Page 35

Oh, no.

Whenever my mother brings out the mimosas, it means she wants something. Something inconvenient or something that will ruin my peace. Usually all three.

“Hello, Mother.”

Mom immediately grimaces. “Oh how I hate it when you call me that.”

“That’s what you are.”

“No. I’m mommy to you.”

I stare and she stares back with a pout.

I sigh and then I give in.

“Hello, Mommy.”

“There she is!” she exclaims happily before standing and kissing both my cheeks twice. “You’re late.”

I glance down at the slender diamond watch hugging my wrist.

Roman calls it Luna Fría.

The only one ever made.

Crafted from white gold and nearly six hundred hand-set diamonds, with a moonstone dial that caught the light differently every time I moved. The bezel was shaped like overlapping crescent moons, and twelve pear-cut diamonds marked each hour like stars scattered across the dark sky. Collectors have offered obscene amounts of money for it.

My brother Roman has always laughed in their faces. “There are many masterpieces,” he likes to say. “But only one Artemis.”

So the watch my brother designed for me remains exactly where it belongs… with me.

I frown at Mother.

“I’m exactly on time.”

She waves a dismissive hand.

“Of course you are, my lovely gremlin.”

Gremlin.

Only my mother could turn an insult into an adorable pet name.

“Are you finally losing your mind to old age, Mother?”

Mom chooses to ignore the jab.

As usual.

To be fair, it’s difficult to insult someone who somehow looks younger than half the models walking her runways.

“Sit, sit.” Mom pats the blanket enthusiastically. “I made pastelillos de guayaba.”

I narrow my eyes at the paStelillos de guayaba while taking a sit.

I do this all reluctantly.

I really do hate picnics.