by Mia Sosa
He studies me a moment, then nods. “I trust you to handle the situation. Just let me know how she reacts and I’ll follow up with her afterward.”
“Deal. And now I really need to get ready.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” he says, shrugging.
Max pretends to have no interest in delaying my progress, but I know better. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see him slowly tracing his fingers over his lips in a circular motion. The bedsheet, which just a few seconds ago blanketed him below the waist, seems to have dipped to his lower thighs. As I dart around the room gathering discarded clothes and searching for fresh ones, I squint at Max whenever he’s in my line of sight. This has the desired effect of turning my view of his body into an amorphous shape with zero appeal. It’s either this or jump his bones and miss my appointment with Natalia and Paolo.
Max gets on his knees, his penis swaying as easy as it pleases, and then he hobbles over to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with your eyes? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, squinting harder. From this vantage, his junk almost resembles a parrot swinging in a cage. And . . . oh God, that’s definitely my cue to go. “I think my eyes are just a bit tired from all that crying yesterday. My vision should improve soon.”
“But why won’t you look at me?” he asks, his voice forlorn.
I blow out my cheeks and face him. “Max, I’m trying to be good here. I need to make this appointment, but you’re kneeling on my bed with your dick swinging.” I chance a glance at it. “When is it going to stop doing that, by the way? Doesn’t a pendulum settle down eventually?”
He laughs and shakes his hips, triggering the pendulum anew. “Stop doing what?”
Oh for goodness sake. I haven’t even had coffee yet. Grumbling under my breath, I take my clean undies and robe and wave goodbye to him. “Tchau, Max. I’m going to take a shower.”
“May I join you?” he asks, looking at me with puppy dog eyes.
I pause at my bedroom door and point a finger at him. “No. You stay there. If you care about me at all, you’ll stay right where you are.”
He puts up his hands as though he’s surrendering and flops back onto the mattress. “I care about you way more than”—he makes air quotes—“‘at all,’ so consider me neutralized.” He plumps the pillow and rests his head on it, closing his eyes. “Enjoy your shower.”
Oh, he’s wily. How am I supposed to resist him when he disarms me with his words alone? It’s impossible. Accepting defeat (or maybe it’s a victory), I saunter back into the room, press my knuckles into the mattress, and lean into him. “I’ll enjoy my shower even more with you in it.”
He steals a chaste kiss. “What about Natalia and Paolo?”
“I’ll shave off some time getting ready.” I tweak his nose. “Just for you.”
As soon as I say the words, it occurs to me that I’ve been doing a lot of things just for Max lately—and that realization doesn’t disturb me as much as it probably should.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lina
An hour into drafting Natalia and Paolo’s seating chart, we encounter a logjam, and her name is Estelle. She’s that family friend who attends every gathering even though no one will admit to inviting her.
Natalia draws a red X over Estelle’s name. “She can’t sit anywhere near my mother. If Estelle complains about the cake, Mãe will smash it in her face.”
Tia Viviane passes the table and adds her own commentary. “That’s right. I’ll smash it in her face and it will feel so good.” Her feet never pause during this delivery, and by the time I look up from the chart, she’s gone.
“Is that before or after Tia Viviane’s had a few caipirinhas?”
“That’s stone cold sober and at her happiest,” Natalia says, jerking a thumb in the direction of our last Viviane sighting.
“Okay,” I say. “What about putting Estelle at table twelve?”
Paolo shakes his head. “Estelle and Lisandro had a thing a while back. A few drinks in, and they’d be all over each other. You have kids at that table.”
“Okay, what about table seven?” I ask.
Natalia groans. “Estelle’s mad at Lynn because Lynn didn’t invite Estelle on a girls’ weekend trip to New York a couple of months ago.”
“I’ve got it,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Give Estelle the wrong address for the reception. Problem solved.”
“I wish,” Natalia grumbles. “Wait. Let’s put Estelle at your table. You’ll be a positive influence on her. Jaslene won’t need a seat because she’ll be taking over the role of lead planner for the day.”
That’s a good point. Jaslene and I don’t often switch roles during a pending client assignment, but I’m taking a back seat for this wedding because Natalia’s my favorite cousin and I’d like to enjoy the time with her and my family. Plus, Jaslene recently asked for more responsibility, and this is the ideal opportunity to give it to her.
