by J Q Anderson
“Pardon?”
“My mother used to say twenty-five was my number. It’s creative and adventurous but also caring. I thought that’s you too. It could be our number.” He smiled. “My mother was into astrology. Anyway, here you go.”
“They are so beautiful. And my favorite. How did you know?”
He winked and tipped his head down to kiss me. It was soft, sensual, it made my pulse race. But our romantic moment was interrupted by a gentle hand on my back.
My mother.
“Sweetheart, what a fantastic performance.” She kissed my cheek and tightened her arms around my waist, squeezing me hard. “I am so proud of you. You made me tear up.”
Managing the flowers in one arm, I turned around to hug her, letting my own tears build. I knew this was as big of a moment for my mother as it was for me. She had always been my mentor, but more than anything else, she had been a mother. The best mother, always there with me, every step of the way since I was three years old, enduring auditions, triumphs, rejections. Papá had driven me to classes and waited, reading in the car while I worked restlessly in the studio. The appreciation I felt for my parents, and the emotional buildup of being part of such a big production were suddenly overpowering. I squeezed Mamá tighter and grinned at Papá, who patiently waited for his turn, over her shoulder.
“Cami, sweetie, don’t cry. You’ll ruin your beautiful makeup.” She smiled, wiping a stray tear with her thumb. As a former prima, Mamá knew the letdown of emotions after a performance was always huge, and if I started crying now, there would be no stopping me. In what I figured was an attempt to swing my mood, she turned to Sebastián without bothering to hide her astonishment. “And this must be Sebastián.” Mamá’s pale blue eyes did an instant scan. I held my breath.
Sebastián gave her a slight nod and leaned down to gently kiss her cheek. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inés. I’ve been eager to meet both of you.”
Mamá smiled and managed a brief response. Papá’s thick hand startled me as he squeezed my shoulder from behind. Showtime. I turned and hugged him.
“Be good,” I whispered in his ear. He broke the embrace and smirked as he looked over at Sebastián.
“Esteban Navarro,” Papá said curtly, extending his hand to shake Sebastián’s with a firm grip. “We finally get to meet you.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. Crap. Here we go.
“Sebastián Palacios. It’s a pleasure, Esteban. You have an incredibly talented daughter. You must be very proud.”
“I am.” Papá’s eyes softened as he gazed at me. I tilted my head and smiled at him. He had always been my rock, even during my teen years when my insecurity had skyrocketed. Now here I was…here we were, finally tasting some success.
My reverie was suddenly interrupted by an explosion of flashes as a small group of photographers closed in on us, shooting nonstop. Sebastián wrapped his arm protectively around me and shielded our faces while stepping back.
“Sebastián, here! Sebastián, is this your girlfriend?” one of them asked as he aimed the camera at the two of us and shot a string of stills. My parents moved aside, giving way to the intrusive photographers.
“How long have you been together?” another asked. “Are you exclusive?”
“Enough,” said Sebastián. “Back off.” He nodded at Rafa, who wedged his thick body between us and the photographers.
“Palacios and his ballerina. My boss is going to love it,” a short, balding guy said as he fired one last photo.
“Get out of here. You people make me edgy,” Rafa said, bumping him. The man quickly retreated and moved on to get shots of Nata and Marcos.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Sebastián kissed my forehead. “They’re a pest. You’ll get used to them, eventually.”
I squeezed his hand, It’s okay, and looked around for my parents. They were standing near Nata a few steps behind. Papá gave me a wary look, shaking his head.
At Piégari, my favorite Italian restaurant, tucked under the 9 de Julio Avenue bridge, a long table dressed in white linens and crystal had been set for the principal dancers and their families. Most of us preferred to wait to eat a big meal after a performance because we were nervous beforehand and had to hold our stomachs in while we danced.
A few of the families were sitting when Sebastián and I arrived. At one end of the table, Marcos and Carla sat next to my parents, who were directly across from the two empty spaces reserved for Sebastián and me. We sat and a waiter immediately filled our glasses with champagne. Marcos locked eyes with Sebastián, and that was that. I couldn’t avoid it any longer.
