by Lisa Kleypas
The doorbell rang.
“It’s Mamá,” Sofia muttered.
“All hands to their battle stations,” I said, only half kidding. Since everyone at the studio had encountered Alameda on previous occasions, they wasted no time in collecting their belongings quickly. No one had any desire to make small talk with a woman who was so utterly humorless. Every conversation with her was the same, a litany of complaints concealed within complaints, like a set of toxic Russian nesting dolls.
Sofia stood, tugged at the hem of her turquoise top, and went reluctantly to welcome her mother. She squared her shoulders before opening the door and saying brightly, “Mamá! How was the drive? How was —”
Breaking off abruptly, Sofia backed up as if confronted with a rearing cobra. Without thinking, I leapt from the sofa and went to her. My sister’s face was leached of color except for bright pink streaks across the crest of each cheek, like signal flags sent up for a panic alert.
Alameda Cantera was at the threshold, looking the same as always, her eyes stony and her mouth set with the bitterness of someone who had been defrauded by life. Alameda was an attractive woman, her figure small and trim in a suit jacket and hot-pink blouse and trouser jeans. The wealth of jet-black hair was pulled tightly back from her face and pinned into a controlled bun at her nape. It was an unfortunate style for someone whose hard features could have used some softening around the edges. But when Alameda had been young, before Eli had soured her, she must have been beautiful.
She had brought someone with her, a young man still in his twenties. He was black-haired, a bit heavyset, his short but muscular frame clad in pressed khakis and a crisp button-down shirt. Although he was handsome, his expression conveyed an impression of smug, sly machismo that I instinctively disliked.
“Avery,” Sofia said, “this is Luis Orizaga.”
Holy shit, I thought.
Even knowing Alameda, I couldn’t believe she had brought her daughter’s ex-boyfriend here, uninvited and very unwelcome. Although Luis had never been physically abusive, he had dominated Sofia in every other way, determined to extinguish every spark of independence.
Apparently, it had never occurred to Luis that Sofia might not have been happy in the relationship. It had been a shock to him when she had ended their engagement and moved to Houston to start a business with me. Luis had gone into a monthlong rage that had involved heavy drinking, multiple bar fights, and broken furniture. Less than a year later, he’d married a seventeen-year-old girl. They’d had a child, Alameda had informed Sofia peevishly, and had gone on to say that it should have been her grandchild, and Sofia should be having babies.
“Why are you here?” Sofia asked Luis. She sounded so young and vulnerable that I was tempted to push her behind me and snap at the pair in the doorway to leave her alone.
“I invited Luis to come with me,” Alameda replied, aggressively cheerful, her eyes birdlike. “It’s lonely to drive all that way by myself, which I have to do since you never come to visit me, Sofia. I told Luis that he never left your heart – that’s why you’ve stayed single.”
“But you’re married,” Sofia said, giving Luis a bewildered glance.
“We’re divorced now,” he said. “I gave my wife too much. I was too good to her. All that spoiling made her want to leave me.”
“Of course it did,” I couldn’t resist saying acidly.
My comment was roundly ignored.
“I have a son named Bernardo —” Luis told Sofia.
“The most beautiful child,” Alameda chimed in.
“He’s almost two years old,” Luis continued. “I have him every other weekend. I need help to raise him.”
“You are the luckiest girl in the world, mija,” Alameda said to Sofia. “Luis has decided to give you another chance.”
I turned to Sofia. “You’ve hit the jackpot,” I said dryly.
She was too shaken to smile. “You should have asked me first, Luis,” she said. “I told you when I left Houston that I didn’t want to see you again.”
“Alameda explained everything,” he replied. “Your sister talked you into moving away when you were grieving your father’s death. You didn’t know what you were doing.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Sofia made a shushing motion without even looking at me. “Luis,” she said, “you know why I left. I’ll never go back to you.”
“Things are different. I’ve changed, Sofia. I know how to make you happy now.”
“She’s already happy,” I burst out.
Alameda gave me a dismissive glance. “Avery, this does not concern you. It’s a family matter.”
“Don’t be rude to Avery,” Sofia said, flushing angrily. “She is my family.”
A rapid volley of Spanish ensued, all three of them speaking at once. I couldn’t follow more than a few words. In the background, Ree-Ann, Val, and Tank waited with their bags and laptops.
“Need help?” Tank asked meaningfully.
Grateful for his presence, I murmured, “Not sure yet.”
Sofia looked increasingly distressed as she tried to defend herself. I inched closer, longing to intervene on her behalf. “Could we do this in English, please?” I asked crisply. No one appeared to have heard. “The fact is,” I tried again, “Sofia has a great life here. A successful career. She’s an independent woman.” When none of that had any discernible effect, I added, “She has a new man.”
To my satisfaction, an abrupt silence descended.
“That’s right,” Sofia said, seizing on the excuse. “I have a man, and we’re engaged.”
