by Lisa Kleypas
“Media naranja.”
“Which is?”
“Half of the orange,” Alameda said. A frown pleated her forehead as she reached for her margarita glass. “We say it to mean ‘better half.’ Soul mate.”
Steven’s expression was difficult to interpret. But he lowered his head and kissed Sofia’s cheek before moving away. Sofia began to stir the contents of a nearby pot without seeming to be entirely aware of what she was doing.
If Alameda had any doubts about whether or not the relationship was genuine, I was fairly certain they had just vanished. Steven and Sofia were damned convincing as a couple. Which worried me. With the Warner wedding still ahead of us, this was not the time for a tempestuous relationship and all the accompanying Sturm und Drang.
There was also a chance that Steven would revert to his regular self tomorrow morning. As well as I knew Steven, I couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind. Would he totally compartmentalize this entire experience? No doubt Sofia was wondering about that, too.
The chicken turned out to be a masterpiece, bathed in a velvety dark sauce of unsweetened Oaxacan chocolate, spices, and the earthy heat of guajillo chiles. Steven exerted himself to be charming, readily answering Alameda’s questions about his parents, who lived in Colorado. His mother was a florist and his father was a retired teacher, and they’d been married for thirty years. Under Alameda’s probing, Steven admitted that he might not want to stay in event planning forever; he could see himself managing bigger, corporate-related projects or maybe going into public relations. For now, however, he had a lot more to learn at the studio.
“If only I wasn’t so incredibly underpaid,” he added in a deadpan tone, and both Sofia and I started laughing.
“After your last bonus?” I asked in mock indignation. “And your upgraded health plan?”
“I need more perks,” Steven said. “What about a company yoga class?” Comfortably, he slung an arm around the back of Sofia’s chair.
Sofia held a folded tortilla up to his mouth to quiet him. Obligingly, he took a bite.
Alameda smiled thinly as she watched them. She would never like Steven, I thought. I felt certain he must have reminded her of my father. Even though Steven didn’t technically look like Eli, he was tall and blond and possessed a similar WASPy handsomeness. I could have told Alameda that Steven was cut from an entirely different cloth, but it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. Alameda was determined not to approve of any man Sofia chose for herself.
We had flan for dessert and small, strong cups of cinnamon coffee. Eventually, Alameda announced that it was time to leave. The good-byes were awkward, interpolated with the awareness of what wasn’t being said. Alameda wouldn’t apologize for having brought Luis to Houston, and Sofia was still inwardly seething about having been ambushed. Alameda was only marginally civil to Steven, who, for his part, was scrupulously polite.
“May I walk you out to the car, Mrs. Cantera?” he asked.
“No, I want Avery to come with me.”
“Absolutely,” I said, thinking, Anything. Anything to get you out of here.
We walked outside to the parking spaces in front of the studio. I stood beside Alameda’s car while she climbed into the driver’s seat. She sighed heavily and sat with the door open.
“What kind of man is he?” she asked without looking at me.
I answered seriously. “A good man. Steven doesn’t bail when things get tough. He’s always calm in an emergency. He can drive anything on wheels, and he can do CPR and basic plumbing. He’ll work an eighteen-hour day without a word of complaint, longer if necessary. I can promise you this, Alameda: He’s not like my father.”
A humorless smile flitted through the shadow patterns on her face. “They’re all like your father, Avery.”
“Then why were you trying to push Sofia and Luis together?” I asked, bewildered.
“Because at least he would bring her back to live close to her family,” Alameda said. “Her real family.”
Infuriated, I strove to keep my voice calm. “You know, Alameda, you have a nasty habit of taking shots at your own daughter, and I’m not sure what that’s supposed to accomplish. If you expect it to provide incentive for Sofia to be near you, it doesn’t seem to be working. You might want to try another tactic.”
Glaring at me, Alameda slammed the car door shut and started the engine. After she drove away, I went back into the studio, where Sofia was closing the dishwasher and Steven was drying the blender pitcher. Both were quiet. I wondered what, if anything, had been said between them while I’d been outside.
I scooped up Coco and turned her to face me. “You behaved very well tonight,” I told her. “You’re such a good girl.” She strained to lick me. “Not on the lips,” I said. “I know where that mouth has been.”
Steven picked up his keys from the counter. “Time to roll out,” he said. “And after that meal, I mean it literally.”
I smiled at him. “You saved the day,” I said. “Thank you, Steven.”
“Yes, thank you,” Sofia said in a subdued voice. All the animation had drained from her expression.
Steven’s tone was carefully neutral. “Don’t mention it.”
I pondered how to make a graceful exit. “Would you like me to —”
“No,” Steven said quickly. “I’m going now. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Sofia and I both said in unison.
