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“He got engaged to some gringa a few months ago,” Nico says lazily.

“Rachel Lazcari,” Eva pipes up. “Her Insta is fire. Their wedding is going to be insane. I can’t wait. It’s all anyone is talking about back home.”

“So you two are going?” I ask. Eva nods eagerly. I lean forward. “Is there any chance you could get me an invitation?”

Nico looks confused and Eva frowns. “Why?” she asks.

“I need to talk to someone at the wedding,” I admit. “One of the other guests. This person is the last piece of the puzzle I need to complete the article, and I’m having a hard time getting in touch with him.”

Eva’s face crinkles with pity. “Oh, Agustín,” she says, patting my hand as the waitress comes over with my drink. “There’s no way. This wedding is, like, the event of the year. Of the decade. Of the century! Jorge Alvarez is loaded.” She enunciates each syllable, then plucks an olive from her martini glass and chews. “He’s even bought out most of the Four Seasons for the guests. They’re, like, gonna close down Centro.”

“They’re not closing down Centro,” Nico says, rolling his eyes. Centro Histórico is the historic center of Mexico City, full of museums and iconic buildings.

“Okay, but you know how protective Señor Alvarez is about privacy.”

“You don’t even know the wedding will be in Centro,” Nico points out.

Eva purses her lips. “True. The invitation is just a QR code to RSVP. No location or even an exact date yet, because they’re keeping things so locked down for security. I heard Diego Luna and Gael García Bernal are going to be there. And there’s a rumor Luis Miguel might sing.”

Holy shit, if Jorge Alvarez can get El Sol de México to perform at his son’s wedding, then he’s got more influence than I thought.

“Eva, no fucking way Luis Miguel is singing at the wedding, that’s just Abril de la Fuente making shit up as usual,” Nico says. “But yeah, there will definitely be celebrities.”

I take a drink of my negroni, its bitterness coating my mouth. There’s no chance I could talk my way into an event this high profile.

“Wait!” Eva gasps. “I could put you on the list of más-unos!”

“A plus-one list?” I ask, frowning. I’ve never heard of anything like that. Maybe it’s a rich-person thing.

“It’s just for close family and friends,” Eva says, taking out her phone, its jewel-encrusted case flashing in the sunlight. “You know, people in our circles.” Yup, definitely a rich-person thing. “Everyone needs a más-uno at weddings. No exceptions.”

Nico chuckles. “Remember that time I brought Maria-Victoria Ramirez to Tía Jimena’s wedding, and she drank so much mezcal she threw up on the sound system?”

Eva slaps him on the shoulder. “Yes, I do, and you know what? You and the rest of your friends could do with making a list of your own, so shit like that doesn’t happen again. Men,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and typing frantically. “Anyway, we share names of potential dates on the list, so that if any woman needs one, they know they have a trusted recommendation. You cannot attend a wedding without a date. It’s mandatory. And can you think of anything more embarrassing than going to a wedding alone?” She shudders delicately.

“Eva,” I beg. “Please, can you put me on that list?”

“Claro,” she says, playfully nudging my arm. “But I can’t promise anything. The engagement was only announced in January and everything is moving at lighting speed. Everyone I know who’s going already has a plus-one. Nico, you know anyone available?”

“Sorry, bro,” he says to me.

Eva scrolls down her phone and then cocks her head, looking at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Just thinking how I’ll describe you,” she says.

“Describe me?”

“Every man on the list comes with details. Bits of personal info. So the woman can pick the right match.”

I do not love the sound of that. I can’t imagine what details Eva is going to put down about me.

She types something out quickly. “I’m sending this out to my contacts now as Updated Más Unos. And … sent!” She beams at me, then her smile falters. “It’s a long shot, though.”

Long shots are my specialty. Moving to New York? Long shot. Getting a meeting at The New Yorker? Longer shot. This wedding invite may be my longest shot yet.

But I’m an optimist. Pon chonguitos, there’s someone, somewhere out there who still needs a date to this wedding.