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“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-FIVEMy 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.”