Paolo tries to nudge Natalia subtly, but nothing about Paolo is subtle.
She turns to him, eyes wide. “What?”
He nods his head in my direction.
“Oh shoot,” Natalia says. “You aren’t thinking about bringing anyone, are you? A plus-one or something?”
Interesting phrasing there, Nat. I gather she wants the answer to be no, but I am thinking about asking Max to join me—if I can work up the nerve. “Well, now that you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Viviane appears out of nowhere—as does my mother.
“Yes?” I ask them.
“Oh, nothing,” my mother says as she wipes her hands on a towel and looks over my shoulder. “I just wanted to see the chart.”
“We’ve been at this for an hour,” I say, knowing a mother’s lie when I hear one. “You need to see it now?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding her head at me. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Tia Viviane’s too impatient to absorb information on the sly. She’s the type of person who extracts it—per her schedule. “What’s this about a plus-one? Who would you bring?”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Max Hartley, okay?”
Viviane gives me a dismissive wave. “More of that job again? You think if you bring him to the wedding he’s going to help you get it?”
Natalia and I exchange glances, amusement in our eyes.
Your mother’s so clueless.
Girl, I know. Just let it go.
“Tia Viviane, I’m asking Max to come with me because I like spending time with him. Is that a good enough explanation?”
“Hmm” is all she says.
Natalia squeezes my hand. “Of course he can come, silly.” She elbows Paolo. “Right?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
“This would just be a social thing, okay?” I slip in my latest news, hoping no one will make a big deal of it. “The job is no longer mine to try to get. My potential boss found out I lied about knowing Andrew and Max, so I doubt she’ll even let me do the pitch.”
Tia Viviane and my mother drag chairs over to the minuscule table and look at me expectantly. Damn. Of course they want an explanation. Fortunately, my mother’s called away to the counter, her expression barely disguising her annoyance that someone would want to buy something in a store.
Tia Izabel emerges from the back room. “What’s going on?”
Tia Viviane fills her in. “That job Lina’s trying to get? She lied about knowing her ex-boyfriend and his brother. We’re waiting for the rest of the story.”
My mother returns and stands over us, hands on her hips. “Okay. Finish.”
I give them the CliffsNotes version of the debacle. They supply the sound effects—a chorus of oohs, ahhs, and ta brincando, nés, which loosely translates to “You’re kidding, right?”
Tia Izabel fans herself with both hands. “You American kids have too much time to get in trouble. Stay at home with the family and things like this don’t h
appen.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why Solange went buck wild when she left,” Natalia says under her breath.
I kick Natalia under the table and mouth shut up; she rolls her eyes in return.
Tia Izabel has no idea her only child, Solange, had a bit of a rebellious period after she left home for college, and I’m sure Solange would love to keep my aunt in the dark about her exploits. And anyway, it’s old news. Now that Solange is in graduate school, she’s calmed down considerably.
“Filha,” my mother says. “So what happens now?”
“I’m not sure.” I massage my temples. “And I’m sorry. I know I’m squandering the opportunities you gave me, and I hate that I let my silly emotions lead me down a destructive path once again. Believe me, I know none of you would have made the mistakes I made. But I’m going to figure a way out of this mess. One way or another, I’ll make sure I’m not a disappointment to you.”
My mother drops her arms and rests a hand on mine. “Why would you say something like that? You could never be a disappointment. All we want is for you to be happy.”
“Happiness doesn’t feel like enough, Mãe,” I tell her. “Not when I think of the sacrifices you made.” I look at my aunts. “Not when I think of the sacrifices you all made. I should be building on the foundation you gave me. Working harder. Achieving more. Isn’t that what the next generation’s supposed to do?”
My mother sighs. “I worked my butt off so you and your brother wouldn’t have to. My reward is seeing that you’re doing something you love and making a living at it. That’s all I ever wanted—for you to be okay, and you’re more than okay, Lina. Focus on that.”
“I just wish I were as strong as you are,” I tell my mother. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
My mother shakes my arm. “And look at what you’ve accomplished. You own a business, filha. That takes skills and a lot of strength. Yes, you faced a few bumps along the way, but that’s life. Don’t ever think you need to be exactly like me. We’re not the same person. I’m not perfect or superhuman. I just did what I had to do at the time. Now it’s your turn. And you’re much stronger than you realize.”