We both occupied ourselves with casual tasks while Steven let himself out. I picked up a paper towel and wiped the already clean counter. Sofia sprayed the interior of the sink, which had just been rinsed. As soon as the door closed, we burst into conversation.
“What did he say?” I demanded.
“Nothing special: He asked me if I wanted to save the rest of the salsa, and where did we keep the plastic bags.” Sofia covered her face with her hands. “I hate him.” I was startled to hear a sob escape.
“But,” I said, bewildered, “he was really nice to you tonight…”
“Exactly,” Sofia said venomously. Another sob. “Like a Disney prince. And I let myself pretend it was real, and it was w-wonderful. But now it’s over, and tomorrow he’ll turn into a pu-pumpkin.”
“The prince doesn’t turn into a pumpkin.”
“Then I turn into a pumpkin.”
I reached for the paper towel stand and tugged one off the roll. “No, you don’t turn into a pumpkin, either. The coach turns into a pumpkin. You end up walking home with one shoe and a bunch of traumatized rodents.”
A laugh quivered out between Sofia’s fingers. She took the paper towel. Wadding it against her wet eyes, she said, “He meant those things he said. He cares about me. I knew it was the truth.”
“Everyone knew, Sofia. That’s why Luis got pissed off and left so fast.”
“But that doesn’t mean Steven wants a relationship.”
“Maybe you don’t either,” I said dryly. “Sometimes starting a relationship is the worst thing you can do to someone you love.”
“Only one of Eli Crosslin’s children would say that” came her voice from behind the paper towel.
“It’s probably true, though.”
Sofia glared at me over the sodden white pulp of the towel. “Avery,” she said vehemently, “nothing our father ever said to you was true. Not one promise. Not one word of advice. He’s the worst half of each of us. Why does his half always get to win?” Crying, she jumped up and went to her room.
Sixteen
T
o my satisfaction, not to mention Sofia’s, Bethany Warner loved the concept of the Jazz Age wedding at the Filter Building. Hollis was slower to be convinced, worrying that the Art Deco elements might seem too cold. However, once Sofia showed her sketches and samples of lavish details, including fresh flower arrangements ornamented with strings of pearls and glittering crystal brooches, Hollis became more enthused.
“Still, I always imagined Bethany in a traditional wedding gown,” Hollis fret
ted. “Not something trendy.”
Bethany frowned. “It’s not trendy if it’s been around since 1920, Mother.”
“I don’t want you prancing around in something that looks like a costume,” Hollis persisted.
I intervened quickly, grabbing a sketch pad from Sofia and sitting between the Warners. “I understand. We need something classic but not too theme-y. I wasn’t thinking about drop-waist for you, Bethany. More something like this…” I picked up a pencil and sketched a slim, high-waisted gown. On impulse, I added a split-front skirt draped in panels of sheer silk and tulle. “Most of the bodice would be done in linear beading and sequins.” I filled it in with a light geometric pattern. “And instead of a veil, a double-strand headband of diamonds and pearls going across the forehead. Or if that’s a little too dramatic —”
“That’s it,” Bethany said in excitement, jamming her finger directly on the design. “That’s what I want. I love that.”
“It’s beautiful,” Hollis admitted. She gave me a pleased look. “Did you just come up with this, Avery? You’re very talented.”
I smiled at her. “I’m sure we can have something similar to this made —”
“No, not similar,” Bethany interrupted. “I want this one.”
“Yes, you design it, Avery,” Hollis said.
I shook my head, disconcerted. “I haven’t designed for a few years. And my old contacts are in New York.”
“Find someone to collaborate with,” Hollis told me. “We’ll take the plane up to New York as often as we need for the fittings.”
After the meeting was over and the Warners had left, Sofia exclaimed, “I can’t believe they liked the Jazz Age wedding. I thought there was a fifty-fifty chance they’d choose the country club.”
“I was pretty certain that Hollis would go for the more stylish option. She wants to be seen as forward-thinking and fashionable.”
“But not if it offends the old guard,” Sofia said.
I grinned as I went to get Coco from her crate. “I’ll bet some of the old guard were there during the original Jazz Age.”
“Why did you keep Coco in there while the Warners were here?”
“Some people don’t like having a dog wandering around.”
“I think you’re embarrassed by her.”
“Don’t say things like that in front of the baby,” I protested.
“That dog is not my baby,” Sofia said with a reluctant smile.
“Come on, help me do her nails.”
We sat side by side at the counter while I held Coco in my lap. “One of us should call Steven and tell him that the Warners liked the Gatsby wedding,” I said. I uncapped a puppy-nail-polish pen, the same shade of pink as her rhinestone collar.
“You do it,” Sofia said.
So far, Sofia and Steven had been at a stalemate. He had been unusually nice to her the past couple of days, but there had been no sign of the tenderness he had shown the night of Alameda’s visit. When I had urged Sofia to say something to him, she had confessed that she was still trying to work up the nerve.
