by R. S. Kovach
Nearly ready after pulling on a silk top and capri pants, she was buckling her sandals when the clasp broke. “Son of a—” Ali cut short the curse. She’d only worn the shoes once before, and they had cost a bundle.
Besides those sandals, she had only brought sneakers and heels, so she checked the closet to look for something more appropriate. Behind her worn riding boots, she found a pair of leather flip-flops she’d bought in Greece during her time abroad junior year of college. She had worn them almost daily during her stay on the southernmost tip of the Balkan Peninsula, and they were just as comfortable now as she’d remembered.
Preparing for the inevitable, she glanced in the mirror above her dresser one more time, adjusted her lipstick with her finger, and headed downstairs. Along the way, she ran into an old friend who’d managed to evade her the night before.
“Tango, baby. Where have you been hiding?” She picked up the calico cat strolling out of the dining room. Holding the animal against her, she scratched him between the ears while he rubbed his face against her chin. “I missed you too, but today may be a bit hectic, so you better lie low.” She reluctantly returned him to his spot on one of the cushioned chairs.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee drew her to the kitchen, where a familiar figure was sitting on a bar stool hunched over the center island.
“Morning, little brother.” Ali tousled his wavy brown hair as she passed. “Why are you eating in here? I thought there was a formal brunch in the yard soon.”
Marco shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth before responding. “There is, but I’m working. Remember?” He nodded toward the photography equipment at the far end of the counter.
“Ooh, new camera?” Ali tried to step around him, but Marco snatched the device out of her reach.
“Old camera, new lens,” he mumbled, placing the expensive equipment in his lap for safekeeping.
“Are you kidding me? You won’t even let me see—”
“Am I going to have to separate you two?” Dressed in skinny white pants, a bright yellow cardigan, and turquoise kitten heels, Grace Barros looked perfectly put together—as always—and ready for her big day.
“Good morning, Mom.” Ali forced a smile.
“Morning, sweetheart.” She kissed Ali on the cheek. Pulling away, she fingered the sleeve of her daughter’s shirt. “This boatneck isn’t doing you any favors.”
Ali took a deep breath before responding. “It’s nice to see you, too.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Grace stepped to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cupful. “How have you been, darling? You don’t call as often as you used to.”
With her mother’s back turned, Ali safely rolled her eyes. “You know how busy I am.”
“Not just with work, I hope.” Grace spun around. “Are you making time for a social life, Alejandra?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I go out all the time. And I’ve really racked up the frequent-flyer miles—”
Grace shook her head. “I suppose I should be happy to have raised two such successful children, but I’m afraid you’re both going to drive yourselves mad with your ambitions.”
“Don’t tell me it didn’t make you proud to see my cover on last month’s Vogue, Mom.” Marco grinned, taking his empty bowl to the sink.
Grace smiled. “It was lovely, darling. You have such a great eye for composition.” She patted her youngest child on the cheek. Marco winked slyly at his sister.
“Good grief.” Ali pouted, feeling all her childhood insecurities return. As she watched her brother exit through the French doors leading to the back patio, she struggled to come up with a reason to follow him. When nothing came to mind, she relented and grabbed a cup from an overhead cabinet. While her mother scanned the Travel and Leisure section of the New York Times, Ali poured some coffee, hoping to be able to drink it and disappear.
“Are you seeing anyone these days?” Grace looked up from the paper just as Ali took her first sip. She coughed as the bitter liquid slipped into her windpipe. No chance of a quick exit now.
“Not really.” She put the cup down and opened the refrigerator. Finding the soy milk, she poured it into the coffee as she continued. “Manhattan’s not ideal for the dating scene, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.” Grace frowned. “But what about looking closer to home?”
Ali raised a skeptical brow. “Like?”
Grace slowly folded the paper before continuing. “How about Robert Rochet? He’s handsome, successful, and newly single.”
Ali put up her hand. “Been there, done that.”
“Alejandra!” Her mother furrowed her forehead in an oft-practiced sign of displeasure.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Ali grimaced. “That semester during college with him is one I’ll never get back. Pretty-boy trust-fund babies were never my style, but you can’t say I didn’t give it a try.” She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped the coffee, signaling an end to the topic.
Grace stood and walked to her daughter’s side. “Very well.” She sighed, patting Ali’s arm. “We missed you at dinner last night. Did you get in late?”
“Not really.” Ali was about to describe the previous night’s predicament when the realization hit her. “That’s it! It was you!” She pointed an accusatory finger at her mother. “You set me up last night to get stranded so Robert could conveniently just happen to drive by and give me a ride!”
Grace narrowed her eyes in confusion. “No . . .”
“I don’t believe you.” Ali crossed her arms.
“She’s telling the truth.” A man with salt-and-pepper hair entered the kitchen. “Your mother had nothing to do with it. It was my idea.”
“Daddy!” Ali put down her mug and ran up to hug him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to be happy.” He kissed her on the cheek.
She drew away. “And you think Robert would make me happy?”
