Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

  Interesting. I know Gillian was at that meeting, so she must have been a participant in the Sandoval Spirits sleepover. Must have been awkward for her after catching Eduardo and me in a compromising position earlier in the day. No doubt there was a lot of stilted conversation, averted eyes, and mortified blushes across the conference room table.

  “I texted you all this,” Eduardo adds.

  “I just saw your messages. I didn’t have cell service from about 6:30 on.”

  “Where were you during the storm? I stopped by your house this morning on the way back to the hotel, but you weren’t there.”

  “I was hanging at a friend’s and the power went out, so I got stranded there.” Don’t ask which friend. Don’t ask which friend.

  “Uh huh, that’s good . . . I’m glad you were somewhere safe.” There’s a distracted tone to his voice, which I am all too familiar with. It tells me that Eduardo has lost interest in our chat and he’s doing something work-related. Normally, this would piss me off, but his inattentiveness is working to my advantage this time. So, I won’t call him on it.

  “Yeah, me too, but I’ll be happy to get back to my place so that I can shower and take a nap,” I say as I pull up to an intersection where the lights are out. There’s a blue car that’s already sitting at the intersection, so I wait for him to go first. “Come on, dude.” I make a shooing gesture at the driver who appears to be paralyzed since he’s not moving.

  “What dude?” Eduardo decides to check back into the conversation.

  “Just this idiot who doesn’t know what to do at a four-way stop.”

  “I’ll let you go so that you can focus on your driving. Were you planning to go by the South Bayshore house today?”

  “I have a meeting with Maree there later.” She’s the snooty decorator Eduardo’s mother insisted he use for the reno on his new place. Correction: our new place as I’ll be living there too after we’re married. “We’re doing a walk-through and putting some finishing touches on a few of the rooms so that the house will be ready for you by the end of the week.”

  “That’s great because I am officially sick of hotel living. When you’re at the house this afternoon, would you check to make sure there aren’t any trees down out front and no water leaked inside? While you’re at it, call the pool service to come out and do a cleaning because the high winds probably blew all kinds of debris in there.”

  “Oh, no, not debris in the pool! What will the neighbors say?” I tease him as I turn onto the freeway.

  “Exactly,” he concurs, totally oblivious to the fact that I was kidding. “We don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with them. They need to know that we’ll be diligent about maintaining the property.”

  If my eyeballs weren’t so fatigued, I’d roll them. I guess this is what it’s like to be rich, you have to worry about appearances all the time and keeping up with the Joneses. Strangely enough, the people living in the massive house next door to Eduardo’s do actually have the last name of Jones. He’s an executive at some chemical company and she’s a stay-at-home dog mom (her furry children are yippy, little Chihuahuas called Charo and Chico) who acts like the Paleo Diet is a religion and she has to try and convert me every time we run into each other. As if I’d be into any meal plan that prohibits alcohol and most carbs—Bitch, please! She keeps saying that Eduardo and I have to come over for dinner once he’s moved in, and I’m already compiling a list of excuses why we can’t.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I assure him, just as a devoted wife-to-be should.

  “Gracias. I’ll see you tonight. Why don’t we go out to dinner? You pick the place.”

  It’s an enticing offer since we haven’t been out to eat at a nice restaurant in a while, but I’m wary. “Don’t you have to work late?” I can’t remember the last time he got home (aka his suite at the hotel) before ten.

  “I can knock off early. I am el jefe as you recently reminded me.”

  If Eduardo were smart, he would not be making allusions to yesterday’s seduction-gone-wrong as this is still a sore spot for me, but apparently he’s just as obtuse as Zane accused him of being because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Why don’t you wear that hot, little, leopard print number under your dress when we go out tonight? That way I can imagine what I have to look forward to for dessert all through the meal.”

  Say what? Did he seriously just ask me to trot out the sexy lingerie I was wearing when he rejected me less than twenty-four hours ago? Has Eduardo always been this big of a douche and I’m only noticing it now, or am I being hypersensitive about that debacle at his office? It should be noted that he never did apologize or beg my forgiveness for any of it.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I purr although I’d really like to reach through the Bluetooth and punch him in the nose.

