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“There’s a gift for you in the top drawer of your nightstand. It will explain everything.” My brow creases. “Trust me when I say everything will be okay.I’ve got you. Always.”
She regards me with questioning eyes, and then nods slowly before stretching her limbs with a yawn. Her chest strains against the satiny fabric of her nightdress, and my ravenous eyes watch her slightly pebbled nipples press against the material.
Checking myself before she notices my downright lecherous stare, I take the opportunity to slide from the bed, giving her my back while I march intently toward the open door of our ensuite.
“Where are you going?”
Confusion colors her tone when she calls after me, and I stop to glance over my shoulder.
“I’m going to take a hot shower, Sunshine.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “In this heat?”
I smirk when she takes the bait. “Well, it’s like a normal shower, except it’s got me in it.”
Her laughter follows me into the shower, where I step under icy cold water that does sweet fuck all for the boner that won’t get a clue.
* * *
REYNA
When I’ve finally stopped laughing, I reach for the nightstand with a smile that turns to a frown when I find a green, well-used book.
I settle into the Lotus pose in the middle of the bed and gently open the first page.
When I note Lita’s familiar handwriting, my breath hitches.
Your Roots
My teary eyes slowly rise from the book to the closed door of the ensuite before drifting back down when I hear the sound of the shower running.
Trembling hands turn the page, and a half-sob, half-laugh tumbles from my mouth.
There’s a black-and-white photograph of a small baby in the arms of a smiling woman, a preening man at her shoulder with a matching broad smile. My beautiful abeula’s neat script is underneath.
Born June Fourth in Santa Cruz to Júlio and Inez
Once I’ve studied the image to my heart’s content, I carefully turn to the next page, where I find a photo of a teenage girl, clearly my abuela, holding the hand of an exceptionally handsome older man. I peer closely at the image, my eyes bulging when I realize that she’s with my abuelo.
He’s looking at her as though she hung the moon while she smiles brightly for the camera.
Met Thiago Marquez, January First
I swallow roughly at the significance of that date for me. The day my mother disappeared, leaving me at a church with nothing and no one.
I move on with a lump in my throat that is dislodged by a low sob when my eyes see the third image. Lita is wearing a very simple bridal gown, beaming a smile at my abuelo, who’s only got eyes for his new wife as they stand on church steps, confetti falling all around them.
Married in Santa Cruz, Dia de Juan Santamaria
My index finger gently traces every part of the image as my emotions bubble up, spilling down my cheeks in bittersweet agony. I slam my eyelids shut, inhaling sharply through my nose as I attempt to get a handle on my runaway feelings.
Several deep breaths later, I’ve composed myself enough to open my eyes and study the image once more.
They look so happy.
A tremulous smile hangs on the edges of my lips when I scan the image, finding nothing but love painted across every part of it.
I turn the page with a soft smile that turns to wonder at the next image. It’s a photo of a heavily pregnant Lita, one hand resting on the curve of her belly while the other points at the camera as though she’s playfully rebuking the person snapping the picture.
