“Mis queridas,” Papá wraps an arm around both women. “Let’s go out to the waiting area and discuss this calmly. “I’m sure something can be done . . .,” I hear him say as he steers them out the door, into the hospital corridor, with Raymond trailing behind.
“Whew, I thought they’d never leave!” I say jovially as I make my way over to the side of Pilar’s bed that’s been freed up by our parents and sister’s departure and plop down next to her.
“That wasn’t nice,” Pilar chides me. “You know Ana was keeping George’s suspension from Mamá and Papá because she didn’t want them getting in her family’s business.”
“Oooops!” I say, with a playful wink. “Pass over that baby, would you? I want to get a good look at her now that she’s been de-gooped.”
“She’s just waking up, so . . .” Pilar gingerly hands her precious cargo over to me, with the warning, “Support her head!”
I roll my eyes. “This is my sixth time becoming an aunt to a newborn. I think I know how to handle one of these now.”
Yikes! I’d forgotten how small and squirmy babies are when they first arrive. This one is kicking her legs out and I can see her pushing her tiny fists against the blanket she’s wrapped in. “She doesn’t like being swaddled,” I quickly determine. Isobel backs me up by scrunching up her face and letting out a wail of frustration.
“Oh, dear.” Pilar takes Isobel back, setting her down on her lap and unwrapping the baby burrito. As soon as her arms and legs have been liberated and she can flail around as much as she likes, Isobel stops crying.
“Take note,” I tell her parents. “Just as long as you do exactly what she wants, your lives will be a lot easier.” Staring down at my niece, I say, “She really does look like Mamá, doesn’t she?” Same black hair, olive complexion, full lips, and big, dark eyes.
“And you,” Pilar points out lest I forget that I am the Alvarez daughter who most closely resembles Miss Miami 1977.
“Yeah, I guess she does.” I grab one of Isobel’s little feet and pull the limb out to its full length. “These are definitely the legs of a future supermodel.” Lowering my head, I coo, “Do you want to get photographed wearing bikinis like your Aunt Izzy?”
“Not a chance!” Ford quickly covers the baby with her blanket again. “I’m buying her a whole wardrobe of burkas that she’ll wear exclusively until she’s thirty. No, forty.”
“Ha! That’ll never work. If she’s got it, she’s going to want to flaunt it. With great beauty comes great power, Isobel. Use that power wisely . . . and to get lots of free stuff.” I tickle her stomach, and she laughs. Okay, gurgles, but that’s the newborn equivalent of a chuckle.
Pilar shakes her head disparagingly. “She’s only a few hours old, and you’re already leading her astray.”
“No, I’m bestowing valuable life lessons on her. Here’s another one, Isobel: There’s nothing fun about being torn between two men, so avoid romantic triangles at all costs.”
Pilar places her hand on mine and gives it a sympathetic squeeze. “Why don’t you talk to Zane? That might give you some clarity.”
“I know what I have to do, and—” Before I can lay out my plan, Isobel starts fussing.
“I think it’s time for a feeding,” Ford attempts to translate his daughter’s cries, which could just as easily mean she needs a diaper change or she wants us all to shut up so that she can get some sleep.
I immediately spring off the bed, declaring, “I’m out!” because watching my sister breastfeed is at the very bottom of my Things I Want To Do list. “Enjoy your meal, Isobel. ¡Adiós, padres!” I give a little finger wave to Ford and Pilar and leave them to it, thankful that the only person I need to worry about feeding is myself.
CHAPTER 36
“Eduardo!” I call his name as I travel across the Jerusalem stone floor in his home’s foyer, then dump my purse on the hand-carved mahogany bench positioned against the wall. He doesn’t respond, so I walk to the end of the entryway and veer left toward the main living area.
“Eduardo!” I shout again.
