Alessandro had gone very still. He looked struck, but not surprised. When he slipped off his sunglasses to better meet Justine’s gaze, Angel noted that his hand trembled a bit. His voice, though, was even. “Where did she get these paintings from? Do you know?”
“I never asked,” Justine replied. “Figured she plucked them off the walls of the family compound. My guess is that she needed the money. Sadly, I see this sort of thing everyday. She dropped your name quite a lot, in case I’d missed the connection.”
Angel ran her hand along Alessandro’s arm. His jaw was tight and his shoulders bunched up with tension. She felt terrible, understanding for the first time the magnitude of pressure that he’d been under. Alessandro had been working alone to find answers, with no one to rely on but himself. His brother and his best friend had advised him to give up. To discover that his niece, the one person he seemed to cherish, had forged his grandfather’s work and used his name to sell it, well...it made her gripes seem like small, shriveled potatoes.
Alessandro’s reaction impressed her. He politely thanked Justine for the information and got up on his feet. She blinked up at him towering over her, solid and stable, even after such a brutal blow. She saw him, not through the screen of his fame and fortune, but the rose-tinted lens of any woman in love with any man. He extended a hand and those shifting sands of emotions settled into solid ground. She took his hand and let him lift her up.
Angel helped Justine to her feet and she walked them to her door. “Come back in happier times,” she said. “I’ll fire up the grill.”
Some neighbors had gathered on the sidewalk across the street to check out the gleaming sports car in Justine’s driveway. A woman pointed when she recognized Alessandro. They quickly ducked into the car before anyone pulled out a cell phone camera. They drove off in silence. Alessandro kept his eyes on the road, his jaw tight. From time to time, he would run a palm over his rugged cheek. Very soon, a thick, oppressive silence filled the car. It was a relief when, at the press of a button, he lowered the top.
They cruised along Rickenbacker Causeway. He was driving her home, which was what she’d wanted, or so she’d thought. The mystery was solved. The gallery was closed and she had no plans to bail out Paloma from federal custody, if she hadn’t made bail already. There wasn’t anything for her to do at home except wallow. Yet she’d made such a scene this morning, he was probably reluctant to invite her back. Would he ever invite her back?
They were about to zip past the beach when Alessandro hooked a sharp right, pulling into the public parking lot. He found a spot facing the water, parked and cut off the engine. Angel held her breath, waiting for his next move. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and let out a long breath. Her heart ached for him.
“I wanted to tell you, Angel,” he said, his voice raw. “I thought I had time. I wanted us to have those days together. Just you and me. Happy. I thought I had time.” He paused and exhaled. “I wasn’t trying to mislead you. Tell me you won’t shut the door on us.”
Angel was stunned. After all that he’d just learned, he was still focused on her. She released her resentment to the wind. Maybe it was a mistake to trust him again, but it was a mistake she just might have to make.
She snapped off her seatbelt and lunged at him. “Don’t worry about any of that.”
He cradled her to his chest and, for a while, the rolling sounds of the surf rocked them both.
“You have so much to deal with,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find Sabina and confront her. Let her know that I know what she’s up to and that it better stop.”
“How will you get your money back?” she asked.
He laughed and it rolled right through her. “Forget the money. She can keep it. Consider it a lifetime of birthday and Christmas gifts wrapped in one.”
“Do you want me to go with you when you confront her?”
“No, my angel,” he said. “I’m taking you home. I have to do this myself.”
“Okay,” she said, nestling closer to him. “Take me home, but first give me a minute.”
She wanted this time with him.
Twenty-One
On the morning of JD’s funeral, Sandro and Eddy had met in their grandfather’s art studio, a shed thrown up in the yard of his house without any care for zoning laws or local regulations. The topic of the meeting was money. Funeral expenses had quickly accrued. Even the most modest of services cost money. Previously, they’d decided to split the costs. That morning, Eddy suggested Sandro sell JD’s paintings, art supplies and furniture to raise money.
Sandro didn’t follow his logic. “Hold a garage sale or something?”
“A garage sale! Bingo!”
“If we sold everything, we probably wouldn’t raise more than $500 and that wouldn’t put a dent in it.”
JD didn’t have many prize possessions to offload. The furniture was old and broken and the house in the Little River neighborhood was a rental. He’d lived in it for years and the homeowners, who wanted only a stable renter, had overlooked JD’s many breaches to the lease, the least of which was the art studio shed. He owned a truck and a boat that he took out on weekends and holidays. Sandro noticed that Eddy hadn’t mentioned selling those big-ticket items.
“I know you want the boat, but if we sold the Ford it would cover everything.”
Eddy’s face had crumbled. “I have plans for the truck.”
“I have plans for the paintings.”
“Like what?” Eddy snapped.
“It’s personal. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Sandro would never forget the flash of anger in his brother’s eyes and his own gut reaction to it. It didn’t help that Eddy had grown into the spitting image of the father they’d both lost, milky white skin, hawk nose and thinning black hair. It was getting tough for Sandro to compartmentalize his feelings for the two men. He was beginning to resent them both.