  I hear the intercom on his office phone buzz and Gina announce that Eduardo has a call from some Guzman executive.

  “I have to take this. Hasta está noche, mi amada.”

  “Until tonight,” I mumble after he’s already hung up. Hopefully, after some rest and a visit to my future residence, where I can touch and admire all the pretty, expensive things that will be mine one day, I’ll feel more excited about the prospect of having a romantic night out with my fiancé.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Pilar!” I call my sister’s name after determining that her bedroom and bathroom are empty. When the nanny let me in, she told me the lady of the house was upstairs, so I assumed Pilar was chilling in the master suite. I should have known better. The longer Pilar’s been on bed rest, the harder it’s been to actually keep her in bed. Even though she’s like eleven months pregnant now, she’s got a ridiculous amount of energy and is in full nesting mode, wanting to clean and rearrange and organize every nook and cranny of the house. I could use her over at the bungalow. Last time I pulled out the vacuum, it was covered in cobwebs.

  “In the nursery!” Her voice drifts down the corridor, and I follow it to the small bedroom tucked between Gabi’s room and the kids’ Jack and Jill-style bathroom. I find her folding itty bitty onesies in a rainbow of girly colors on the changing table.

  “Wow.” I stand in the center of the room and spin around, marveling at the lime and lavender décor of the nursery, which is owl-themed. (The Fordhams are a bunch of smarties and owls are symbolic of wisdom, so it’s pretty much perfect.) Since the last time I was here, the parents-to-be added a large patchwork throw rug and a matching window treatment, and they had a really cute mural painted on one lavender wall consisting of a flowering tree with curling branches populated by wide-eyed owls in the nursery’s colors, and above the crib, the words “Grow Wise, Little Owl” are painted in fancy white script, with an owl perched on top of the W.

  “Everything has really come together in here. I love this.” I give my seal of approval to the mural after moving closer to examine all the detail, like the different patterns on the breasts of each owl and how some of them have little flowers on their heads.

  Pilar beams. “Zane’s friend, Alicia, did an amazing job, didn’t she? You’ll have to thank him again for recommending her to us.”

  I clutch my stomach, which felt like it did a somersault as soon as I heard Z’s name. “I’ll give you his phone number, and you can thank him yourself.”

  I really don’t want to reach out to him now because I feel like our relationship is betwixt and between post-storm and I’ve become paranoid about things I wouldn’t have given a second thought to before. For instance, two days ago I texted to see if he wanted to grab a froyo at Fizee’s with me when he was done with work. It took him two hours and forty-seven minutes to respond, and I felt like I was going to throw up the entire time. Why? I never used to give a crap if Z responded to my texts in a timely fashion and it didn’t bother me if he wasn’t able to hang out. But when he did finally text me back to say he couldn’t do Fizee’s because he had to work a fashion show with Esteban, I felt not just disappointed, but crushed. Why d
idn’t he want to see me? Was he making up the fashion show to avoid me? Had he been thinking about our night together? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? Ugh!

  “Great! And I can tell him how much Ford and I love the slideshow he helped you make while I’m at it.”

  “Just don’t follow that up with thirty minutes of blubbering like you did when you called to thank me,” I deadpan.

  “Ha ha. Make fun of the overly emotional pregnant woman.” Pilar opens the top drawer of the dresser beneath the changing table and gently places the onesies in neat, same-color piles inside.

  “If your little sister’s not going to tease you, who will?” I smirk at her.

  “How’d my little sister like to chauffeur me over to Apple of My Eye so that I can pick up the bedding and mobile for the crib?” She gestures at the same slatted cherry wood crib Gabi slept in when she was new to the world. It’s currently bare, with no sheet, comforter, or dust ruffle, because Pilar had to special order an owl-patterned bedding set, which must have just arrived at her favorite baby boutique.

  “I don’t need to chauffeur you. I can just run out and pick up everything myself.” Pulling my phone from my purse, I check its clock. “I’ve got time before Gabi gets home from school.” The reason I came over in the first place was so that Gabi could dictate to me what she wants to say on each of the thank you cards going out to her birthday party attendees. That’s right, I am handwriting individualized notes on each card for that personal touch. Pilar was super impressed when I told her that was my plan.