Alameda’s eyes narrowed into spider-lashed slits. “You never said anything about him before. Who is he? What is his name?”
Sofia’s lips parted. “He’s —”
“Excuse me,” Steven said, shouldering his way back into the studio through the half-open door. He paused with a quizzical frown, glancing at our blank faces in the fraught silence. “What’s going on?”
“Querido,” Sofia exclaimed, and flung herself at him.
Before Steven could react, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tugged his head down, and pressed her mouth against his.
Fifteen
T
aken by surprise, Steven froze as Sofia kissed him. I held my breath, silently willing him not to shove her away. His hands, suspended in the air as if by marionette strings, descended by slow degrees to her shoulders. Take pity on her, Steven, I thought desperately. Just this once.
But Steven’s reaction had nothing to do with pity. His arms slid around her, and he began to kiss her as if he never wanted to stop. As if she were a dangerously addictive substance that had to be handled with care, rationed slowly, or he might die from a fatal overdose. The concentrated hunger of that blind, impassioned kiss seemed to radiate outward and heat up the entire room.
Somewhere behind me, I heard a thud on the floor. Tank had dropped his laptop. He and the two interns stared at the entwined couple with slack-jawed astonishment.
Bending to retrieve the laptop, Tank reported, “It’s okay. Fell on the carpet. Not even dinged.”
“Nobody cares,” Ree-Ann said, her dumbfounded gaze still locked on Steven and Sofia.
“You can all go now,” I told them, pointing in the direction of the back door.
“I forgot to clean the coffeemaker,” Val said.
“I’ll help,” Ree-Ann added.
“Out,” I commanded.
Reluctantly, they all shuffled through the kitchen and out the back entrance, glancing repeatedly over their shoulders.
Abruptly, Steven broke the kiss and shook his head as if to clear it. His gaze went from Sofia’s flushed face to the pair at the door. “What the —”
“Mamá is here to visit,” Sofia told him hastily. “She brought my old boyfriend Luis.”
My hands clenched as I waited for Steven’s reaction. He knew enough about Sofia’s past to understand how devastating the situation was. If he’d ever wished for an opportun
ity to humiliate Sofia… no, decimate her, it had just been handed to him.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Sofia continued, her desperate gaze locked on his. “Mamá thought there was a chance that I would go back to Luis, so she talked him into coming here with her. But I was just starting to explain that it’s not possible, because… because…”
“You and I are together,” Steven said, the last word tipped with a faint questioning note.
Sofia nodded vigorously.
“I’ve seen him before,” Alameda said to Sofia in an accusatory tone. “He works here. You don’t even like him!”
I couldn’t see Steven’s face, but as he spoke, his voice was warm and wry. “It wasn’t love at first sight,” he conceded, keeping his arm around Sofia. “But the attraction was there from the beginning.”
“For me too,” Sofia said immediately.
“Sometimes when the feelings run deep,” Steven said, “it’s hard to know how to deal with them. And it’s not like Sofia was the kind of woman I ever thought I would fall in love with.”
Sofia looked up at him with a frown. “Why not?”
Staring into Sofia’s eyes, Steven began to play with a lock of her hair. “Let me count the ways: You’re an insufferable optimist, you start decorating for Christmas three months early, and you put glitter on anything that can’t run away from you.” His fingertips ran over the curve of her ear and caressed the side of her face. “When you get excited about a project, you start rubbing your hands together like a villain with an evil plan. You routinely eat peppers hot enough to make a normal person pass out. There are some words you never pronounce right. Salmon. Pajamas. Every time you hear a phone ring, you think it’s yours, except when it actually is yours. The other day I watched you park in front of the studio, and I could tell that you were singing at the top of your lungs.” He smiled slowly. “I’ve finally accepted that these are perfectly legitimate reasons to love someone.”
My sister was speechless.
All of us were.
Steven tore his gaze from Sofia and reached out to shake Luis’s hand. “I’m Steven Cavanaugh,” he said. “I don’t blame you for wanting Sofia back. But she’s definitely taken.”
Luis refused to reciprocate, only folded his arms and glared.
“You didn’t ask for my permission,” Alameda snapped at Steven. “And Sofia has no ring. There is no engagement without a ring.”
Absorbing the information, Steven looked down at Sophia. “You… told her about the engagement,” he said slowly.
Sofia’s head dipped in a nervous bob.
“Technically, they’re engaged to be engaged,” I broke in. “Steven was planning to discuss it with you tonight, Alameda. After dinner.”
“He can’t have dinner with us,” Alameda said. “I invited Luis.”
“I invited Steven first,” Sofia said.
“Enough!” Luis growled. He grabbed for Sofia. “I want to talk to you outside. Alone.”
Steven blocked the movement with a startling swiftness, knocking Luis’s arm away. “Back the fuck off,” he said in a tone that raised the hair on the back of my neck. This was not at all like Steven, who prided himself on never losing his cool.