“I’m opening a business soon. That truck will help.”
“The boat is yours,” Sandro said. “That’s what JD wanted. The truck is for sale. If you want to buy it at a reduced price, we can talk about that.”
The discussion had ended there. It was time to head out to the cemetery for the simple graveside ceremony. Afterward, family and friends gathered at the house. The neighbors brought over tons of food. Some of the guys were huddled in the yard, drinking and smoking. Eddy flicked his lit cigarette and fire tore through the shed.
Sandro left Angel with the promise that he’d return later that night. As soon as he pulled out of the gates of the rental community, he got Sabina on the phone.
Her voice spilled out of the car speakers. “Congratulations on the Golden Globe nomination, Tío!”
Christ! That seemed like a decade ago.
“Thanks,” he said. “Listen, I need to see you.”
“Um... How about a brunch on Sunday?”
“No,” he said. “Ahora mismo.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Is it urgent?” she said. “I’m with my boyfriend.”
“Ask him to give you ten minutes. It won’t take long.”
She rattled off a Miami Beach address. Sandro was not interested in creating a stir, pulling up in the flashy sports car. He got Gus on the phone and made arrangements to switch vehicles. A half hour later, he was riding Gus’s motorcycle. The helmet worked as the perfect barrier between him and the world.
When he arrived at the given address, Sabina was pacing the sidewalk before a sunny three-story art deco building. She looked lovely, as always, in a cherry-red sundress, glossy chestnut hair straight down her back and eyes hidden behind round sunglasses. She pointed to the motorcycle and smirked. “New toy?”
“A loaner.”
“Nice,” she said in a bre
ath. “Tío, I’d like to invite you up but...”
Was she kidding? Hot, thirsty and patience running thin, he wasn’t up for this. “I don’t care where we go, but we can’t stay here. We have to speak in private.”
Sabina folded her arms across her chest and took a rigid stance. “What’s this all about?”
Sandro had no doubt that she knew exactly what this was all about, which explained the stalling tactics. “I’m not getting into it on the sidewalk.”
“Hmm...follow me.”
She led him up two flights of narrow stairs and down a hall to a black door marked APT A in gold art deco font. Sabina unlocked the door and ushered him inside. The apartment was very much a guy’s place. The furniture consisted of glass-top tables and leather seating. “Who’s the boyfriend?”
No answer.
“Will I get to meet him?”
“He stepped out.”
“So...why couldn’t I come up?”
Her cheeks brightened. “He’ll be back soon, and you know...”
He didn’t know. “Doesn’t he know we’re related?”
She crossed the room and plopped down on a black leather ottoman. “Just tell me what’s so important.”
Her harsh tone hurt him. Was he kidding himself for hoping they could resolve this and move on? In reality, his bond with his niece had frayed long ago. Gone were the days when they hung out together, caught a movie and lunch. Even when she stayed on Fisher Island, it was to hang out with the daughter of the trust fund manager who lived in the building.
Sandro dropped his helmet on a bench under a shuttered window. His eye caught a framed painting hanging over a media console with a turntable and a stack of vinyl records. It was a field of sunflowers, faces upturned to the sky, each flower distinct from the other in that distinct JD style.
“You painted that, didn’t you?”
“It’s a hobby,” she said with a slight shrug.
Sandro lowered his head and laughed. “I should have known it was you. The truth was glaring at me the whole time. I was blinded by my love for you, my affection for you...”
Sabina balled her hands into fists. She had ditched her sunglasses when they entered the apartment and she looked young and lost.
“Why?” he asked. “You’re so talented. Why use me to sell JD’s paintings? You could have had a career of your own.”
Sabina shook her head as if she couldn’t believe how dense he was. “No one is going to pay top dollar for some Instagrammer’s artwork, no matter who they’re related to.”
“And they’ll pay top dollar for the work of a long-dead unknown?”
“Do you want to know why I’m so good at what I do?” His answer would have been no, but she continued. “Social media content is only as good as the story it tells.”
Sandro pulled a chair from the dining table and sat facing her. As it so happened, he was in the storytelling business. “If you’ve got a good story, I’m dying to hear it.”
Sabina sat up a little straighter to make up for the inches in height she lacked. It killed him that she saw in him an adversary even though he had come to confront her.
“How does this sound?” she said. “Picture a grandfather, a political exile, who supports his grandchild by peddling paintings of his childhood memories in Cuba. Then lo and behold, that grandchild grows up to be American royalty, a movie star with an Oscar. He lives in Hollywood and his face is on billboards and covers of magazines. It’s the goddamn American Dream and people will pay top dollar for it. Do you get it, Tío? It’s not the paintings people pay for. It’s the mystique.”
He had to admit, she told a damn good story. Too bad it was to rip people off. “If you needed money—”
“I don’t need money,” she said imperiously. “I am doing very well. I did it for Dad.”
“What?” Had Eddy put her up to this?
“I don’t know if you noticed that last time you rolled through,” Sabina said, “but he’s not exactly rolling in money up there. He mortgaged his house to finance the shop and he was going to lose both. I came up with the scheme, so don’t go blaming him.”
Sandro covered his face with a hand, trying to digest it all. The shop had been nearly empty when he’d stopped by, but he’d figured it was a low point in the day. Another thing leaped at him from that day, Eddy’s certainty that he would never catch the forger. Had he known that his love for his niece would blind him to the truth?
“Why not come to me? I could’ve helped out.” Just asking him for the money was a far less complicated plan than the one she’d concocted.
“Dad doesn’t want your money!”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because you’re not the son who should have made it,” Sabina said. “I know this sounds terrible, but I might as well tell you the whole truth since you’re sitting here. You are the kid that my grandfather conceived with some girl he picked up at a bar and here you are today, a movie star! It’s eating Dad up inside. It’s stupid and it’s petty. I don’t feel that way. I love you a lot. But he’s my father. I had to find a way to help him. Please don’t hate me for it.”
Sandro hated himself for what he was going to say next. “How much does he need to get out of this?”
Her gaze dropped. “I don’t know.”
“Give me a number,” he growled.
“About eighty grand.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She jumped to her feet. “He won’t take money from you!”
“But he’ll take it from you,” Sandro said. “I got a crash lesson on money laundering today and this is what we’re going to do. I’ll give you the cash, you’ll give it to him, and that will be the end of it.”
She settled back down. “That might work. I’ll tell him I sold more paintings.”
“About that,” Sandro said. “The paint you’ve been using wasn’t available for commercial use back in the day. At any time any buyer can discover they’ve been duped. Good thing Gallery Six was raided this morning and the FBI arrested the manager. The blame will likely fall on her. But if any other Valero paintings pop up on the market, I’ll know about it. Next time, I won’t be this understanding.”
Sabina grew pale. “It won’t happen again,” she said. “I’ve been sick about it. Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you?”
Eddy, fucking Eddy... How could he have put his daughter in such a terrible position? After JD’s death, Sandro had felt obligated to keep his dwindling family together. He was free of that burden now. Eddy could take the money and go to hell. He hoped it would buy Sabina her freedom. If it didn’t, she’d have to fight for it herself. She was, after all, a multitalented young woman. She could handle herself.
Twenty-Two
Angel filled the tub, dropped in a lavender-scented bath bomb, and slipped on a bunny-eared headband. No news from Alessandro. No need to mope around. Initiate full-code #selfcaresunday on a Wednesday! She slathered on a thick coat of green moisturizing mask that promised to tighten and brighten with the use of sea algae. For a split second she wondered whether Chris would approve. And then it hit her.
Oh, God...it’s only Wednesday.
Alessandro Cardenas had entered her life exactly one week ago. One week! She had aged during that week. She’d likely sprouted gray hairs; if she searched, she would find some. Angel sank onto the Lucite vanity bench that matched her bathroom’s faded 1980s glamour, as did most of the apartment, which kept the rent relatively cheap. One week to turn her life upside down. Now, granted, he wasn’t responsible for Paloma’s shady shit. It wasn’t his fault that she’d stayed on at a job that did not fulfill her, ignoring her own instincts on which path to take. She couldn’t blame him that she had failed to define success for herself, letting her mother’s voice stoke her fears of failure—as if failing was the worst thing that could happen in the course
of a life. But he’d come at a time when the dormant volcano had erupted.
Alessandro’s presence had shone a great bright light in the dark corners of her life. Things that she’d wanted to sweep up under the rug—her dependence on Chris, her lack of focus on her future, her irrational fear of failure and her need to feel secure. She had to clean up her act. She could fly without a safety net. She could tell her mother, and her sister, too, for that matter, to back off, and not lose her cool—without losing anything, really. She could do it and move forward. If she failed, she failed. She was still young enough to make mistakes. Life didn’t end at thirty. Why could she see a path forward for Justine, but only walled-off corridors for herself?
Angel rested her palms on the cool faux-marble countertop and studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked calm and confident, celery-green face mask and bunny ears and all. We’re going to make some changes around here. Got that? Then her phone pinged with a message and she tabled the pep talk.
BEST MALE LEAD: I’m here. Just parked.
Angel was in her bra and panties. She grabbed a towel off the rack, wrapped it around her chest and raced out of the apartment. Her heart thundered; she so badly wanted to see him. From the breezeway corridor, she had a view of the parking lot. She searched for the flashy little sports car and, not finding it, noticed the man dismounting a motorcycle. She would have recognized that walk anywhere.
There was her lover...
Angel had her phone with her and she called him. His phone lit up and he raised it to his ear. “Hey!” she said, teasing. “Look at you, easy rider!”
He looked up and spotted her. “No... Look at you, little bunny.”
She laughed and brought a hand to her bunny ears. “I gave up on you. I was going to take a bath.”
His golden voice filled her ears. “That sounds good. May I join you?”
“It’s not a big Jacuzzi tub like you’re used to.”
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