The best of those was in the lobby when she got there, on her phone.
“Yes, sir. Yes. Yes. Right. You’re right. I’m sorry. My fault.”
Charlene looked up when Elisa walked into the building, and she waved but didn’t stop talking to whoever was on the other end of the call. Elisa was slightly disappointed to notice that she was in her work attire of a pencil skirt, high heels, and a blouse. Charlene was supposed to be able to stay home that day, but apparently, that wasn’t happening.
“I’ll call him,” Charlene said, keeping her voice so chipper it was very nearly convincing. “You’re right, sir. Yes. I’m sure. I promise.”
She made eye contact with Elisa, rolling her eyes and pointing at the phone.
Work. Sorry, she mouthed.
“It’s cool,” Elisa whispered. Charlene’s job always had her dealing with some disaster or other. She’d bet her friend was the most competent person at work, but as a secretary with no college degree, she was treated like a glorified coffee machine on the best days.
On the worst days, the higher-ups treated her like their personal maid, emotional punching bag, and occasional therapist. It was one of life’s greatest injustices that a smart, ambitious woman like Charlene could be ignored while idiots like her boss lived off her hard work.
“I’ll fax it over as soon as I can,” Charlene said. Her tone was polite and cheery, but her eyes gave her away. Her boss was lucky he wasn’t in the room with her; he would not have survived the conversation they were currently having. “Yes, of course I mean within the next hour. Have I ever let you down before?”
“Want me to kick his ass for you?” Elisa whispered. Her friend grinned but swatted her on the arm, shushing her.
“Yes, sir, understood. I’ll have it to you by the end of lunch. See you then. Goodbye.” She hung up. “Hey,” she said, wrapping her arms around Elisa in a quick hug.
“I thought you had the day off,” she said.
“Yeah, so did I. Doesn’t appear to matter.” She rolled her eyes. “Looks like I’m putting in a half day today.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, but, hey.” She forced a smile. “A job is a job. I’m glad I have it.”
“Don’t use your customer service voice on me, Locke.”
Charlene laughed. “Okay, okay, work sucks. But enough about that. How was class?”
“Ugh, could be worse. Beats the high school.” She shrugged. “The professor seems nice, but the first book we’re reading is Lord of the Fuckboys. And there’s one girl that just…argh.”
“Ditzy?”
“No, not really,” Elisa conceded. “She seems pretty smart. But stuck-up. And hot. She’s annoying, but she’s really hot. Why are the cute ones always the ones who make you want to rip your hair out?”
Charlene laughed at that. “Yeah…that does not get better after graduation.”
“Guess what her name is?”
“How would I know what her name is?” Charlene asked, rolling her eyes.
“Darcy Fitzgerald.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Are we sure she’s that Darcy Fitzgerald?”
“As far as I know, there’s only the one.”
“Maybe you should try and get on her good side. You know, just in case.”
Elisa snorted. “I don’t think she has a good side.”
“Oh, come on, you’ve only met her once. Besides, pissing off a Fitzgerald probably isn’t smart.”
“Yeah, would’ve been good to know that an hour ago.”
Charlene laughed, shaking her head. “Well, be nice.”
“I’m nice,” Elisa said a little too loudly.
“Of course you are, Lisa. Look, I gotta go,” she said. “My boss will probably rip my head off if I’m not over there soon.”
“Go kick ass. I have some reading to start.”
Char was two years older but had grown up at Longbourn, too—for most of their lives, she had lived in the apartment above the Benitez family. Her parents and younger sister, Molly, were still there. But after graduating high school, Charlene had insisted to her parents that she needed to get out of their hair and start being independent, so she’d moved into another apartment.
Sometimes Elisa’s sister Julieta admired what Char had done and thought about moving out, too. But her job as a website designer, while doing admirably well for a small startup, didn’t make her nearly enough to live alone, and she knew it. Fortunately, their mother, Alejandra, would’ve been distraught if she left, and was very open about how much she enjoyed having her there.
Though, of course, if Julieta left to get married, Alejandra wouldn’t complain.
“Elisa.” Alejandra hurried to greet her daughter at the door as soon as it opened. Like her daughter, she was short and fat—though Elisa was proud to say she now officially had half an inch over her. “Do you know what Charlene’s mama told me when I saw her in the laundry room today?”
“That Charlene’s boss is robbing her of her hard-earned days off?” she guessed.
“No, she told me that empty house in Netherfield Park just sold.”
Elisa nearly groaned but managed to keep it in. Of course it’s something like that. Netherfield Park was the richest neighborhood in Steventon—the kind that didn’t even have a bus going out there because if you had to take the bus, you definitely couldn’t afford to live there.
“That’s great,” she said, not making much of an effort to sound sincere.
“Guess who bought it?”
“Who, Mom?” If she said “Darcy Fitzgerald,” she’d probably scream.
“Robert Charles II,” Mom said, as if this was supposed to mean anything to her.
“Who?”
“Have you always been this oblivious?” Alejandra looked appalled at Elisa’s very reasonable question. “Mr. Charles is one of the youngest millionaires in the world. His father owns a movie production company—well, owned. He retired a couple years ago, and now it’s his son’s.”