“Marcos,” I said, clearing my voice. “This is Sebastián. Sebastián—”
“I’m Marcos.” He stretched out his arm across the table to shake Sebastián’s hand. “Cami’s tango partner.” Marcos grinned sardonically.
“I’m Sebastián. Cami’s boyfriend.” Sebastián’s gaze stayed locked on Marcos’s in a silent warning. My eyes flew back and forth between them like a ping-pong match. I felt trapped in the middle of two tigers. Which would pounce first?
“Marcos,” Mamá said, and I finally exhaled. “You were stunning.” She looked at him with adoring eyes. “I remember Baryshnikov as Albrecht. I never thought anyone would ever come close, till tonight.”
“Thank you, Inés.” Marcos gave her his signature I know I killed it smile. My mother blushed slightly. I wanted to crawl under the table.
“What did you think of the Wilis’ costumes, Mamá?” I said, gulping the last of my wine. “I heard they cost a fortune. Up close they’re a work of art.”
“Ah, yes,” Mamá said. “Immaculate. A small shop in San Telmo, I heard. They do incredible work.”
“Any chance you will partner with Camila anytime soon?” Papá sipped his champagne while addressing Marcos as if I wasn’t even there. Beside me, Sebastián shifted in his seat.
“No, Papá,” I said, “Marcos is Nata’s partner. She’s the prima, remember?”
“Right,” Papá said, nodding. “But that could change, potentially?” He looked over at Marcos, who gave him a wicked grin. The bastard.
“That could indeed change.” Marcos nodded back, avoiding my death glare. “In fact, Cami would be a better partner for me height-wise. And Nata partners well with Diego. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Cami in more principal roles after tonight. She’s doing incredibly well.” He finally met my eyes and winked. I wanted to strangle him. Beside me, Sebastián radiated tension.
“I think Camila will be successful no matter who her partner is,” said Sebastián, holding Marcos’s gaze. “She’s very talented.” He then turned to me and caressed my cheek. “And passionate.” He smiled and I blushed scarlet.
“She is,” Marcos said. “Very passionate.” He grinned. Sebastián glared at him in another warning.
Marcos was playing a dangerous game and having fun with it. I knew the drill, and in the past, I loved going along with it because it meant pretending that for a little while, Marcos and I were a couple. But things were different now, and I had to stop Marcos before this game became a runaway train.
“Cami,” Marcos said, leaning back on his chair and sipping his champagne, “you’re still thinking of auditioning for the Aurora part, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Aurora!” Mamá cheered. “That was one of my favorites. Cami, you’ll audition?”
“Mamá,” I mumbled. “It’s a long shot.”
“It’s a great opportunity,” Papá said. “Marcos, you’ll audition as well?”
“Absolutely,” he said smugly before finishing his drink.
“Pass the wine, please,” I said with a pointed look at Marcos that said cut it out. They were purposely making Sebastián feel like the outsider. Marcos suppressed a smile and filled my glass before turning his attention to Carla.
I vowed to keep the conversations between Marcos and my parents short through the night. Marcos had been one of my parents’ favorite people since I joined the company. Mamá adored him. As a former pri
ma, she was thrilled he was practically family, and I knew for a fact she rooted for us to be more than dance partners. Papá tried to stay neutral, but it was pretty obvious his wishes weren’t too different from Mamá’s.
The atmosphere at the restaurant lightened as the rest of the families arrived, taking their places along the long table. Nata and her family eventually came and sat on the opposite end of the table, no doubt to stay away from Sebastián.
Sergei sent a steady stream of sullen looks at Sebastián. He seemed agitated and kept downing and refilling his champagne. Rafa and Alexei kept vigil from their own tables in opposite corners. Though Sebastián and the Russians did their best to ignore each other, in the air I could feel an impending storm building.
Mamá sent me a few empathetic looks while Sebastián engaged my father in a conversation about Papá’s upcoming hospice project. Sebastián asked a million questions and seemed genuinely interested, which I hoped would help change Papá’s mind about him.