I know he’s here because his Ferrari is outside. This place is so big it might take me a while to find him, though. He’s not in the living room, which is probably my favorite place in the house. I love the room’s chandelier that’s both rustic with its metal framework and elegant with the dripping crystals inside, the dark hardwood floors, and the creamy white sectional sofa dotted with black print and solid chartreuse throw pillows (of course, I had to throw a bright pop of color in there somewhere).
“Eduardo!”
Where is that man? Maybe in the kitchen making a snack . . . ha! In all the months I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Eduardo prepare any kind of food. Once, when we were hanging out at the bungalow, he said he was hungry and I told him there was some turkey from the deli in the fridge if he wanted to make a sandwich, and he looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. Having the money to eat out (or call room service) has rendered him helpless in that regard.
Okay, he’s not in the workout room, or the home theater on the other side of the house either. There’s only one more option on this floor, so I head to the far end of the corridor, where there’s a room I turned into a den/study. (It was formerly a library, but Eduardo’s not big on reading. So, I had all the bookshelves removed and replaced them with a big-screen TV, then filled the room with comfy, masculine furnishings so that it would have a less formal vibe.) I find my husband-to-be sitting perched on the edge of the den’s caramel-colored leather couch, tapping away on his laptop, which is nestled in a bed of spreadsheets lying on the Carrara marble-topped coffee table.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Did you not hear me calling your name?”
“Lo siento.” He keeps typing, not bothering to look up at me. “I’ve been focused on this report.”
“And that makes you deaf?” I query irritably.
Either he’s tuned me out again, or he’s choosing to ignore my snarky question, because there’s a long pause while his fingers continue to fly across the keys. I’m wondering if he’s forgotten I’m in the room when he asks, “How’s everything at your sister’s?” in a distracted voice.
“Fine. The baby is home from the hospital, chillin’ in her new nursery, and Pilar was really appreciative of me prepping the crib and making sure the mobile was up.” Hint, hint. Eduardo saw his completely renovated house (the one I’ve spent months decorating) for the first time tonight, but he has yet to tell me what he thinks of the place and he certainly hasn’t offered any gratitude for all my hard work.
“Uh huh, that’s nice.” He finally stops typing, but only so that he can start thumbing through a spreadsheet.
“Have you had a chance to look around? Do you want me to give you the grand tour?” I’m really proud of how the place turned out and I’d like to point out some special features and pieces to him.
“Thanks, but I already did a walk-through.” He’s now highlighting figures on the spreadsheet with a fluorescent yellow pen.
By “walk-through” he probably means he went straight from the foyer down the hallway to the first room he noticed that had a place to sit, and I’d be willing to bet he was on the phone the entire time and didn’t take much notice of his surroundings.
I move a few steps forward and cross my arms over my chest. “And what did you think of the master bedroom? Did you like the chinchilla bedspread and the purple shag carpeting?”
“Uh, yeah . . .” His eyes are swiveling from the spreadsheet to his computer screen and back again. “I thought everything was great.”
“Argh!” I scream, stomping my foot in frustration.
“What?” He lifts his head to frown at me.
“All the time and energy I put into making sure this house would be a beautiful oasis for you, and you don’t care. You might as well be back at your hotel room with its soulless, monochromatic décor.”
“I do care. It’s just that I really need to finish this ac
tion plan so that I can present it to my executive team at our meeting tomorrow.”
“You’re going into the office on a Saturday again?”
“I have to. Until this Guzman acquisition is a done deal and we’ve fully—”
“Enough, enough!” I hold up my hand to stop him from giving me the same old, tired excuses. “I get it. Work comes first; it consumes your every waking moment, blah, blah, blah.”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “It won’t always be like this.”
“I think it will and I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s not going to work for me.”
I’d imagined that ending my relationship with Eduardo would be difficult, but he’s made it very easy. Zane was right. I could never be happy with a man, no matter how much money he has, if he can’t give me the thing I crave most and that’s attention. I refuse to spend my life taking a back seat to my husband’s job!
