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“Wow, I want to take your dress off instead of leaving the house,” Amaury says, stepping into my apartment. Despite spending a few hours shopping this morning, I ended up digging through my closet and found a dress I wore only once to a cocktail party last year. Plus, it’s Miami, the land of endless summer so I thought it was perfect. Hits at the knees, has the right amount of sparkle to make a statement, and hugs me in all the right places. Of course, it’s fire engine red, my favorite color, so I’ve paired it with matching lipstick and open-toed low sandals.
“You clean up nice too,” I tell him, eyeing him from head to toe. Amaury called me a few hours ago to ask what color dress I was wearing. He’s wearing a black suit, fitted to his slim body and tapered at the bottom. His dark red button up shirt has three buttons open at the neckline, exposing his golden-brown chest, a smattering of chest hairs peeking out, his gold chain gleaming when the light hits it.
As we stride across the parking lot toward the entrance of the event hall, Amaury curls his fingers with mine and in doing so my jitters ease up. I’m nervous because I’m not sure what I’m walking into, and other than a few of his friends, I won’t know anyone here.
“Oye, Sol. I told you, you pick the wrong Cuban. You should’ve picked me,mi reina,” says Alain, chuckling as he kisses me hello. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to him calling me different terms of endearment just to mess with Amaury—today it being, my queen. Both Amaury and Alain’s girlfriend aren’t even phased by anything coming out of his mouth. He must be an acquired taste.
“Hi, Alain.” I pull away from him and turn to his girlfriend. “Hi, Rubi,” I say, kissing her cheek.
“Love your dress. Red is definitely your color,chica,” Rubi says, dragging her fingers along my dress.
“Gracias,” I respond.
After dinner Amaury dragged me onto the dance floor when Willie Colon started playing, told me it was a good song for me to practice dancing to. Three songs later and I need a break and a drink. We’re at the bar waiting to order when I hear a woman behind me say, “Amaury, eres tú?”
Amaury stiffens and his eyes widen. His lips are slack as he stands up straight from where he was leaning into the counter. I turn to the woman on my left and slightly behind me. She has long blonde hair, curls cascading down her back, and a young girl standing next to her left. The girl is young, thin with long legs. She has the same blonde curls as the woman, but what stands out to me the most are her piercing green eyes. Familiar eyes because they’re Amaury’s eyes.
My body turns back to Amaury who still hasn’t said anything. “Who is that?” I ask him, my voice trembling as they tumble from my lips.
“Su esposa,” the woman responds for him lifting her chin as she steps closer to me. Her words cause a sharp pain in my chest, it’s as if I’ve been stabbed and someone is twisting the blade in my heart.
Without acknowledging the woman or her words, I search Amaury’s eyes and ask, “Your wife?” my words sharp, yet barely falling from my lips. He quickly averts his eyes from mine, and the hairs at the nape of my neck stand on edge. I’m scanning Amaury’s face for an answer but he’s refusing to let our eyes connect. He’s gaping at the woman and his face hardens—the shock of what’s unfolding registering.
I cannot believe this is happening to me right now. He’s married? How is it possible we’ve been dating all these months and I never realized? How has he hidden it so well? The young girl must be his daughter. She has the same emerald-green eyes I fell in love with. What the fuck is happening right now?
“¿Yanelis, qué tú haces aquí?” he asks the woman, his voice quivering. He obviously knows her because he’s calling her by name while inquiring why she’s at this event.
“Amaury, you’re married?” I ask again but he’s still refusing to let his eyes meet mine.
The silence between us balloons.
The despair I feel intensifies.
The heavy air suffocates me.
Before walking away, I rest my hand on his arm and look at him one more time, my last attempt to get Amaury to respond to me, to stop me from leaving him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stares into my eyes for a fleeting moment before dismissing me and turns back to the woman and the girl who must be his daughter. His silence is stifling. Tears burn and threaten to fall but I cannot let them free, at least not yet.
I turn on my heel, and march straight out the door. I see a bench to my left and sit, taking a deep breath trying to calm the erratic thumping in my chest. I’m struggling to breathe and keep my cool right now. I don’t want to have a meltdown here in front of all these people. With a shaky hand I grab my phone from my handbag and dial for a cab to pick me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Amaury
The room around me is spinning and despite the loud music and crowd of people, everything is a blur.
“Amaury, are you gonna talk to me?” Yanelis asks, breaking my trance.
“¿Qué haces aquí?”
“What am I doing here? That’s all you have to say?”
“No. I have a thousand things to say, but that’s the only one I can say right now.” Her spine stiffens and she crosses her arms in front of her in defiance. The young girl standing to her right can only be my daughter. I have no doubt this beautiful little lady is my child. The child I never knew existed until this moment. There is no mistaking those eyes are mine, the pale emerald staring at me with confusion and hurt.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, stepping a little closer to her.
“Analia,” she responds, and twists her hands, one into the other.
Analia. Yanelis and I had talked about kids’ names, if we ever had them, and Analia was what I’d told her I’d name our daughter. The pang in my heart increases as I take her in. She’s tall, has long, skinny legs and reaches my shoulders. She may have my eyes, but her hair is blonde and curly like her mother’s.