“It’s truly a great project,” Papá said. “It took almost ten years just to get it off the ground.”
“I’m glad it’s finally in place,” Sebastián said, “and that you’ve put together such a qualified team to work basically pro bono. That’s amazing.”
“Yes, well, I wish the city mayor thought the same. He has a shifting agenda these days. There’s talk that after the elections he might shut the whole thing down if the budget doesn’t add up,” Papá said, his features hardening.
“The mayor…” Sebastián said, lowering his voice. “You mean, Padilla?”
“The very same.” Papá nodded, finishing his drink.
“Hm. I collaborate in a few of his social programs. I can try talking to him,” Sebastián said. “A hospice should be at the top of the list, not one of the first things to cut.”
Papá’s eyes swept the room uneasily. “I appreciate it. But I’d rather handle things without outside interferences.”
“Esteban,” Sebastián said, “with all due respect, most items in the political agendas are handled with outside help. Especially if there are conflicting interests at stake. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but I can try to open the dialogue with Padilla.”
“Thank you. But the answer is still no,” said Papá in a stern tone.
“As you wish,” said Sebastián calmly. He then excused himself and headed to the restroom.
I waited until he was far enough that he couldn’t hear me say: “Papá! That was rude. He was offering you his help.”
“And I don’t want it. I thought I made that clear. What are you doing with this guy? I don’t understand you, really. And I don’t want my project to go forward just because now we have access to politicians.”
Mamá squeezed his arm to rein him in while Marcos pretended to be busy in conversation with Carla, though I knew he wasn’t missing a beat.
“Christ. How can you be so stubborn, Papá? This involves a lot of people. People you care about. You know better than anyone that if that mayor decides to close the hospice down, all those patients will be left bereft. Sebastián can help you.”
“No.” Papá glowered, his deep brown eyes darkening with the same passion and determination that made him an outstanding doctor. “The day I accept a Palacios’s help is the day I turn my back on the hope that things will eventually come for those who choose the right path.”
“Papá, that’s insulting. You don’t even know him.”
“Neither do you,” he barked, his disapproving expression deepening. I pushed my chair back, looking around in frustration. Papá had such blinders on that sometimes he couldn’t see anything but two feet ahead of him. His ideals about the way the world worked were also his demise in times like this. Augh, what was the point in arguing with him?
Marcos topped everyone’s glass, smiling widely to break the tension.
“You guys are moving fast here.” He signaled to the waiter for another bottle of champagne. “We’ll need reinforcements,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “Federico’s about to give his speech.”
Papá relaxed his shoulders a bit and chuckled. Trust Marcos to swing Papá’s mood in an instant. I was grateful for the distraction, but still boiling inside. From across the table, Mamá gave me an empathetic look.
Federico stood and asked for everyone’s attention as Sebastián reappeared beside me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“About?”
“My parents, Marcos. They’re just—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kissing my temple.
“Everyone here tonight deserves a grand celebration,” Federico began. “My most talented dancers, you are the best in the country, and you all know it doesn’t come without the exceptional hard work and dedication you all commit, day after day…” In my mind, his words faded as the argument with Papá resurfaced. What if he never came around and refused to accept Sebastián? I had never imagined being in a family that was divided. A heavy sense of dread filled me, and I sank back into my seat. Federico wrapped up, raising his glass for a final toast, and everyone clinked their champagne flutes. I felt as if I were watching them through a thick glass.
Madame skipped her speech, as usual, and simply toasted to a triumphant production.
Dinner came and I focused mainly on my food. I was famished and wanted to eat and go to bed, but after a few bites, I lost my appetite. The tension always upset my stomach. Nata looked at me from across the table. She gave me a small smile and raised her glass. I reciprocated, wishing the circumstances were different and we were sitting on the same side of the table. I loved dinners with Nata’s family. Her parents had a great sense of humor and enjoyed making me laugh with their half-Spanish, half-Russian jokes while I tried to expand my scant foreign vocabulary. Even Sergei would tell jokes, and everyone downed impossible amounts of alcohol without seeming affected. But tonight, we were not a family. In fact, we looked like enemies in a battlefield, guarded in opposite trenches.