“Of course not. You’re much too good for that boy.” He laughed. “But you needed to be reminded to keep looking.”
“What’s wrong with Robert?” her mother asked.
Ali dismissed her with an exasperated shake of her head. “Give it up, Mom.”
It was the perfect opportunity to escape, but as she moved to leave, her father stopped her. “Do you have a few minutes to spare for your old man? I want to get your opinion on something.”
“Sure, Daddy.” Ali turned on her heel, but he held up a hand.
“Phone?”
Her jaw dropped. “Really? So we’re still doing this?”
He pulled his lips into a tight line. “House rules.”
Ali sighed. “Fine.” Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, she deposited the device into a wicker basket on top of the refrigerator reserved for that exact purpose.
She followed her father into his study and plopped onto a comfy love seat as he sat at his beloved baby grand piano. Supposedly, Louis Armstrong had originally bought it with his first royalty check as a gift for his second wife, but Ali was mostly reminded of all the hours she’d spent indoors during her childhood because of it. Unfortunately, she never came close to being as good on the instrument as her father. Marco was the one who had inherited his artistic genes, even if his talents were focused on photography. Then again, neither man could equal her in the saddle.
Watching him rifle through a stack of sheet music, Ali tapped her fingers on her thighs in anticipation. “Did you write something new?”
“It’s your mother’s anniversary present, but I’m not quite happy with the ending.” He found what he was looking for and placed it on the music rack. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then leaned over the keys and began to play.
A chill ran through Ali as she sat, mesmerized by the music. Her father’s fingers danced over the keys, a
nd his body swayed with the rhythm of the composition. It was indescribably beautiful, exuding love with every crescendo, and she could have listened to it all day long.
“This is the finale I had originally,” he interrupted her musings, transitioning to a slower pace with a more subdued melody than the rest. It was nice, but Ali understood why he wasn’t satisfied. Esteban Barros never settled for nice. He delivered nothing less than perfection, whether it was the soundtrack to an Oscar-worthy movie or a piece for an internationally renowned ballet troupe. And his wife’s gift naturally had to outshine them all.
“Here’s the alternative.” He backtracked in the composition, replaying the lead-in before jumping into the revised ending.
The song wasn’t even finished when Ali knew which one was better. The newer, more forceful climax elevated her heartbeat and immediately brought her mother to mind. When the last notes rang out, she stood and clapped.
“Definitely this one.” She smiled at her father. “Mom will be speechless.”
Esteban got up from his stool. “That’s a rare result, so I suppose I’ll take it.” He grinned, putting an arm around his daughter. “Have you said hello to the rest of the family yet?”
Ali shook her head. “Not yet. Must I?”
“Don’t make it sound like a chore, Alejandra.” He kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “For me?”
“Oh, all right.” She left the room and headed for the backyard.
While the family brunch was the least formal of the weekend’s activities, the setup was still more extravagant than she’d expected. White-cloth-covered tables dotted the flagstone patio where an army of caterers was putting the finishing touches on the preparations. Floral centerpieces of pastel roses and cream lilies filled the air with their sweet scent, adding a soft touch to the crystal and silver table settings.
Children dressed like they’d just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog ran on the pristinely manicured grass, sampling the available lawn games, while their parents sipped mimosas from champagne flutes just far enough away to avoid any stray croquet balls. Knowing there was no way she could avoid them all weekend, Ali took a deep breath and made her way through her gaggle of aunts and uncles, varying degrees of cousins, and their myriad partners. By the time she was done with the necessary pleasantries and brief updates, she wanted to run back to Manhattan screaming.
She loved her extended family dearly and there was nothing wrong with their white picket fences, four-door sedans, and two point three kids. But when they prattled on about the burdens of their forty-hour-a-week jobs, peewee soccer matches, or annual ski holidays while simultaneously questioning why she wasn’t on her way toward the same lifestyle, Ali felt like she could tear her hair out.
Finding herself alone just a few feet from the appetizers, she grabbed a napkin and loaded it with canapés. It wasn’t wholly satisfying, but she wasn’t ready to be trapped for a full sit-down meal, even if it meant only getting a bite-sized treat instead of a heaping plate of prosciutto and eggs on rye.
Her mouth watered thinking about the soon-to-be-missed delicacies as she passed the large tent set up for the upcoming party. The evening’s program of music and dancing was more her style, but that was still hours away. Even so, the fairy lights had already been hung, and the DJ was there, checking the wiring to the massive speakers.
Popping a pâté-topped cracker into her mouth, Ali stopped at the water’s edge. There, tethered to the wooden dock extending into the sea, the family sailboat gently bobbed. The sleek forty-two-footer shone in the bright sunlight, tempting her to climb on board.
“Do you want to take her for a spin? For old times’ sake?” Robert came up to her from behind, making Ali jump.
She turned and swallowed the last of her meal. “Is that why you conspired with Dad to save me damsel-in-distress style last night? For old times’ sake?”
Robert’s grin disappeared and he took a defensive step backward. “Was I supposed to let you walk?”
Aha! So he isn’t even bothering to deny it, Ali thought. “Neither you nor my father has the privilege of letting me do anything.” She crossed her arms in a huff.
He tilted his head and pouted. “So are you mad at me now?”
To someone who didn’t know him well, the look would have seemed smug or even conceited. To Ali, it was the familiar reaction of a boy she’d known most of her life who’d constantly vied for her attention, and, briefly, for her affection. She sighed, remembering not only her history with Robert, but also her aching feet from last night. “Of course not. You meant well, and Dad’s already confessed to being the mastermind behind your little scheme.”
Robert laughed, throwing his head back and letting the breeze blow through his blond locks. “Then how about that boat ride?”
Ali may have been fond of him once, but the last thing she wanted was to be stuck alone with Robert for hours on the open water. “Dad promised the kids he’d take them out later.” She theatrically shrugged her fake regret to accompany the improvised lie.
“Oh, well—how about going down to the equestrian center, then?” His eyes lit up. “There’s a big meet coming up, isn’t there?”
“Yes. The qualifiers for national show jumping are next month.” It was sweet of him to remember her favorite—actually her only—pastime, but this request she could easily refuse without lying. “But I haven’t stabled here for years, and my membership has lapsed.”
“I can bring you as my guest. It would be fun to see what you can do.” He grinned impishly, revealing the faint dimple in his left cheek.
Ali shook her head. “My mare is up in Jersey—”
“C’mon, Alley Cat—um, Ali,” he corrected, seeing her disapproving gaze. “Isn’t there an event where the riders compete with unfamiliar horses?”
“Pentathlon,” she answered, knowing where this was heading.
“Right.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “So it’s not unheard of. Think of it as an added challenge.”
Ali cleared her throat, feeling her resolve falter. “I don’t know. I really wasn’t planning on it.”
Robert stepped closer and held her by the elbows. “You have a kit here, right?”
“Yeah . . .” She bit her lip.
He laughed. “No excuses, then. C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
Going around to the front of the house to avoid the increasing number of guests, Ali hurried upstairs to grab her riding gear. It must have been years since she’d worn them, but the old stretchy white shirt, padded khaki pants, and leather boots hidden in her closet fit her just as well now as the last time. Even so, her palms were sweating as she clutched the velvet-covered helmet, still not quite sure of her commitment to this idea. But when Robert met her on the front porch in a similar outfit, her doubt began to dissipate.
He was right. She needed to practice, and it would also get her away from annoying questions like when she was going to get married or which IPOs were surefire winners, which she wouldn’t even know. She wasn’t a stockbroker, but so many relatives confused her with someone who sold equity in publicly traded companies.
“Oh, shoot. I think my cell’s still in the kitchen.” She touched her empty pocket as she stepped over the threshold, but Robert caught her hand.
“Leave it.” His tone was light, more of a request than a command. “It’ll do you good to unplug for a bit.”
Ali scrunched her nose but followed along. “You sound like my dad.”
Robert chuckled, running ahead to open the car door. “Well, Esteban is a wise man.”
Their destination was just a short drive away. When they arrived at the large hangarlike structure housing the East Hampton Equestrian Center, the receptionist greeted the duo with a smile.
“Your trainer’s ready for you, Mr. Rochet.” The young woman ticked off something on a clipboard. “Go on back to the st
ables, and enjoy your afternoon.”
Robert nodded in acknowledgment, and Ali had to hasten her steps to keep up. “Did you have all this planned, too?” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop in the middle of the hallway to face her.
“A little bit,” he said.
A knot formed in Ali’s stomach; she knew—no, feared—what might happen next. Something kept her rooted to the spot, unable to react, when he paused and then bent down and kissed her on the lips. The act sent a shock wave through her, which was enough to break the moment. She took a small step backward and drew one hand to her lips where his had just been.
“What the hell was that about?” It took every ounce of her self-control to keep from slapping him across the face.
Robert’s satisfied smirk changed to an expression of surprise. Putting his hands up, he attempted to rectify the situation. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t think you’d mind,” he stammered.
Ali wiped her lips with her shaking hand. “Didn’t think I’d mind? Of course I mind! Just because—” She stopped as a group of riders came out an adjacent door. “Oh, forget it.”
Turning on her heel, she marched away from him. “We came here to ride, so let’s ride.”
She led the way to the stables, where the first order of business was to pick out a horse. Ali balled her fists nervously as soon as she saw the selection, comprised of mostly Belgian Warmbloods and Holsteiners. Although they were no doubt some of the best breeds in her sport, she didn’t have experience with any of these particular animals. A glance over their names—Vechta, Selle, Hans, Sienna, and several more unfamiliar ones—confirmed she hadn’t ridden any of the current crop in the past.
“This is going to be a problem,” she muttered as Robert walked up to a chestnut mare and began to stroke her nose, seemingly fully recovered from his earlier blunder.
“You’re a champion jumper, Ali,” he countered, attempting to ease her fears. “Trust the animal. She’ll take your lead.”