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She strums her wrinkled fingers over the table, her smile never once slipping. Her eyes give her away, though, cold and calculating. She described herself perfectly before—a shark.
“You would take my granddaughter away? Along with my great-grandchildren?” she asks sweetly. “But isn’t it better that she’s surrounded by her family?”
“She hardly knows you,” I state.
“I could say the same about you, Mr. Phillips.”
“I have her best interests at heart.”
“As do I.”
Renata doesn’t have to use forceful language to get her point across. I can tell by the thick tension in the air and the way she sits, poised and immovable, that she isn’t about to drop the subject so easily. I can’t speak to her motivations, only that if she continues to push my buttons, I may have to resort to other means of negotiation.
“Willow is all I have left of my daughter Liana,” Renata says. “You would really take her away from where she belongs?”
“That’s the thing, Renata. She doesn’t belong here.”
“She craves family.”
“And I will give her a family. I already have.” I straighten in my seat, chest up proud and head held high. “Her whole life has been spent shuttered away. She deserves the chance to live a life of her own, to enjoy the freedoms and joys she was denied by her father. She was shot at, twice in as many days. All I’m asking is for you to see things the way I do. I love her deeply and just want what’s best.”
“You wish me to believe your motives sincere?”
“They are.”
“Really? And I suppose I shouldn’t bring up the red flag that is your age?”
I frown. “What does my age have to do with it?”
“Oh, please. Look at it from where I’m standing. My poor granddaughter has been subjected to the whims of older influences since the day she was born.”
“So my age is a problem for you?”
“You must understand my wariness, Mr. Phillips. An older man comes and sweeps her off her feet. It would be wrong of me to deny there’s a dynamic in play here.”
“I have never done anything that Willow hasn’t wanted. I value her opinions, her voice. Ilisten. Unlike Arturo, I have no need to trap her. I care for her too much to do her that injustice. Besides, I could argue the opposite against you. Infantilizing her is a red flag, too. Willow is a strong woman. Brave and determined and capable of making her own decisions. It’s frankly wrong of us to have this discussion without her being here to weigh in.”
Renata stands and chuckles, turning toward the exit. She’s done with this conversation.
“Eliminate Arturo and Esteban first,” she says as she walks away. “We will continue this discussion when you get back.”
Chapter 33
Willow
It’s been a week since I last heard from Zane. If anyone can handle themselves, it’s him—but that doesn’t stop my heart from wanting to hop right out of my chest. I’m healing very well and quicker than first anticipated. And while I’ve been restricted to bed rest, I’m getting restless. What I really want is to stretch my legs. Some fresh air might be good for the babies and me.
There are no stairs to worry about in the bungalow, but I make sure to keep one hand braced against the wall as I make my way outside. I don’t want any unexpected tumbles to catch me off guard. As I stride through the halls, I take in my surroundings. This home is lovely, quaint and under furnished, but full of potential. I like to daydream—since I have so much time on my hands—about the home Zane promised to build for us.
I’d love a place just like this. Spacious, but not so much that I feel like I could get lost going from point A to point B. I think the kids will have plenty of room to run around and play. We could have a big kitchen like this one, perfect for eating all our meals together. And if we had a living room like the one here, there’d be plenty of space to gather on Friday evenings to watch movies. There’d even be room for a pine tree in the corner come Christmastime where Zane and I can spoil our little ones with an overabundance of presents from Santa.
I’m probably getting way ahead of myself, but dreams of motherhood have been occupying my mind. It’s hard not to wonder what life will be like in another six months. I’m equal parts excited and nervous. The more I think about it, the more ecstatic I become. I can clearly picture myself as a soccer mom, driving the kids in the back of a respectable dark green minivan—once Zane’s taught me to drive, of course. I can picture weekend barbecues and holidays spent by the beach.
But right now, all I can do is wait and pray and hope for Zane’s safe return.
This will all be over soon. It has to be over soon. God forbid I bring my children into the world only to find this awful cartel war still raging.
I find my grandmother outside in the gardens, sipping from a tall glass of cola beneath the shade of a large umbrella. Renata smiles when she sees me, waving me over.