No longer feeling any qualms about this decision, I yank off my diamond ring and smack it down on the stack of spreadsheets in front of Eduardo. “We’ve had a good run, but—”
“Can we talk about this in like thirty minutes?” he pleads. “I just need to wrap up this action plan while all of the data is fresh on my—”
“Ohmigod!” I groan, squeezing my hands into fists that I’m sorely tempted to pummel him with. “You can’t even put work on hold for a few minutes so that I can break up with you!”
He appears to be befuddled. “But you’re not serious about that, are you? I thought you were just making one of your dramatic pronouncements to divert my attention from the computer. You really shouldn’t leave this ring lying around. You’d be upset if something happened to it.” He scoops up the Tiffany’s sparkler and holds it out to me.
I don’t take the ring. Instead, I heave an exasperated sigh and plop down next to him on the couch. “We can’t get married, Eduardo. It would be a disaster, and we’d both be miserable. I know it seemed like we were exactly what the other one needed when we first got together and that’s why we rushed into making this big commitment, but time has shown that we don’t want the same things. You need someone who’s as driven and career-oriented as you are, someone who won’t be resentful about all the time you devote to work, and I need someone who’s there for me without me even having to ask, someone I can share every little piece of my life with, someone who makes me feel important, cared for, and appreciated.”
Eduardo exhales a breath, and with a dejected expression, he sets the ring on the coffee table. When he turns back to me, he takes my hand and sandwiches it tenderly between both of his. “I’ve failed you, Isidora. I thought that you and I could have the same type of relationship and marriage my parents do; that I could juggle work and you without shortchanging either, but there just haven’t been enough hours in the day and you’ve suffered as a result. Perhaps if we’d met a few years down the road when I was more established in my job . . .”
“And maybe if I weren’t so damn high-maintenance,” I add, with a smirk.
“You’re not high-maintenance. You just want more than I am able to give right now and you deserve a partner who will be around for birthday parties, art shows, and romantic dinners, who will be an active participant in decorating your house and planning your wedding. I regret I couldn’t be that man.”
“We’re just not well-suited. That’s all. And I think it’s good we figured that out now so that we can end things while we still like each other.” I do my best to put a positive spin on the situation.
He lifts my hand to his chest where he presses it against his heart. “I will always have the greatest affection for you.”
“Same here. And I consider our time together well-spent. I’ve learned a lot about myself over these last few months and now I can move forward with a better idea of what I want out of life and how to get it. Thank you for that and for being so kind and generous with me.” I move my hand to cradle the side of his face and place a soft, parting kiss on his lips, which he returns with a lot more fervor (and tongue!) than I was expecting.
When I pull back, his eyes are dark with arousal. “Before you go, why don’t we christen that sleigh bed in the master?”
My eyebrow lifts inquisitively. “I thought you needed to finish your action plan.”
“I’m much more interested in another kind of action at the moment.” He reaches for the knot that’s tying the front of my low-cut white linen top closed.
“So, you’re proposing breakup sex?” I’m not going to do it, of course, but I am flattered he wants to.
“For closure,” he claims as he starts to pull apart the ties.
I debate if I should let him feel me up one last time. Cutting Eduardo off from the twins without allowing him to give them a proper goodbye would be unnecessarily cruel, and maybe I do owe him a little consolation prize since I cheated on him with— Oh, crap, Zane! Now that I know he’s the one I have legit feelings for, it wouldn’t be right for me to let another guy go to second-base.
I stay Eduardo’s hands just as they’re about to open my shirt. “I’m afraid that us having a final roll in the hay would set an impossible standard for your next girlfriend to live up to.”
“You will be a tough act to follow in the bedroom,” Eduardo admits.
“You can always close your eyes and think of me,” I say cheekily as I rise from the couch, reknotting my top.
“In that leopard print bra and panties with the garters and stockings,” Eduardo murmurs the words reverently as he flashes back to that afternoon in his office. “That’s a sight I’ll never forget.”
“Good.” I’m glad to know that all of my efforts to make an impression on him that afternoon in his office were not in vain.
“I am sorry that things turned out the way they did that day. I was embarrassed about Gillian walking in on us and I overreacted, blaming you when I was equally at fault.”
“And why do you think you overreacted?”
“I don’t know.” He averts his eyes, scratching his stubbled chin.
“You do. You just don’t want to own up to it. She’s in love with you, you know.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. “Why would you say that?”
“Uh, because it’s totally obvious. When she and I went out to lunch that one time, she talked about you like you were the second coming of Antonio Banderas.” Clutching my hands in front of my heart, I affect the breathless, high-pitched voice of a woman who’s been struck by Cupid’s arrow, “‘Oh, Eduardo . . . he’s so handsome, sweet, and thoughtful. He took me to prom, and it was the best night of my life. If only he would return my feelings, we could be so happy!’”
Eduardo frowns at me. “I’m quite sure you’re embellishing. Gillian would never be so forthcoming with her feelings.”
“You’re right. She’s totally repressed, but these things don’t have to be spelled out. You just have to be observant. Why don’t you put the poor woman out of her misery and tell her you’re into her, too?”
Eduardo’s swarthy skin reddens. “I didn’t say I was into her!”
“But you are. Maybe that light bulb didn’t go off over your head until she stumbled into our Skinemax moment at your office and it was clear to see how hurt she was, but you care about her a lot and not just in a friend-slash-co-worker way.”
“It’s complicated,” he tells me.
“Well, you’re not engaged anymore so that should uncomplicate it for you.”
“Not really,” he grumbles.
Eduardo’s love life may no longer be my concern, but I still feel the need to say, “I know you don’t want to disappoint your parents, but you can’t live your life to please them. If you want to date or marry a woman who’s not a Latina, they’ll just have to get over it.”
He looks bemused. “I can’t believe you’re trying to matchmake me with Gillian.”
I shrug. “Just because things didn’t work out for us doesn’t mean I want you to be alone or unhappy.” Also, if he makes it of
ficial with his work wife, I don’t have to feel guilty about deserting him for Zane. It’s a win/win for all of us. “Think about it.” I give him a fond pat on the shoulder.
“I will. Thank you.” He picks up my hand and kisses the ridge of my knuckles, then flips it over and places the Tiffany’s ring on my open palm. “Take it,” he says, curling my fingers around the diamond. “I had this ring made for you, so it’s yours to do with as you like.”
That’s really sweet, but it’s not like I can keep wearing the ring since it represents a commitment that’s null and void. Oooooo, what if I hocked it? The ring was appraised at six figures and even if I only got half of that . . .
“You’re a prince!” I exclaim, excitedly planting a smacker on his lips, then I bounce out of the room, my head spinning with all the things I could do with this unexpected windfall.
CHAPTER 37
When the door to my parents’ condo opens to reveal Mamá standing in the entryway, I’m so surprised that I blurt out, “Why are you here?”
“Where else would I be? Está es mi casa, isn’t it?” She crosses her arms over her décolletage, which is being shown to great advantage by her off-the-shoulder top. She’s paired the top with some cute, patterned palazzo pants I could actually see myself wearing.
“Yes, but you said yesterday that your cuticles were in ‘dreadful’ condition and you were going to book a Moroccan oil treatment for your nails this morning.”
Pursing her ruby red-glossed lips with irritation, Mamá says, “Teresa can’t see me until Tuesday. You’d think she would’ve rescheduled one of her appointments today and given me that slot since this is an emergency and I am one of her most loyal clients, but no, she refused to help, the ungrateful girl. I have half a mind to take my business elsewhere!”
“You should totally do that,” I advise as I brush past her into the foyer. “Why don’t I call my manicurist, Lucía, and see if she can squeeze you in? You might have to wait at the salon for an hour or so . . .” I’m already scrolling through the contacts list on my cell phone.
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