I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. She looks insane in a skin-tight black dress and Leone cap. I pull her close to me, sweaty as I am. ‘Didn’t feel like wearing a polo?’
‘I’m your WAG now,’ she says, arms winding around my torso, clearly not caring that I smell like I’ve spent the last three hours frying in a race car. ‘I have to look the part.’
My WAG. My Jules. ‘Looking the part suits you.’
‘Winning suits you,’ she fires back.
‘I won back in London. This is a bonus.’
She grabs my face and squeezes. ‘Such a flirt.’
‘Hope I’m not interrupting,’ laughs Marcela.
‘Fuck off,’ I growl, refusing to release Jules.
Marcela rests the mouth of her Appia against her chin. ‘Now you’ve officially soft launched, how do you both feel?’
‘Good so far.’ Jules’ smile is tentative. ‘Some negativity in my comments, but mostly appreciating the authenticity. Let’s see how it progresses. I don’t know how it’ll be at the start of next season, without all the Easter eggs and reveals. I think that’s the only part I’ll miss, to be honest.’
‘I’m sure we can keep ’em occupied,’ I say into her hair and kiss it.
My sister makes a disgusted noise and stalks away.
Laughing, I take Jules’ other hand. ‘No regrets though?’
‘None. I think I look good in orange.’
‘I always knew you were with me for my colour scheme.’
She tilts her head up to me. ‘You make me really happy,’ she whispers.
I smooth the hair around her face. ‘Good. I intend to keep you that way for a very long time.’
‘Is that a promise?’
I snort. ‘My promises apparently mean nothing, but I swear on your life,’ I boop her nose, ‘which means more to me than anything I have to give.’
Amusement dances in her eyes. ‘You’re so corny.’
‘You love it.’
Epilogue: JULES
MIAMI
Ithought there was nothing this family could do anymore that would surprise me. They chartered an airbus to watch the Dallas Cowboys play in Texas on Thanksgiving. They took over a floor of the Ritz-Carlton to visit New York’s Christmas markets (and complained about the cold the entire time). But their Christmas Eve setup is something else entirely.
Tiago was right – the pool is covered in glass flooring, a marquee overhead sheltering the two longest banquet tables I’ve ever seen in my life from the weakening sun. Hundreds of lanterns are dotted around the garden, and warm fairy lights hug palm trees. Overlapping music blasts from all corners – folk, merengue and reggaeton. It’s like a scene out of a movie.
There are six nativities ranging from gaudy to sentimental. In one, the hay (made of gold) wraps around the crib (made of gold), holding a tiny baby Jesus (made of porcelain). In another, the donkey is missing an ear, and Mary is an electrocuted Barbie. Tiago’s aunts are arguing over whose is the most beautiful. I can instantly tell which is his mother’s – Joseph really does look like Nancy Pelosi.
As we head back out to the garden, Tiago gestures to Paisa Claus, a unique take on the bearded gift-giver with a whitecowboy hat, sunglasses, and maracas. He looks like he’s selling reindeer, not flying around with them.
We sit down to eat, big grown-ups at the far end – my dad sitting in between Tiago’s dad and Trey’s dad – medium grown-ups in the middle, and kids nearest the house. There must be over two hundred people here, all shouting, hugging, and laughing loudly. It’s insane. This is more extravagant than most British weddings.
Steaming sharing dishes are placed in the middle of the tables. Tamales wrapped in banana leaves; soups; arepas; empanadas; white, yellow, red, and green rice. I try to ignore the whole roast pig up by my dad. It still has its trotters and everything. Dad’s even newer to the Cabreras than I am so I wonder what he’s making of it all.
I’m aware Tiago’s abuela is probably watching me like she does whenever we eat together – she apparently thinks I’m too skinny, which makes no sense because her granddaughters are mostly smaller than me. I load my plate up all the same. Maybe I’ll leave the calorie counter for today. I can’t be arsed to search for all the individual items.