  “No!” Pilar clamps onto my arm, her hazel eyes beseeching. “You have to take me with you. I haven’t been out of this house in five days and I’m going stir-crazy.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I commiserate as I try to loosen my arm from her vise-like grip. “Being stuck in one place for that long blows, but you’re here for a reason, remember? Bed rest—doctor’s orders.” I finally manage to pry her fingers off, but they leave white marks behind on my tan skin.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll be off my feet in the car. I just need a change of scenery. Pleeeeeease.”

  “All right, all right, but we are in and out of this baby place, then we’re coming straight back here; no dilly-dallying around CocoWalk.” This is another one of Miami’s open-air malls, and it’s packed with shops and yummy places to eat that might entice Pilar if I don’t lay down some ground rules for this outing. “And we will not be mentioning this to Ford. He’d have my head for aiding and abetting you.”

  She sighs dreamily. “He’s so sexy when he’s being overprotective.”

  When I give her a skeptical look, she says, “You’ll see once you and Eduardo are married. It’s really nice to have a kind, supportive man by your side in life, someone who dotes on you and wants to keep you safe.”

  Ay, Eduardo! To be honest, things haven’t been the same between us since the incident at his office. I suppose I can’t place all of the blame for that at his feet seeing as how I did sleep with someone else, but the lack of quality time we’ve been spending together is entirely on him. That nice dinner he proposed earlier in the week never came to pass because he’s been at the office late every night, trying to work out the specifics of the transition of power after Sandoval Spirits takes over GBC. I’ve been asleep (or at least pretending to be) when he gets back to the hotel, and when we crossed paths in the bathroom this morning (he was getting out of the shower; I was brushing my teeth) and he started getting handsy with me, I rebuffed his advances, saying I had an appointment to get to.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but since Zane and I did the deed, I haven’t felt right about getting busy with Eduardo. It just seems like that would be a betrayal of Zane somehow, which makes NO sense when my fiancé is the one I cheated on, not Z. Ugh! Whatever. I’m sure I’ll get over this weirdness soon, and once Eduardo finishes up this big deal of his, he and I will get back on track. He might not ever “dote” on me like Ford does on Pilar, but still I have every confidence that Eduardo will make a fine husband.

  There’s no way I’m fitting my wide load sister into the Beetle, so we take Pilar’s SUV. It’s about a thirty minute ride to Coconut Grove, the suburb of Miami where CocoWalk is located, and Pilar chatters the whole way about . . . I don’t know, baby stuff I guess. I’m not really paying attention. When we get to the mall, I drop off Pilar while I look for a parking spot in the covered garage. I rejoin her and we take a leisurely stroll to Apple of My Eye. (My sister’s not moving very fast these days since she’s weighed down by about fifty pounds of baby weight.)

  When we finally get to the boutique, I do my duty as an aunt, ooooooing and ahhhhhing over the owl bedding and mobile when they’re presented to Pilar. We’re seconds away from making a clean getaway when the salesgirl who’s checking us out mentions that they just got in a line of luxe baby skincare products from Europe that Amal Clooney swears by and of course Pilar has to go smell, sample, and ask questions about each one. Groan. Fortunately, my phone dings with an incoming text, which gives me an excuse to step away from her hormone-induced nuttiness.

  ‘Foam party at Hollywood Live tomorrow night. Who’s in?’

  It’s a text from Topaz, which she also sent to Nacho and Zane. Yes! Since Topaz is issuing the invite, I’m sure Zane will say “yes” and hanging out as a group, which we’ve done so many times in the past, will help us reset our relationship back to normal.

  ‘My Speedo and I will be there!’ Nacho immediately jumps on the party train, which comes as no surprise. The man never misses an opportunity to strip down in public.

  ‘Me, too. Minus the banana hammock.’

  Tomorrow night is the first one Eduardo will be spending at the South Bayshore house and I should be there to welcome him, but he’ll probably get held up at work like he always does. So, I can see Zane (I mean, party with my friends) and catch up with Eduardo later in the evening.

