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“Exports.” I nod, trying not to prejudge my brother. “You made enough money to buy this house on exports? And now you don’t have to work?”
“Who says I don’t have to work?” He laughs. “Just because I don’t keep regular hours doesn’t mean I don’t work. And yes, the level of trade our family does provides a nice living. Our uncle works in high-end goods, not that cheap shit you see on the streets.”
My eyes narrow, and I don’t know what to make of this. Valeria says he’s an honest man, but how much does she even know?
“You never visited us when Mamá was alive. Why did you go there after she died?”
“Mamá left me with our father. She made her decision.” He stands, taking our plates from the table. “She didn’t want me there.”
I don’t miss the injury in his voice. I study his back as he carries our dishes to the sink, broad shoulders, muscled arms. My brother is strong, but I just got a big peek under his armor at the boy who was wounded by her decision. The idea softens me towa
rds him.
“She didn’t mean to hurt you, Beto.” Standing, I carry my mug to where he’s clearing off the cooking utensils. “She talked about you all the time.”
He hesitates, and our eyes meet. This time his black gaze is fathomless. My brother and I have spent so little time with each other, but we still share a familial bond. I might not know exactly what he’s thinking, but I recognize sadness, a sense of loss.
I carefully place my hand on his forearm. “She loved you.”
“Our mother loved her freedom and her art—”
“And her family and her son.”
He studies my face a moment then his eyes narrow. He leans a hip against the counter and crosses his arms. “You’ve grown up a lot while I was in Mexico. You are very beautiful, little sister.”
This change of topic confuses me. “Thank you?”
“I’ll introduce you to my friend Mateo.”
Of all the… “No, thank you.”
“Mateo is a good man.” His eyes flicker to me again. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” If he says for me to get married, I swear to baby Jesus.
“A good man will keep you out of trouble.”
Trouble. The code word for getting pregnant. “What makes you think I don’t already know a good man?”
His cheeks split with his grin. “Valeria says you never date.”
“Valeria doesn’t know everything about me.”
Pushing off the counter, he walks back to the table to retrieve his coffee mug. “Why do you act like a servant to them? You’re a grown woman.”
“I owe Valeria a lot. She took care of me, she paid for everything. Why, if it weren’t for Uncle Antonio—”
“You owe them nothing. I paid him back for your classes.”
Heat flashes in my cheeks. “So I owe you now?” The last thing I want is to be indebted to Beto.
“I told you, I’m taking care of you now.” Finishing his coffee, he puts the mug in the sink. “You grew up in a pretty fairytale, Carmelita, a bubble. You know nothing of your family. You don’t know what our life was here.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have to trust me to know what’s best for you.”
“How can you know what’s best for me? You know nothing about my life since you’ve been gone.” My voice rises, and I hate that I sound small next to him. “You can’t come back here and start ordering me around.”
“One day when we are old, you can tell me what to do.” He touches my chin and winks. “For now, I tell you.”
I’m hot all over and ready to fight this out, but he’s headed for the door. “Valeria wants me at the church with her and the girls.” He pauses, looking back. “Someone needs to be here to supervise the workers, the food, decorations… Would you be willing to do it?”
