is already big enough to fit on Mt. Rushmore, so I just keep it to myself.
It’s a short drive to Westlake Hills, and while Ellie fills me in on all the drama that’s been going on at Twin Oaks since we last spoke, I stare out the window trying to place the odd sense of foreboding that settled in my stomach the second my plane touched down on the tarmac.
I know it has to do with James and whether or not we’ll cross paths while I’m in town. Austin is a big enough place that the odds of us bumping into each other randomly are slim to none. The only place I could possibly see him would be at Twin Oaks, and I have no plans to go there. Therefore, I shouldn’t be worried. I won’t see him. I’ll stay for two weeks, hang out with family, and catch my flight back to Spain.
“—wait for the winter gala to be done! Martha has cranked up her annoying tendencies tenfold in the last few weeks.”
The tail end of Ellie’s rant catches my attention.
“Winter gala? For the Philanthropic League?”
“Yes,” she stresses with a harsh scowl. “Have you not been listening?”
“Sorry. I zoned out.” My apologetic half-smile doesn’t work, so I add, “It’s like 3 AM my time!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
She turns back to the road and starts to launch back into her rambling, but I’m curious. “When’s the fundraiser?”
“Next week.”
I brace myself for the worst possible news. “Are you going?”
Her amused smirk is enough of an
answer on its own, but then she adds, “We both are.”
No. I have the perfect out because like most normal adults, I don’t travel with layers of taffeta stuffed next to my socks. No dress, no gala. I think this will be enough of an out on its own, but the second we arrive home, I suspect I’m wrong. My dad hugs me hard, telling me how happy he is to have me home. Martha stands to the side, wringing her hands out excitedly. She looks like she’s about to combust, and I know, before she even tells me, that she already has a dress waiting for me.
How convenient.
She leads me upstairs to my room, where a large garment bag hangs on the front of my closet door.
“Open it!” she urges, pushing me forward.
“How did you know my size?” I ask, clinging to a final sliver of hope that it doesn’t fit.
Her gaze flickers to Ellie just long enough to throw my dear sister under the bus.
Ellie snorts. “Cool your jets. I told her your size because she was going to get you a dress no matter what. This way, you won’t look like a fuckin’ lump.”
“Ellie,” Martha hisses at Ellie’s use of a curse word.
I expect to find something stuffy and pink (like most of the clothes in Martha’s closet) but when I unzip the bag and step back, I’m surprised to find an understated velvet gown such a dark shade of emerald green that it’s almost black. When I try it on, at their urging, it fits like a glove. The long sleeves are snug around my arms, the top is tight around my hips and waist, and the skirt flares out gently before it reaches the ground. The high waist and V neckline bring an element of sexiness I’m surprised to find in such a simple design.
“And there’s a slit,” Ellie says, pointing to where a hint of my tan leg peeks through.
“It’s gorgeous,” I relent.
Martha claps excitedly. “YAY! So then you’ll come?”
My mouth is open and a refusal is formed on the tip of my tongue, but then I meet Ellie’s stare behind Martha’s back and she shakes her head once then slices her finger across her neck in a threatening gesture.
