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The only thing that worries me is the idea of it being the end of an era. My phone is off because I’ve left my business worldbehind. We’re in a romantic setting. Once the shit hits the fan, which it will because my brother Jorge is back, we can’t go on like this. Everything will change. It always does when Papá and Jorge are involved. They bring out the beast in me. I worry she’ll see my ugly side and won’t want to be around me. The idea of life without Leticia makes me wonder if it will be a blessing or a curse.
Leticia complements her outfit with pair of pearl earrings that catch the light just right and a clutch with a subtle hint of cherry blossom embroidery. As she glides into the room, the gentle swish of the gown mirrors the grace with which she carries herself.
The ensemble strikes the perfect chord for the occasion, capturing the essence of formality while paying homage to the cultural tapestry of our hosts. In this elegant fusion, my wife has become a symbol of respect and style, a silent partner in the unspoken language of international business diplomacy.
“¡Guapísima1!” I purr as she flutters her eyelashes and exaggerates each stride.
“I feel like aprincesa2, Diego. Thank you.”
I shake my head. She shouldn’t think so little of herself.
“You don’t look like a princess, but my queen.”
She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around me, but then pulls away just as quickly. “I’ll ruin my makeup.”
I chuckle. “We wouldn’t want that.”
She shakes her head. “No, I wouldn’t after it has taken me nearly half an hour to get ready. Usually, I just put my clothes on and go, and sometimes, I apply a little makeup. But tonight, everything has to be precise, because I know that you’ve beengoing over this project for months. I have been working as your secretary, remember?”
“Yes. How could I forget?”
I raise an eyebrow as I say it, but then she ignores me as she continues to get ready.
“Anyway, Leticia, I thought you’d take hours to get ready. I thought all women did.”
“Me, no!”
“‘Not I’ you mean, or even ‘not me.’”
She sighs as I take her hand and lead her to the elevator.
“Diego, I don’t need you to correct my English. I’m nervous enough as it is or is it, ‘is it’?”
I don’t even want to fall into the rabbit hole with that one, as I can see her once lifted shoulders are now slouched and her brows are crossed.
“Sorry,” I say.
I need to be on my best behavior and not take my frustration out on her. She’s tried so hard. She even went out by herself just to perfect her Japanese for tonight. It took me years to learn the language, and I spoke five more at the time. It was the hardest of them to learn.
“What did you say?” She perks up. “Repeat it, please.”
“Lo siento3,” I repeat, but in Spanish.
“Did you just apologize?”
I chuckle, not willing to respond back to her. She heard me loud and clear. I’m in no mood to play games. As the hours tick by, I’m getting on edge. Abuela contacted my contact and told him I must get in touch. I said he should let her know that I will after tonight, but now I’m wondering what she wants. I haven’t spoken to her for days. Why tonight of all nights does she want me to get in touch with her?
I’m always confident and in control of my emotions—well, most of the time. But in two days we go home, and I have toremember that we’re going to be with Papá and mihermano4 Jorge. If this deal doesn’t go through, then I have to deal with their smug faces as they gloat about my failure. I’m confident about everything and anything, yet now I’m starting to doubt myself, and it is annoying me. Just as much as Leticia’s teasing right now.
“Really, did the great Diego Aranda de Hernandez apologize?”
“Yes, he did. It is possible,” I snap, wanting her to drop the subject before I say something I will regret. I can feel myself getting agitated by this conversation. Each word that slips out of my mouth is contributing to a volcano ready to erupt.
She puts her hand against my head, implying that I must be sick.
“I can admit when I’m wrong,” I say proudly as I suck in air and debate if the tuxedo I’m wearing is a little over the top. Maybe I should have stuck to wearing a suit. I’m too late to change my mind, though. Just like me, the Japanese hate tardiness.
It’s just nerves. Everything about this night will go right. I have to keep telling myself that so I don’t fuck it up with an outburst.