“Did they make any movies I’d know?”
“Oh yeah, loads.” She waved her hand. “Camp Massacre, The Flutist, Camp Massacre 2, that version of Hamlet where Horatio was a dog, Camp Massacre 3: Todd Kills Yet Again… That’s all I got off the top of my head, but you get my point.”
She laughed. “Oh, wow, you should’ve told me we were dealing with Oscar-winners.”
Mom rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “The world becomes a brighter place with every slasher movie, and you know it.”
She chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” She’d seen pictures of her mother in her childhood bedroom, covered in posters for all the bloodiest, most disgusting horror flicks of the day. According to her father, she’d made him watch Child’s Play for their anniversary one time. It was apparently quite romantic.
“Why would Robert want to live out here?” Elisa asked, moving toward the fridge, which forced her to squeeze between her mother and the room divider. Until the year before, she had shared her room with Julieta, the oldest Benitez sister, and Lucia, the youngest. But then, Lucia had decided that she deserved her own room, and had bought a room divider, put a sign declaring “Lucia’s Room” on it, and closed off a little part of the living room to be her own.
She even moved her bed in there herself. Mom had decided it was easier to just let her rather than argue, which was par for the course when it came to Lucia. Elisa was a little irritated that her sister got her own space when no one else did but was mostly just glad to have her out of her hair. Or at least out of her room.
“Even Netherfield probably isn’t as nice as what he’s used to.”
“Who cares?” Mom said. “He’s only twenty-five, single, very good family, very well-off.”
Elisa let the fridge door shut with a small slam, emerging from the kitchen with a tube of Go-Gurt. Eating without a spoon was necessary, because Lucia had blown off her turn at doing the dishes. Again.
“Mom,” she said sternly. “No.”
/> Please, Lord, don’t let her go there, not this early in the day.
“I’m just saying, you or Julieta could do worse.”
Oh, come on. Really? I haven’t asked You for much.
“Mom…”
“Look, Elisa, I know you hate it when I try to set you up but keep an open mind. Would it really be so bad if one of you girls married a wealthy man to take care of you? O-or woman, in your case, dear,” she hastily added, smiling.
Elisa cracked a smile despite herself. When she’d come out as bisexual two years before, her mother and sisters had accepted her with open arms. Mom had also been accepting when the second-youngest sister, Camila, had come out as trans the year before that. She didn’t always understand things, and she sometimes said something so outdated it was cringe-worthy, but Elisa and Camila could both rest easy with the knowledge that their mother’s love was truly unconditional.
Her requirements for a spouse for one of her daughters, meanwhile, had plenty of conditions. This magical person had to make at least $80,000 a year and have a “good family,” whatever that meant. They needed to own, not rent, a home, and must be able to travel whenever they pleased. The last one was strange, but her mom liked to dream big. But the caveat to all of that was their significant others didn’t necessarily have to be male.
Dealing with the extended family had been a bumpy ride, especially on her mother’s side. Some, like her brother, accepted Cam and Elisa as easily as she had, while others, like her parents, didn’t understand either of them. She said that Abuela and Abuelo still loved them just as much as they did before—they just needed some time to adjust their worldview. If they weren’t used to it by now, they probably never would be.
“I’m not saying money isn’t nice to have,” Elisa said, “but it’s not really something I’d think about before I got married.”
Alejandra snorted.
“Mom.”
“I know you’re a romantic, dear, but finances in a marriage are very important. You want to be sure there’s money to take care of your children when you’re gone, and money to enjoy yourself with while you’re still around.”
“You married Papa when you were both flat broke,” Elisa said without thinking. She regretted it as soon as it was out.
Her mother turned away from her as soon as she mentioned her failed marriage. Elisa’s parents weren’t the sort to publicly argue or even slight each other in private—well, her dad did, sometimes, a little—and hadn’t even had to go to court to settle custody. Her mother had full custody, but her father was free to see his daughters anytime.
“Look how that turned out,” she said curtly.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Elisa said, moving closer. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s all right, dear,” she said, though Elisa could tell she was still upset. The way she refused to meet her daughter’s eyes gave it away. “It was fifteen years out of my life. We can’t pretend it never happened.”
As much as you’d love to. “I’m gonna started on my homework. Love you, Mama.” She pecked her on the cheek and headed to her room before her mom could bring up Robert Charles II again.
As a freelancer, Julieta worked from home. From nine a.m. to five p.m., the room she and Elisa shared was her office. When Elisa came in, Julieta was sitting up on her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. It had been a Christmas gift from their father. He was delighted she wanted her own business and told her that it was an “investment.” Elisa and her other sisters had laptops, too, but they were discounted models that were about four years out of date.
“How’s the latest client?” Elisa asked, tossing her bag on the floor and sitting on the bed on her side of the room. Her side was disorganized and had no aesthetic or theme to speak of. Julieta’s was pristinely organized, with furniture, bedding, and accessories in her favorite shades of pink.
“Demanding,” Julieta said, tearing her gaze away from the screen long enough to give her sister a warm smile. “He’s asked to change the layout five times so far.”
Elisa groaned. “It’s like, make up your mind.”