Sitting beside me and across from Marcos, Diego was neutral territory, a buffer. His light sense of humor rerouted Papá’s grilling of Sebastián about the Palacios family and their businesses.
Desserts and espressos followed as the night stretched into the late hours, and then the time came for final toasts. I set off to leave when Sergei stood from his seat on the opposite end, raising his champagne flute almost theatrically. “For Natascha and her magnificent role as the beautiful Giselle, a true princess fighting against the bureaucratic oppression of the rich and influential.” He turned as he said it, his eyes narrowing on Sebastián.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Sebastián’s jaw locked as he slowly shook his head. I cursed under my breath, but Sebastián gently squeezed my knee. I put my hand over his. Sorry.
“What was that about?” Papá murmured, frowning.
“I’m not sure.” I looked away and hurriedly drank the last of my espresso. “It’s getting late. Should we go?” I said to Sebastián, and he nodded.
Despite Sebastián’s nonreaction, Sergei didn’t let up and walked unsteadily to our end. Rafa and Alexei stood up in unison, ready for whatever came next. Sebastián gave a stern look at Rafa: Don’t.
“So…Palaciossss,” Sergei said, slurring. “What do you say you and I step outside and have a smoke?”
“I don’t smoke.”
Papá tensed in his seat, his eyes darting from Sergei to Sebastián, then me. I glowered at Sergei. What the hell was he up to?
“A drink, then,” Sergei insisted.
“We’re leaving,” I said. “Another time.”
“Nooo good,” he said, sneering. “We have things to talk about, he and I.” He pointed at Sebastián with his index finger. Rafa and Alexei simultaneously took a step forward, then turned to face each other, two alphas.
“We’ll find another time to talk,” Sebastián said calmly. “This is Camila’s night. And your sister’s.”
“We talk now,” he snarled.
The whole table quieted. From their end, Madame and Federico watched us with puzzled expressions. Shit.
“Stand up, Palacios. Business doesn’t wait.”
“Sergei!” Mr. Zchestakova stepped in from behind Sergei and clasped his son’s shoulder. Shoving Sergei back, he barked a reprimand in Russian. Sergei shot a murderous glare at Sebastián, then stumbled as his father scolded him and ushered him to their side of the table. Nata gave me an apologetic look. She turned over to Sergei, and by the way her lips curled, I knew she was letting him have it.
“We’ll be going,” Papá said in a clipped tone as he stood. He shook Sebastián’s hand, and they exchanged a brief good-bye. Sebastián’s phone rang, and he said he would meet me at the door.
I escorted my parents to the exit where we waited for the maître d' to bring their coats.
“I don’t like any of this, Camila,” Papá protested.
“Papá. Nata’s family does business with Sebastián’s father. But Sebastián isn’t involved. There’s really nothing for you to worry about, okay?” I said, realizing how naïve I sounded.
“Sweetheart,” Papá said, taking my hands in his, “I am very worried about you.”
“Why?” I said stubbornly.
“Because there is no happy outcome from a relationship with a Palacios.”
It was as if he had slapped me. I let go of his hands. “You don’t know him.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? Everything that surrounds this guy is bad news. I don’t want you involved with him,” he said firmly. His eyes were dark, his tone serious.
“That’s not your choice,” I said, holding back a sudden rush of tears. “I care about him, Papá. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. This is my life, and I’m happy with him. If you’d bother to know him, you would realize he’s good, selfless, and considerate. He’s not his family. And he treats me like I’m a…princess or something. Like he’s lucky to be with me.”
“He is!”
“It’s late, and I’m tired.” I kissed my mother quickly and she pulled me into her arms.
“Camila, sweetie,” she said. “We care about you. You’ve worked so hard to get here. Just remember that, please.”
