Page 100 of No Greater Oblivion

“I used my key to get into her flat—I must’ve been carrying a dozen bags from Sainsbury’s—and dropped them on the table where she was sitting. I’ll never forget it, I bent down, kissed her, and said, is your sister here yet?”

Montserrat makes a last-ditch attempt for the door but she’s too far and the aisle is too long. I catch her by the upper arm and she spins around, attempting to throw a punch in my direction but the hit never lands.

“When all of a sudden, the doors to the kitchen open and Regina walks in…but Regina was supposed to be sitting at the table. Only, it wasn’t her. It was you.”

She struggles in my grasp but the fight is leaving her quickly. “Let…go…”

“Regina never told me she had a twin sister,” I say. “And since then, I made a promise to myself. I would never confuse the two of you again.”

Montserrat grabs the front of my coat but her grip is weak as her body becomes malleable in my grasp.

“Close your eyes, Monse. I promise it won’t hurt.”

“Idon’t want anyone to lay a hand on her. Anyone. Understood?”

Dimitrio nods. “Don’t worry. It’s taken care of.”

“Make sure she’s comfortable. Monse’s free to roam around but never without a chaperone. She isn’t a clueless American in a foreign country—it’ll be a lot more difficult to keep her under control than Dahlia.”

He lifts a brow at me. “I wouldn’t exactly call how you handled Dahlia last summer ‘keeping her under control’.”

We enter the kitchen and before I can say anything else, I notice Lyss sitting on one of the island stools. I give my best smile. “Brosnan.”

She doesn’t look up from her textbook. “Narvaez.”

“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Really?” She scribbles something in her notebook before picking up a highlighter. “Because I don’t.”

Dimitrio snorts but makes an effort to conceal his laughter by clearing his throat.

Personally, I don’t have any objections to Lyss, and when Dahlia started bringing her around, I had Diego look into her. Alyssa Brosnan-Rinaldi, twenty-three-years-old, born in Queens to an Irish father and first-generation Italian-American mother, top of her class at Fordham and on track to becoming valedictorian if she can manage to raise her GPA by half a point this semester. Formerly of Stanford University, she moved back to New York after her father’s dementia diagnosis and has since been helping to keep her family afloat with a series of temp jobs in the city, none of which pay very well and whose tenure never surpasses six months.

Dahlia needed a friend of her own, someone who wasn’t related to me or paid to watch over her. I don’t even mind that Lyss knows we have a “family business.” If Lyss can be the confidant and support Dahlia needs to find long-term happiness here, then I’ll accept her presence with delight, even if she does hate me. Somehow, it makes me respect her more.

Outside, Dahlia paces the length of the pool with her phone pressed against her ear. It looks like she was in the middle of making dinner because there’s rice on the stove and a bowl of chicken breasts on the counter that haven’t been seasoned yet. We must’ve arrived toward the end of her conversation because a few seconds later she hangs up and returns inside.

Lyss must be appraised of what’s going on because her spine straightens and her brows furrow with concern. “What did she say?”

I might not have cared to listen in on their conversation—Dahlia and Lyss tend to get lost in their gossiping sessions for hours—but the stricken look on Dahlia’s face sends alarm bells ringing. She approaches the island and I pull out one of the bar stools for her to sit. It takes her a few moments to find the words.

“Karina’s parents are getting divorced.”

Lyss gasps. “Paula and Rogelio?”

“Yes…” She lifts a hand to the side of her face. “He…my uncle. He was cheating on her.”

“Oh Dee.” Lyss reaches out to touch Dahlia’s arm. “How’s Karina holding up?”

“Devastated, obviously. She was supposed to come here and spend Christmas with us after her ballet show but…”

A phone rings and instinctively I reach for the one in my pocket but Dimitrio lifts a hand, signaling that it’s his. He walks away to answer the call and I take it as an opportunity to focus on Dahlia.

“What else did she say?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just that she isn’t planning on coming anymore. Apparently, she’s known for a few weeks but waited to tell me until Tia Paula figured out what she wanted to do.”

“That’s understandable.”