“The customer is always right,” she said with a small shrug. Even so, her smile became ever-so-slightly strained.
“Does that still apply when the customer’s an idiot?”
“It applies especially when the customer’s an idiot.”
Elisa dug through her bag for her book. “Did Mom tell you about the house in Netherfield Park?”
Julieta gave a tiny laugh, shaking her head. Her hair, black and wavy, fell in front of one eye, forcing her to push it back. It was only then that Elisa noticed that Julieta hadn’t even changed out of her pajamas or brushed her hair. That figured. Even unkempt, her older sister looked beautiful. “Only a thousand times.”
“I wonder how she expects us to meet him, anyway. It’s not like he runs with our crowd.”
“I’m sure Mama will find a way. She always does.”
“Well, she fully expects one of us to marry him, I think, soooo… Not it.”
“Gee, thanks. Can I count on you to be my maid of honor?”
“Only if the best man is cute.”
Chapter Two
In Which the Benitez Sisters Attend a Wedding
It had taken less than a week for her mother to find a way.
Even for her, that was impressive.
It turned out, as she explained to her daughters over a Saturday morning breakfast of frozen waffles and canned peaches, that since getting into town, Robert Charles II happened to frequent the same bookstore as their father. When he wasn’t working, Elisa’s dad basically lived in the stacks of tomes, even when he was between paychecks and wasn’t actually going to buy anything. The workers had resigned themselves to his presence.
“So, what, you went over to ‘randomly’ run into him, nineties rom-com style?” Camila asked, pouring about a gallon of maple syrup onto her plate. On Saturdays, it was rare for the Benitez family to have breakfast before ten, and today was no exception. Camila had been the last to rise from her bed, finally appearing at the table sometime around ten thirty in a flowered bathrobe and Hello Kitty slippers. The smell of waffles was a surefire method to wake her up. Maria had been, as usual, the first sister awake, and had wasted no time expressing her annoyance with her for being so slow.
“Don’t be silly, that’d be way too awkward,” Mom said. Elisa relaxed a bit. “I just called up your dad, explained the situation to him, begged him to help me until he agreed to shut me up. Your father says Robert’s going to a wedding next weekend. And your dad is a friend of a friend of the groom, so he managed to wrangle us some invitations. All six of us, and Charlene, too—turns out her boss is a groomsman.”
That last part was no doubt an attempt to stop Elisa from getting too annoyed with the whole thing. It didn’t work.
“How’d you even know where Robert goes?” she asked with a small frown.
Mom stood, going to get the butter out of the fridge. “Oh, don’t pretend you’ve never dug through anyone’s social media before.”
Elisa set her fork down with a clatter, gaping at her. “Mom.”
“It’s not my fault his privacy settings aren’t very good,” she defended herself. Sitting back down, she gave her daughters a sly grin. “He’s posted about a dozen pictures from that store since getting into town. I got to see what he looks like. You know, he’s awfully cute. So many of those millionaires had to become rich to make up for ugliness, but not Robert Charles II, that’s for sure. If I were ten years younger…”
“Mom!” Elisa, Maria, and Camila shouted in unison.
“What kind of cute are we talking here?” Lucia asked, dark brown eyes sparkling as they always did whenever a hot, rich guy was mentioned. Which, with Lucia, was 95 percent of the time. “Like, ‘reads to homeless orphans on the weekends’ cute or ‘has probably stabbed a guy and we love him for it’ cute? Or is he somewhere in-between?”
Elisa stared at her. “What in the
hell are you talking about?”
“There are seven distinct levels of attractiveness,” her sister said. Elisa looked over to Maria and Julieta and was glad to see she wasn’t the only one running on confusion. “Everyone falls on a tier somewhere, and everyone has their own preferences for where they want their boo to land.”
“Does anyone still say ‘boo’ when they mean ‘boyfriend or girlfriend’?” Maria asked.
“I do. It’s cute, it’s easy to say, it’s gender-inclusive, and it reminds me of ghosts. Win-win-win-win.”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Elisa said with a small smile. “Mom, did you have any cute little nicknames you used to call your boyfriends?”
Mom nodded. “Mostly it was ‘sweetie,’ ‘hon,’ or ‘dumbass.’ You know, flirting.”
“Anyhoo,” Lucia said, “I call it the Benitez Sliding Scale of Cuteness. Patent pending. Cam helped me perfect it. It’s all totes scientific.”
“Your mind is a labyrinth, Lulu,” Elisa said.
“Thanks. But, of course, I’ll need to study Robert at closer range to know for sure where he lands…”
“Don’t even think about it, missy. He is too old for you,” Mom said, which was true. Lucia, although the tallest of her sisters at five foot ten, was only fourteen—a fact that often seemed to escape her. “And, for the curious, he’s one hundred percent on the ‘reads to homeless orphans’ end of the scale.”
Elisa was never sure if she envied her mother’s ability to follow Lucia’s thought process or not.
“Is he too old for me?” Camila asked with a playful grin.
Mom gave her a stern stare. “Absolutely.” Camila just laughed and went back to shoveling peaches into her mouth by the spoonful.
Most Ardently Page 2