“Sofia, for heaven’s sake, go talk to him. Be proactive.”
She took one of Coco’s delicate paws and held it steady. “Why don’t you take your own advice?” she retorted. “You haven’t talked to Joe since he took you out to lunch.”
“My situation is different.”
“How?”
Carefully I applied a coat of polish to Coco’s nails. “For one thing, Joe has too much money. There’s no way I can go after him without looking like a gold digger.”
“Does Joe look at it that way?” Sofia asked dubiously.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s how everyone else does.” The Chihuahua looked solemnly from one of us to the other as we talked. I capped the polish pen and blew gently on Coco’s glossy pink nails.
“What if he’s decided to outwait you? What if you’re both too stubborn to make the next move?”
“Then at least I’ll have my pride.”
“Pride buys no meat in the market.”
“You’re hoping I’ll ask you what that means, but I’m not going to.”
“You might as well start sleeping with him,” Sofia said, “since everyone already thinks you are.”
My eyes widened. “Why would anyone assume that?”
“Because you bought a dog together.”
“No, we didn’t! I bought the dog. Joe just happened to be there.”
“It’s a sign of commitment. It shows that you’re both thinking about a future together.”
“Coco isn’t a couples dog,” I said heatedly, but as I glanced at her, I realized she was teasing. Rolling my eyes, I relaxed and set Coco carefully on the floor.
As I returned to my chair, Sofia gave me a pensive look. “Avery… I’ve been thinking about a lot of things since I saw Luis the other day. I’ve decided that bringing him here was one of the nicest things that Mamá has ever done for me.”
“If so,” I said, “trust me, it was purely accidental on her part.”
Sofia smiled faintly. “I know. But it helped. Because facing Luis after all this time made me realize something: By not moving on, I’ve been giving Luis power over me. It’s like he’s been holding me hostage. He belongs in my past – I can’t let him influence my future.” Her hazel eyes took in my stricken expression as she continued. “You and I are too much alike, Avery. Thin-skinned people shouldn’t feel things as deeply as we do – we bruise too easy.”
We were both quiet for a moment.
“Whenever I think about moving on,” I eventually said, “it’s as terrifying as the idea of parachuting out of a plane. At night. Over a cactus field. I can’t seem to make myself do it.”
“What if the plane were on fire?” Sofia suggested. “Could you jump out of it then?”
An uneven grin spread across my face. “Well, that would definitely provide some motivation.”
“Then the next time you’re with Joe,” Sofia said, “try telling yourself the plane’s on fire. Then the only choice is to jump.”
“Over the cactus field?”
“Anything’s better than a burning plane,” she said reasonably.
“Good point.”
“Then you’re going to call Joe?”
I hesitated, surprised by the flare of yearning I felt at the question. Two days, and I missed him badly. I didn’t just want him, I needed him. I’m doomed, I thought, and sighed in resignation.
“No,” I said, “I’m not going to call him. I’d rather figure out a way to make him come here without having to ask him.”
She gave me a bemused glance. “Like fake your own kidnapping or something?”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far.” After a few seconds of pondering, I said, “But that gives me an idea…”
On Saturday afternoon I closed the studio and took a long, luxurious bath. Afterward I left my hair down in loose waves and misted my wrists and throat with a light cologne. I dressed in lavender silk lounge pants and a matching lace-trimmed top that showed more cleavage than I ever would have displayed in public.
“I’m leaving for a girls’ night out” came Sofia’s voice as I went downstairs.
“With who?”
“Val and some other friends.” Sofia was busy rummaging through her handbag. “Dinner, a movie, and probably drinks afterward.” She glanced at me and grinned. “I may crash at Val’s place. You’ll want the whole house to yourself once Joe sees you in that outfit.”
“He may tell me off for the prank I pulled, and leave right afterward.”
“I don’t think so.” Sofia blew me a kiss. “Remember the plane,” she said, and left.
Wandering around the empty house, I turned down most of the lights, lit some candles in blown-glass votives, and poured a glass of wine. As I sat on the sofa in front of the TV, Coco climbed up a little set of steps to sit next to me.
We were about a third of the way into a movie when the doorbell rang.
Coco
trotted down the sofa steps and hurried to the front door with an abbreviated yap. My nerves jangled wildly as I stood and followed, carrying my wineglass. After taking a deep breath, I cracked open the door to find Joe leaning against the door frame. He was heart-stoppingly handsome in a dark suit, dress shirt, and tie.
“Oh, hello,” I said in a tone of mild surprise, opening the door a couple of inches wider. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to take pictures at a fund-raising event tonight. But just as I was leaving, I found out my camera bag was empty. Except for this.” Joe held up a piece of paper covered with letters that had been cut from a magazine and arranged ransom-note style. It read:
