Sofia nodded and stared out the window. It was a gloomy day. All the surrounding buildings were shrouded in fog. Sofia was alone with Leila in the conference room with a tray of rainbow-hued macarons between them. Of all the times she’d stopped by the agency, this was the first time she’d been given the royal treatment, which included her choice of coffee, tea or champagne. The difference: she was a client.
Disheartened, Sofia pushed away her teacup. She liked her tea the way Jon made it for her—dark and rich with milk and real sugar. And she had no interest in meeting anyone new, interesting or not, at the pool, the gym or anywhere else. But as Leila had said, she was more or less single. She hadn’t heard from Jon since he’d slapped her with an ultimatum. For a day or so, she’d found strength in her wounded pride. Then a day or two passed, the weather changed and Sofia’s mood changed with it. June had brought constant rainstorms. The gloom that had taken over the skies had settled in her heart. By the end of the week, she’d begun to suspect the mysterious forces that had brought them together through a string of chance meetings were not strong enough to keep them together.
Then her mother had called to remind her about Father’s Day. It was coming up in a couple of weeks and she’d made reservations at her dad’s favorite restaurant. Her dad never wanted gifts for the occasion, but a family dinner was mandatory.
“Remember to tell Franco,” her mom said. “Remind him that he is always welcome in our family.”
Her mother assumed that Franco had been avoiding the family out of shame over his legal troubles—as if Franco had any shame. Sofia said only that she’d be stopping by on Saturday afternoon and hung up.
Saturday it would all be over. She had no intention of messing up her timeline to meet Jon Gunther’s demands.
Leila reached out and touched her shoulder. “I know it’s overwhelming,” she said. “We don’t have to move so fast.”
Actually, they weren’t moving fast enough. “I need someplace to live.”
“Then I recommend you rent,” Leila said. “I have clients who own investment properties. I’ll hook you up with a high-end condo with all the amenities.”
Nick poked his head through the conference room door. Sofia watched a man known for his charm and confidence go wooden. “Hey! Um... How are you, Sofia? How are things shaping up?”
Leila let out a nervous laugh. “What kind of question is that?”
It was a question that Sofia understood. “Everything is shaping up great.”
When she wasn’t working, Sofia was cooped up in her bedroom at Miguel’s, drafting the final touches for the wedding proposal. Leila might not be into fireworks, but who didn’t love flowers? Sofia planned to turn their new home into an enchanted garden.
“Okay,” Nick said. “Good seeing you.”
Leila apologized for his odd behavior. “I’m not crazy. Something is up with that man. Do you think he’s nervous about moving into the new house? It’s a big step for us.”
It was a big step for any couple! No matter how happy you were with someone, how much in love, you had to use your head when planning a future. You couldn’t just move in, cross your fingers, and hope for the best.
But no, she didn’t think Nick was nervous about it, not in the slightest.
“You lucked out with Nick,” Sofia replied. “He’s a great guy.”
“True. Whenever I showed up at his place half-naked, he had the decency to seal the deal,” Leila joked.
The joke brought back the bittersweet memory. Sofia turned to the windows again. The fog had thickened. It was going to rain.
“Sofia, don’t cry!” Leila cried.
Was she crying? She touched her cheek and sure enough, it was wet. She took a napkin off the tray and dabbed her eyes.
Leila circled the table and sat next to her. “How did you leave things with Jon?”
Sofia didn’t reply. How to explain they’d retreated to their respective camps to refuel and recharge? Such were the rules of engagement. Jon’s “conditions” weren’t unreasonable, but the way he’d made them absolutely was. And she would not back down.
Faced with her silence, Leila continued. “When Jon told me he wanted to buy the house, I tried to talk him out of it. I wasn’t sure it was the house for him. I was still trying to find him the perfect bachelor pad.”
Sofia blew her nose. “He wanted a home.”
“You’re the only one who knew that.” Leila took a deep breath before speaking again. “The way he insisted on keeping the furniture, all of it, even the patio furniture...why do you think?”
“It was convenient.”
Jon was busy. He didn’t have time to pick out coffee tables and area rugs.
“You know what would’ve been more convenient?” Leila asked. “A furnished condo in one of the buildings I plan to show you.”
Sofia rejected Leila’s theory. The house was perfect, better than any furnished condo. And anyway, what was she hinting at?
“You don’t think he bought the house for me. Right?”
“I think he bought it with you in mind,” Leila said. “Maybe he had a feeling. The first time I saw you two together, I had a feeling.”
Sofia had had a whole range of feelings, and now those feelings were all in a knot in her chest.
Leila handed her a vibrant royal blue macaron that stained her tongue. She left the agency feeling as blue as ever.
* * *
Nick was pacing the front yard when Sofia pulled up to the house on Friday evening. The secluded neighborhood sat on an island off the main road, and the moment Sofia drove through the guard gate, she’d felt instant calm. This was her first visit to the house since the renovation. She’d expected high glam and wasn’t disappointed. The house had a stripped-down Miami feel. The main living area sparkled with light pouring in from the second floor skylight. Its sweeping space was made intimate by sheer cream curtain panels accentuating the double-height windows. The furniture was chic and understated. Sofia admired the butter leather couches and exotic wood tables in the living area. French doors opened to the yard, pool and the dock beyond. Everything spoke of easy living and peace. It was no wonder Leila couldn’t shut up about it.
Sofia put Nick in charge of lighting the dozens of candles that he’d insisted on floating in the pool. When he was done, sweating and smelling of butane, he assured her it was worth it. “She did this at our first open house. The pool was smaller, less candles.”
“I remember,” Sofia said.
She sent him off to shower. Nick hesitated and asked if she was holding up okay. “Was it selfish of me to ask you to do this?”
“Don’t be dumb. This is the one thing I’ve been looking forward to,” Sofia said. “I’m happy to help.”
He left her to finish up. Minutes later, the florist arrived with a truckload of white roses and orchids. Having had to conceive of the design for the space based only on the photos Leila had shared, Sofia had played it safe. She’d picked plain crystal hurricane vases to hold candles and flowers alike. After a few tries with different patterns, she lined the vases along a path of white organza from the front door to the patio, allowing the fabric to spill down the large steps to the pool. The candlelight drew blue shadows from the crystal. And now that the sun had set, the pool glowed as if on fire. Magic.
Nick returned to inspect her work after the florist had packed up and left. Sofia held her breath, anxious for his approval. He stood out on the patio with his back to her, hands in pockets. Time passed and he said nothing.
She knew she’d done her job.
She patted Nick on the back. “Good luck.”
Sofia was packing up her things when she heard footsteps at the door and keys rattling. Panic struck through her. She scurried back outside, searching for Nick.
“She’s here! She’s here!”
Nick consulted his wat
ch. “She’s not due until—”
The door creaked open.
Nick snapped into action, grabbed Sofia by the shoulders and guided her into the kitchen. “Stay here until I can take her out back.”
Sofia didn’t want to stay, but since she had no choice she helped herself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the silver tray she’d set out and hunched low behind the kitchen island. From her hiding place, she didn’t hear much, just a gasp and a sigh.
Nick’s voice was shredded. “Love, you’re trembling.”
Sofia was trembling, too. As soon as the French doors clicked shut behind them, she scrambled to the kitchen window. There they were surrounded by flowers and bathed in candlelight. Leila’s face was buried in Nick’s chest. He was holding her, stroking her back. Sofia didn’t have the heart of a voyeur. She wiped her own tears and tiptoed to the door.
* * *
On her way to her parents’ house late Saturday afternoon, Sofia rehearsed her speech. She figured if her mother’s heart was strong enough to handle a three-week tour of Italy, it could handle the truth. She veered off Biscayne Boulevard and headed west toward the Miami Shores neighborhood where she’d grown up and her parents had lived for decades. If she’d turned east, she would have been heading toward the waterfront and the grand homes she’d admired as a kid. The west side was less grand, but more lively.
Sofia rounded a corner and spotted a silver Dodge Viper in her parents’ driveway, next to her mother’s Camry, and occupying the spot usually reserved for her. She instantly recognized it as belonging to Franco’s fleet of loaners—the fun cars his customers got to drive when their vehicles were in the shop. She parked curbside and slammed her car door shut.
She found Franco, his parents and her own gathered in the living room. Sofia took in the scene from the front door. For the briefest moment, it looked normal and right. There they were chatting, sipping soda in her mother’s oversized glasses and passing around a bowl of chips. The TV was on. Franco looked relaxed in a T-shirt and cargo shorts. He grinned at her.
The grin pushed Sofia over the edge. He had no right to be here. Everything she’d done, every lie and scheme, had been to hide the basic truth: he had hurt her. She’d refused to admit it and hadn’t wanted anyone else to know it, either. It had challenged her core identity. She was the successful one, the smart one. Sofia the Badass, as she’d been called in high school. Her friends admired her and her staff looked up to her. And yet, she’d been duped and cheated on. She’d been passed over for some faceless women on a smartphone screen. Jon was right. Her mother’s health and her family ties with Franco had only been an excuse. She’d wasted months doing all she could to reshape their story, write an alternative ending in which she came out ahead. It had all been a waste of time.
“Sofia!” her father called out to her. “We’re celebrating the news.”
“What news?”
She drew quizzical looks from both sets of parents. Her mother tried to cover for her. “You know! The charges were dropped. Franco is innocent.”
Sofia shook her head. Franco was no innocent.
“Now that this...unpleasantness is behind us,” her mother continued, “we can all move forward.”
“I’d like that,” Franco said. “How about you, Sofia?”
“I agree,” Sofia said.
Sofia walked over to the couch and sat next to her father, plopped her large tote bag on her lap and started digging for the jewelry box she’d been carrying around for four months now.
“So you’ll set the date?” her mother asked.
“No.”
Franco’s mother spoke up. “Sofia, we’re leaving tomorrow. I’d like to give our friends back home a date.”
Franco jumped in. “She’s saying we need time to work out the details.”
“No!” Sofia looked up from her task. “I’m saying Franco and I are not getting married.”
“They’ve been through a lot,” Franco’s dad said. “It makes sense if they want to wait.”
“No, that’s not it,” Sofia said. “Franco and I are done. We were only waiting to tell you.”
Her mother let out a gasp. “Done?”
“Done.”
The rapid-fire questions came from all sides. “Since when?”
“What happened?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
While Franco stayed resolutely quiet, Sofia answered them the best she could. Only she refused to satisfy their curiosity beyond the strict facts. “What happened is between Franco and me.”
Her father turned off the TV. Her mother went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, even though she had been drinking from one. Sofia studied her face and was satisfied that her health was holding up. Then everyone fell silent for a long while, each grappling with the truth.
The last time they were all gathered in this room, it was the night of their engagement party. Franco’s mother had looked lovely. She’d spent north of two hundred dollars on her sequined dress, the most she had ever spent on a single article of clothing. The mood had been lighter, both their parents genuinely looking forward to a lifetime of friendship.
Valentina Ramirez looked at Sofia with clear disappointment. She’d always relied on her to keep Franco on track. In high school, she’d recruited Sofia to help Franco with his studies. In college, she’d begged Sofia to curb his partying. Now, as an adult, the request was to keep Franco on the good side of the law. It was too much to ask.
Her dad came to sit next her, shielding her in the way fathers protect daughters from worrisome prom dates. He patted her on the shoulder and muttered, “Lo sabía.”
Sofia went back to digging through her purse. She found the ring box and placed it on the coffee table before Franco. They locked eyes. For the first time since their breakup, he looked genuinely sorry.
Chapter 24
On Wednesday afternoon, Jon had skipped his workout to work on Drew. He leaned against the bare concrete wall while Drew exhausted himself at the speed bag. When Drew stopped to catch a breath, he looked Jon in the eye and asked, “What’s it to you, anyway?”
“Come on,” Jon said. “You’re not going to give me a hard time for such a small player.”
“You make my point.” Drew raised his gloved fists to eye level. “Why is your firm bringing out the big guns? Pun intended.”
It was early and the gym had yet to fill up. From the weight room, an occasional grunt or clash of iron punctuated the relative silence. Drew resumed his steady rhythmic swings. One. Two. I already knew how to count to two. Jon winced. Any little thing reminded him of Sofia, each memory a sonic blow to the chest.
“Stephanie asked me to talk to you,” Jon said coolly. “I’m already bored with the whole business.”
“Is Stephanie single?” Drew asked.
Jon glanced at his watch. They’d been at this long enough; it was time to wrap things up. He pushed off the wall. Drew instinctively backed away, leaving the speed bag swinging aimlessly.
“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job—”
“Then don’t.”
“You really should be jumping all over this.”
“I can’t let Ramirez walk free.”
“You’ve got no evidence that he was involved in this scheme. Pike’s your man.”
“I’ve got ten grand of unreported funds,” Drew said. “That’s one count conspiracy, at least.”
“There’s no conspiracy, Drew,” Jon said. “There’s one idiot who didn’t report some inheritance. We can trace the money back to his granddad. Don’t waste your time.”
“Will this idiot testify against the other idiot?”
“Gladly.”
Drew returned to the bag, fists up. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
* * *
On Saturday, Jon was fueling up the
Porsche at a gas station downtown when Leila pulled up in a brand-spanking new red Tesla. He was going to ask if she’d finally put the little Mazda to rest, but when she sprang out of the car she had other news.
“Look at this!” she cried. “I’m engaged.”
She held out her left hand. Jon stared at her impressive rock for a long time. Then he leaned back against his car, light-headed. Was a ring the answer? Was that what Sofia wanted? She seemed to like being engaged, to the point of faking it. Maybe the time had come for him to step up in a major way. At this point, desperation had settled in. He’d lived alone most of his adult life and had never known this loneliness. He needed to make things right with Sofia. He’d try anything.
“This is when you say congratulations,” Leila said.
He apologized and gave her a hug. “Congratulations! Nick is a lucky guy.”
“You should’ve seen how nervous he was,” Leila said. “He’d been planning it for weeks.”
She went on to describe the proposal in some detail. Jon stayed focused on the ring. It was nothing like the Cracker Jack ring Franco had given Sofia. Still, he knew he could top it.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Leila asked.
He had no idea what she was talking about. He had, however, come to a decision. “Leila, where can I get one of those?”
“One what?” she asked.
“A ring,” he specified. “Where would you recommend I get one?”
She brought her left hand to her chest in a protective gesture. “Who are you buying this ring for?”
“Who do you think?” he asked.
She took a deep breath before starting over. “You want to buy a ring for Sofia? My Sofia?”
“She’s my Sofia,” Jon said. “If I’m going to propose, I’ll need a ring.”
He’d propose just as soon as she assured him Franco was gone for good. That was his position from which he would not waver, even if it killed him—and it was killing him. But Leila didn’t need to know any of that.
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