But casi estoy harta de él?
For Alejandro’s mom to say she had almost had enough of her husband, with such finality and anger . . . what the hell had been going on between the Mirandas? And why hadn’t Alejandro said anything to Anamaría about it?
Anamaría’s mom wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. Her dad stepped away from the two women, his mouth set in a thin line, his expression foreboding. That look often meant trouble for her or one of her siblings, typically Enrique when they were kids.
Her papi pulled his phone from his pocket and stared down at the device, though she didn’t think she had heard his cell vibrate. His thumb swiped the screen, tapped a few times; then he lifted the phone to his right ear to listen to a message.
“Lydia, a situation has come up. I will be back as soon as I can.” He kissed her mom’s cheek, dipped his head in deference to Señora Miranda, then gave Anamaría a grim nod before ducking around the curtain.
She stared at the undulating material for several seconds, surprised by his abrupt departure.
When she turned back to the mamis, hers had guided Señora Miranda over to peer at the photographs commemorating Operación Pedro Pan. The images honored those who had come to the United States as children through the operation’s efforts. Alejandro had visited with a handful in their homes or workplaces, snapping their photographs as they held aged pictures from their childhood. Some had even shared handwritten messages about their experiences, which were framed as part of the display.
Heads angled close together, the two moms were soon engaged in a serious discussion about Cuban history and how their familias had been affected. Wanting to give the two of them some privacy, Anamaría excused herself to make a trip to the ladies’ room, thinking she’d also check on Alejandro’s abuela.
She reached for the curtain, the silky black material slipping through her fingers when she heard Alejandro on the other side.
“Again, I appreciate you giving my idea consideration, Marcelo. I know projects like the one we discussed, when done well, require I commit to being in one location, being here, for at least six months.”
Anamaría blinked with surprise. Joy coalesced with shock at Alejandro’s words, rooting her feet to their spot. Questions bombarded her mind in rapid-fire succession.
Could Alejandro really be considering staying in Key West? Giving himself more opportunity to make amends with his father? Giving her and him more time together?
“Which is why I have to pass. I still think you should pursue it, Marcelo. It’s a good idea. Only not for me. I can’t stay here.”
Wait? He was turning it down?
Like a plug pulled from one of her nephew’s blow-up water floats, the breath she held gushed out of Anamaría, leaving her deflated and empty.
“Are you sure?” Marcelo asked, his obvious disappointment a fraction of the searing disappointment seeping through Anamaría, scalding her heart.
“Positive,” Alejandro answered. “Too much missed opportunity out there. And, as I mentioned, it’s not a good idea for me to stick around here.”
Marcelo said something else, but his voice was muted by the blood whooshing in Anamaría’s ears. She clamped her lips together to smother a whimper of pain as her heart shattered, splintery shards slicing her chest.
It’s not a good idea for me to stick around here.
Dios mío, if she needed any more proof that her feelings for him were one-sided and she should keep singing the friends-with-benefits song they had agreed on, now she had it.
He’d been given an opportunity to stay in Key West while still pursuing his photography. A chance to be with her. But he was turning down Marcelo’s offer. Encouraging the gallery owner to look for someone else.
Alejandro would always be lured by the adventure he sought in faraway places. The call of something bigger awaiting him far from their island held more appeal than those he left behind. Than her.
She’d known that all along. It was her breaking their pact this time, not him.
She’d been a fool. Tricking herself into thinking all she desired was closure, a chance to make a clean break, when she had been secretly hoping he would decide to stay this time. Drop his anchor for good and make Key West, instead of Atlanta, his home base.
If Alejandro stayed, together they could work at changing his dad’s mind. Continue giving him opportunities like tonight to see how Alejandro’s work held value. How his talent honored and paid tribute to their familia and their culture’s legacy.
But running away, choosing to leave not because he had to but because he wanted to, would only maintain the rift between father and son with no way to move past it.
“Bueno, I say we wait until the time is right for you. Whenever you are ready, we will be too,” Marcelo said on the other side of the curtain.
“I appreciate it,” Alejandro responded. “But I won’t change my mind. I can’t. If you’ll excuse me, I should check on my mother.”
Coño, he was coming inside.
Anamaría swiped at a tear she hadn’t even realized had trailed down her cheek. She needed to get out of here, pull herself together, or she’d risk revealing her true feelings for Ale. Something she absolutely refused to do.
Her world might feel like it was crumbling around her again, but this time she wasn’t an insecure teen uncertain about the direction of her life. This time, she had AM Fitness and her partnership with AllFit to concentrate on, to keep her focused on anything other than devasted dreams.
One hand pressed to her belly in a desperate attempt to calm the hornets swarming inside her, she brushed aside the filmy curtain and stepped into the shadowy hallway.
Alejandro blinked his surprise when he saw her, but quickly recovered and flashed his sexy grin.
The hornets in her stomach buzzed, stingers ready to do their damage to her already wounded soul.
“Hi, I was just about to come find—”
“Our moms are giving each other a history lesson,” she interrupted.
Unable to meet his gaze, afraid he’d see the disillusionment in her eyes, she gazed past his shoulder, searching the crowd for her brothers or Gina and Sara. Damn it, they were supposed to be her lifelines in times of need. And this was definitely a freaking time of need.
“Everything okay?” Alejandro shuffled closer.
His warm palm caressed her arm and she edged away, her chest aching. He frowned, head tilted in question.
“I think my papi got a text from the station. He stepped outside to deal with whatever’s going on,” she told Alejandro, thankful for the out her dad had inadvertently given her. “I’m going to see if he needs my assistance.”
Head high, insides trembling, she edged around Alejandro, intent on leaving before the inevitable foolish tears fell. Determined to save face in front of everyone, especially him. Her heart might be broken, but she had survived a broken heart before. She would again.
“Anamaría? Wait!” he called.
Heads swiveled their way at his cry, and her footsteps faltered. Turning to face him, she forced a smile to her stiff lips.
“You did good, Ale. Tonight’s a success.” She gestured around the open gallery with her silly gold clutch. “Everyone’s proud of you.”
“What’s going on?” he pressed. His crutch squeaked as he leaned on it to step toward her.
She shook her head and backed away. “Nothing. I just want to make sure everything’s okay with Papi. But you should go touch base with your mom. I didn’t get a chance to check on your abuela, but she’s going to love your Cuba section. You were right; it resonates with their generations, in a good way. Go, be with them. I’ll . . . I’ll catch you later.”
“Ana—”
“Enjoy this.” Arms spread at her sides, she twisted to indicate the friends and familia who had come to the gallery in support of the local celebrity. He had succeeded in achieving his dream. On his own.
Now it was her turn. On Wednesday she was leaving for Eu
rope. Maybe twelve years later than anticipated. And with a different guy at her side, one who was only a friend. But she was done living in the past. Done waiting for someone else to make his decision and hope he included her. Done holding herself back.
“You’ve earned it, Alejandro. I’m happy for you.” Her voice caught at the end, and she clamped her mouth closed. Willing herself not to fall apart. Not yet.
Without waiting for his response, she spun away, weaving through the crowd and moving quickly toward the front. Her heart bid her to take one last look at him. Her head kept her gaze focused on the main entrance and escape.
This was Alejandro’s world.
Beyond that door up ahead, she had her own world to conquer. A business to grow. And a heart to mend.
* * *
Something was wrong; Alejandro was certain of it.
Anamaría had raced out of the gallery like the hounds of hell were chasing her. And now she wasn’t answering her phone.
After she went looking for her dad, Alejandro had brought his abuela to meet up with his mami and Señora Navarro, answering their deluge of questions about his trip to Cuba and reconnecting with their relatives there. His mami had cried again when he talked about finding the original Miranda’s and what it had been like imagining his abuelo, a man he had never known other than through pictures and stories, tirelessly cooking for customers. A man reminiscent of his own dad. Broad shouldered and robust, with a dark slash for a mustache, known for barking orders to those working alongside him in his kitchen, willing to work harder than anyone else, intent on making a good, honest living to support his familia.
Had he known his boys’ favorite foods and brought them home when he closed the restaurant for the night, even when he was at odds with them, like Alejandro’s papi did?
Would Alejandro’s abuelo have been proud of him and his work, even when his father was not?
Alejandro rubbed the ache in his chest wrought by the question that had haunted him all these years.
Seeing his familia’s emotional reactions to his photographs, hearing similar praise and awe from others throughout the gallery filled him with a sense of gratitude. And naturally, a measure of pride.
But none of that mattered if Anamaría wasn’t here to celebrate and share the moment with him. He’d even settle for an I told you so from her, as long as she was by his side, flashing her cheeky grin, making tonight, making every night, complete.
Fuck, why did it take the fear of a problem between them to make him realize the truth?
He didn’t want to leave her for good. He wanted to be with her, love her.
He simply hadn’t figured out how yet.
“Are you sure Enrique didn’t say anything to you?” he asked Natalia as he followed her into Bellísima’s office to finalize the sale of another piece. The woman was a freaking rock star when it came to matching artwork with prospective buyers, then closing deals.
When he had told her he planned to sell some of his photographs to help Miranda’s, she’d simply said, “Leave it to me. I’ll get you top dollar, so you can ease your brother’s and father’s worries.”
That’s exactly what she’d done tonight.
“Like I said the first, oh, I don’t know . . . What are we at, fifty-seven times now? I lost count.” Natalia heaved an exaggerated sigh and widened her eyes at him in a classic “you are driving me crazy” glare. “Your talented friend and I didn’t talk too long. Enrique clearly wasn’t ready to debate the value of sharing your God-given talents professionally versus hoarding them to yourself or, worse, applying them to vacation mementos that tourists impulse buy and later toss in the garage sale pile.”
Her red lips twisted with derision, indicating her distaste for Enrique’s waste of his talent. A sentiment Alejandro normally agreed with but didn’t care to discuss at the moment.
“The last time I saw your obstinate friend, he and your muse were slipping out the front door.” Natalia hitched a shoulder, her expression twisted in a surprising show of sympathy he didn’t expect from the no-nonsense business woman.
He wasn’t looking for sympathy though. What he wanted was answers.
There were two people still in the gallery who you could always count on to know more about the comings and goings-on of their offspring than said offspring would like. Tonight, their meddling mamis just might come in handy.
Swiveling on his good leg, Alejandro step-swung toward the office door. “FYI, when I find out where Anamaría is, I’m outta here.”
“Wait!”
He stopped, not because of Natalia’s blunt command, but because she’d proven herself to be more than just the art consultant Bellísima had hired, becoming a professional peer he admired and hoped to work with again in the future. Even more, a friend he’d look up the next time he visited the Windy City.
“What?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
When she set down her pen and splayed her hands on the mahogany desktop, he figured he was getting ready to hear another one of her astute observations. Many of which he typically found himself agreeing with.
“Look, I don’t know all the details and I especially don’t need any of the mushy ones,” she told him matter-of-factly. “But when I look at your photographs with her, I am blown away. Emotionally, artistically. When you talk about her, you’re like some guy in one of those romantic comedies my girlfriends have given up trying to convince me to watch with them.”
The kind Anamaría had always dragged him to when they were kids. The kind they had started watching at her place last Friday. Until Movie Night turned into Make Out Night on her couch. In her bedroom. Later, in her shower.
“So.” Natalia pushed the leather office chair back and stood. Not that doing so increased her height by much. Although the intensity of her piercing stare could cut anyone down to size when she wanted. “I’m not sure I believe in all that happily-ever-after crap, but if you feel that way about her . . . and have since freaking high school, that’s either pathetic or as real as it gets. Por favor, no seas estúpido, do something about it.”
Coño, she had that arched-brow, you-know-I’m-right expression down to perfection.
Don’t be stupid. Do something about it.
Once again, he found himself unable to argue with her observation.
That meant he had to find Anamaría, make sure she was okay, and finally admit the truth. While he hated the rift between his parents, his father’s inability to accept him could no longer force Alejandro to put distance between him and the woman he loved.
“You’re right,” he told Natalia,
“Of course, I am.” She grinned and sank onto the desk chair, her attention moving to the paperwork detailing the evening’s sales figures “Fine, go on, get out of here. I’ll stay and be my usual brilliant self. You can thank me later.”
Alejandro pulled open the office door at the same time the black curtain covering the entrance to the Mi Cuba display across the hallway fluttered aside. His father loomed in the opening, and Alejandro reared back in surprised shock.
They froze and stared at each other in silence.
A son’s keen disappointment and resulting anger flooded Alejandro’s chest. Why was his papi here? The man had made it glaringly clear to everyone in their familia, and more than likely a few neighbors who overheard him bellowing, that he would set foot in Bellísima the day he added hot dogs to the menu at Miranda’s.
Translation: never.
“Victor, salte del medio.”
Despite his wife’s bid for him to move out of the way, Alejandro’s dad stayed rooted to his spot, and she wound up squeezing past him. As soon as his mom spotted Alejandro in the office doorway, she joined them in the game of freeze tag.
Do something about it.
Natalia’s no-nonsense advice played back in his mind.
The only “something” Alejandro had done in this battle of wills with his father was leave. His home. His familia. The woman he would always crave a
nd need.
Not anymore.
Alejandro closed the office door, giving him and his parents more privacy. “Hola, Papi, I appreciate you coming.”
His mouth a grim line, his dad dipped his head, accepting Alejandro’s olive branch. “Sí, pues, I am grateful to have a friend who does not take no for an answer.”
He jabbed a beefy hand toward Anamaría’s parents, who stood at the end of the short hallway near the Cultures around the Globe collection. Lydia Navarro looked on, her face creased with motherly concern. Her husband exuded his usual air of quiet authority and calm acceptance, the latter something Alejandro had always wanted from his own father.
An indecipherable look passed between the two older men; then Anamaría’s dad put his arm around his wife and led her away.
“I’m surprised—”
“I want to—”
Alejandro and his father spoke in unison, each breaking off and gesturing for the other to go first. A strained silence fell between them.
Alejandro crooked a finger and tugged at his shirt collar, the fastened top button suddenly making him feel constricted and hot.
He cleared his throat and motioned to the dark curtained area. “If the Mi Cuba space is empty, why don’t we step back inside? The art consultant is finishing some business in the office.”
“Elena, por favor, give us a few minutes to speak alone.”
Alejandro’s mami’s worried gaze skipped back and forth between him and her husband.
“I will not cause a scene,” his old man grumbled.
“¿Me lo prometes?”
“Sí, vieja, I promise.” Gently, he cupped his wife’s shoulder, lips curved below his mustache in the first smile Alejandro had seen from his father in weeks. “Our son and I have an overdue conversation. Déjanos.”
After patting Alejandro’s cheek with a murmured I’m proud of you, hijo, his mami did as requested, leaving them and hurrying down the hall to join their friends.
Alejandro followed his father inside the private room. There, surrounded by the photographs that had felt like Alejandro’s one true connection to his abuelo’s legacy, the weight of familia responsibility settled on his shoulders.
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