  I watch my phone display, waiting for Zane to chime in, but he doesn’t and Nacho and Topaz start debating which of the former’s many Speedos would be most flattering and appropriate for this venue. I vote for the pink and orange one from the Rio Brites collection as its neon colors are so loud they’ll probably glow in the dark and Nacho wants everyone to notice his package, doesn’t he?

  Pilar’s ready to go, so I escort her out of the store. Every time my phone dings, I look down to see if Zane is responding, but I am repeatedly disappointed as all the incoming texts are now concerning Topaz’s getting-very-serious romance with her Levi’s-wearing luvah. (Hard for me to get excited about anyone else’s happy relationship right now with my own love life being such a disaster zone.)

  “Oh, God, that smells so good! I have to get a steak fajita burrito.”

  “What?” I raise my eyes to see Pilar waddling over to the line at El Burrito’s. “You have food at home,” I yell as I chase after her.

  “Home is half an hour away. The baby is hungry now.” She rubs her swollen belly. “And she wants a burrito.” Pilar gazes up at the restaurant’s menu board. “Plus an enchilada. I’m craving some green sauce.”

  I tell her to go and sit while I order a Mexican feast for her. I don’t get myself anything because I haven’t had much of an appetite lately. And no, that doesn’t have anything to do with a certain AWOL photographer. Stupid Zane, why hasn’t he texted Topaz back about the foam party? First, he doesn’t want to grab a froyo, and now he’s blowing off not just me, but all of our friends. What’s his damage? He promised me that things weren’t going to be weird between us after we had sex, but he’s been acting totally different since then and it’s driving me loca!

  “What’s wrong?” Pilar wonders right before she inhales her burrito.

  I shrug. “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you keep checking your phone and your face is all pinched up?” I’m surprised I can understand anything she’s saying since her words are garbled by all the beans, steak, and tortilla she’s got jammed in her mouth.


  “I don’t want to talk about it. Eat your food so the baby doesn’t get a low blood sugar.”

  My phone dings again, and I’m almost afraid to look down at it. I should probably just turn the damn thing off and stop obsessing about this. Of course, I don’t because I have zero self-control, which is what got me into this mess in the first place.

  ‘Have to pass on party. I’ve got a date tomorrow night.’

  Zane’s got a WHAT?!?!?!?!?! I don’t even know how to respond to that. Thankfully, I don’t have to because Topaz is all over it.

  ‘Ooooo la la, who’s the lucky girl?’

  Nacho is enjoying this way too much!

  ‘Her name’s Orla. She’s a stylist. Met her at fashion show Tuesday night.’

  What kind of dumb name is—

  ‘She’s British,” Zane answers as if he can read my thoughts across the miles.

  Great. So, she’s got an accent like Keira Effin’ Knightley who’s been Z’s number one celebrity crush since he saw her in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie when he was an impressionable fifteen-year-old.

  “I’m done,” Pilar announces, and I glance up to see that she has managed to hoover up every morsel of food on her tray in record time.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Stuffing my phone in the pocket of my maxi dress, I move around to the other side of the table where I grab hold of my sister’s arm and hoist her up with a loud groan.

  “Oh, stop. I’m not that heavy,” she admonishes me. “Don’t forget my bags.” Pilar points to the two shopping totes from the baby boutique that are still sitting on the ground. I scoop them up and hand her the lighter one.

  As we head toward the stairs, I do my best to ignore the text message alerts that are coming fast and furious from my phone. I’m sure it’s just Topaz peppering Zane with more questions about his upcoming date and I don’t care, not even a little. Z can go out with whoever he wants. This Orla chick probably isn’t even cute. In my experience, stylists spend so much time and energy making other people look good that they end up neglecting their own appearances. I’ll bet Orla has that frazzled, I-don’t-own-a-hairbrush look. And she’s skinny, flat-chested, and pale, and has one of those whisper-soft voices that makes you want to scream, “Speak up, woman!” Of course, Z would revert to type and go for someone sweet and submissive after being with me. I was too much woman for him, and he couldn’t handle it.