“Steven,” Sofia interrupted, trying to keep the situation from getting out of hand. “Querido mío, it’s fine, I… I’ll do what he wants. I can talk to him.”
Steven stared at Luis, his gaze hard. “She’s mine.”
Antagonism thickened the air as the two men faced each other. I sorely regretted having sent Tank away. In the past he had done his share of breaking up fights, and this one promised to be a doozy.
“Luis,” Alameda said uneasily, “maybe you should go back to the hotel, and I’ll handle my daughter.”
“No one is going to handle me,” Sofia burst out. “I’m not a puppet. Mamá, when are you going to accept that I can make decisions for myself?”
Alameda’s mouth trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She fished in her handbag for tissues. “I’ve done everything for you. My whole life has been for you. I’m only trying to stop you from making so many mistakes.”
“Mamá,” Sofia said in exasperation, “Luis and I are wrong for each other.” Alameda was sobbing too loudly to hear. Sofia turned to Luis. “I’m sorry. I wish all the best for you and your son —”
“Eres babosa,” Luis exploded. From the way Sofia stiffened, I knew it was an insult. He gestured toward Steven. “When he finds out how stupid and lazy you are, the way you lie in bed like a dead fish, he’ll throw you out. He’ll leave you fat and pregnant with his bastard, just like your father left Alameda.”
“Luis,” Alameda exclaimed, shocked out of her tears.
Luis continued bitterly, “Someday you’ll come crawling to me, Sofia, and I’ll tell you that it’s what you deserved for being so —”
“And that is absolutely all we need to hear about your opinions,” I said briskly. Seeing that Steven was about to lose it, I strode to the door and shoved it wide open. “If you need a taxi, I’d be happy to call one for you.”
Luis stormed out without another word.
“How will he get back to the hotel?” Alameda asked in a watery voice. “We came in my car.”
“He’ll figure it out,” I said.
Alameda blotted her eyes, which were surrounded with raccoonlike rings of mascara. “Sofia,” she whined, “you made Luis so angry. He didn’t know what he was saying.”
Biting back a sarcastic reply, I put a hand on the older woman’s shoulder and guided her toward the back of the studio. “Alameda, there’s a powder room past the kitchen, down the hall to the left. You’ll probably want to fix your makeup.”
With a muffled exclamation, Alameda proceeded to the bathroom.
I turned to discover that Sofia was in Steven’s arms. “… sorry to involve you,” she was saying in a miserable voice. “It was all I could think of.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Bending his head, Steven kissed her fully on the mouth, one hand at the back of her neck in a light cradling hold. I could hear her sharp intake of breath.
Flabbergasted, I walked by them to the kitchen as if nothing untoward were happening. Mechanically, I began to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher. “I’ll help with dinner,” I heard Steven say eventually. “What are we having?”
Sofia sounded dazed. “I can’t remember.”
For the rest of the evening, Steven was the picture of the perfect boyfriend. I’d never seen him act like this before. Affectionate. Easygoing. I couldn’t tell how much of it, if any, was real. He insisted on helping Sofia cook, and before long Alameda and I were sitting on bar stools at the counter, watching.
Steven and Sofia had spent countless hours working together, but they had never seemed comfortable in each other’s company. Until now. They had just discovered a new kind of together. They were finding the right level, warming to each other.
Having worked in her family’s restaurant, Sofia was an accomplished cook. Tonight she was making chicken mole, Alameda’s favorite dish. For an appetizer, Sofia set out a bowl of home-fried tortilla chips, delicately thin and crisp, along with salsa pureed into a smoky liquid that made my tongue pulse with heat.
While Steven made margaritas, I went to find Coco, and I brought her out to meet Alameda. Although Sofia’s mother and I had almost nothing in common, we had finally found something to bond over. Alameda and every one of Sofia’s aunts adored Chihuahuas. She held Coco in her lap, cooed over her in Spanish, and admired her pink leather collar studded with rhinestones. Discovering that I was a willing audience on all Chihuahua-related matters, Alameda proceeded to dispense feeding and grooming advice.
Steven tossed a salad made with fresh-roasted corn, crumbled white cheese, chopped cilantro, and a tangy, creamy lime dressing. “How does this look?” he asked Sofia.
She smiled and replied in passing as she went to the refrigerator.
“What was that?” he asked.
Sofia took out a container of coffee-marinated chicken. “I said maybe add a little more dressing.”
“I got that part. I was asking about the Spanish words. What did they mean?”
“Oh.” Blushing, Sofia set a heavy iron skillet on the cooktop. “Nothing. Just an expression.”
Steven put his hands on the counter, caging her from behind. Nuzzling her cheek, he murmured, “You can’t call me names and not tell me what they mean.”
Her color deepened. “It wasn’t a name, it was… well, it makes no sense when I translate.”
He wouldn’t relent. “Tell me anyway.”