She’s echoing what Max told me when we were holed up in the bathroom at Blossom. Maybe they’re right that I don’t give myself enough credit for what I’ve managed to achieve thus far.
My mother walks behind me and throws her arms over my shoulders. “Live your life, not ours. You’ve been doing a great job of it so far. And if this job is what you want, fight for it. If it’s your own business you want to pursue, do that instead. Build a future that makes sense for you, not anyone else.”
God, she’s right. Instead of worrying about living up to their standards, I need to focus on meeting my own. And while my mother’s and aunts’ lessons will always serve as a guide, what makes sense for them won’t always make sense for me. That doesn’t mean I’m failing; it just means I’m living my own life. I reach up and squeeze her hand. “Thanks for always being there, Mãe.”
“Just remember one thing,” my mother adds.
“What?”
She raises an index finger and narrows her eyes at me. “If you ever put me in a nursing home, I will haunt you from the grave.”
* * *
Me: Just got home. Spent the evening with my mother.
Max: Next time you see her, tell her I miss the brigaderos.
Me: Brigadeiros.
Max: Right. Won’t make that mistake again. How’d the seating chart go?
Me: All set. Except there’s an empty space next to me. Want to claim it?
Max: What’s the date? Never mind. Whatever date it is, assuming it’s during a weekend, I’ll be there. But I should know the date so I can put it on the calendar.
Me: May 18. 11 a.m.
Max: Damn. I’ll be returning from a business trip that morning. I’d have to be a little late. Is that okay?
Me: That’s fine. You can meet me at the reception. A little of Max is better than no Max at all.
Max: You’re such a flatterer. It’s a date, then.
Me: Nervous about talking to Rebecca tomorrow.
Max: She’s more laid-back than most. I have no doubt you’ll figure out exactly the right thing to say.
Me: Thanks. I’ll give it my best shot. Going to get ready for bed.
Max: Good night, L.
Me: Good night, M.
I probably won’t sleep at all, though. Not when so much is riding on my meeting with Rebecca in the morning.
* * *
The Cartwright’s business offices are made for bustling. People in small cubicles are shouting instructions into phones. Said phones are ringing incessantly, as if no one knows how to answer a call. And a group of men are standing around an actual watercooler, as though they’re waiting for someone to capture their likenesses in a stock photo.
Rebecca marches out of her office and removes her eyeglasses in a very Devil Wears Prada way, complete with a hair flip that tells me she means to set me straight during this meeting. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the men by the watercooler disperse in various directions. It’s as if Rebecca shouted Ready or not! and now everyone’s playing a game of hide-and-seek. This isn’t the Rebecca I’m used to, and the presence of this version of her doesn’t bode well for me.
“Lina,” she says. “Where’s Max?”
Whoa. It’s apparently not even nice to see me.
I stand and smooth my hands down my slacks. “I asked him to give us an opportunity to talk alone first.”
Rebecca crosses her arms over her chest, her brows snapping together as though the notion’s absurd. “You weren’t aiming to talk woman to woman, I hope.”
“No,” I say. “I was aiming to speak with you person to person.”
She sighs, drops her arms, and spins toward her office door. “Come with me, then.”
On the way there, she doesn’t engage with me at all. It’s alarming to see how drastically her demeanor has changed since she discovered Andrew and I were once a couple.
I enter her office and sit in the chair she’s gestured to. The decor in here is an extension of the hotel: nice but without any personal touches to mark it as Rebecca’s domain.
She sits at her desk, her hands clasped in front of her, and peers at me. “I have nothing to contribute to the conversation at the moment, so you might as well say whatever you think you need to say.”
I take a large enough breath that my chest rises, and then I do what I should have done from the beginning: tell the truth. “Andrew and I were engaged four years ago and due to be married three years ago. The wedding never happened. He decided he couldn’t go through with it. Fast-forward to the day you ushered Andrew and Max into the conference room. I hadn’t seen Max since the wedding, and I hadn’t seen Andrew since a week after the wedding. In all honesty, I panicked. I wanted to continue to impress you. Wanted you to think I was this uber-professional wedding planner who had it together and was unflappable. Basically, be the person that attracted your attention in the first place. But I was worried about how you would react, and more than that, how I would react to the stress of facing an unexpected and unwelcome reunion with my former fiancé. Now that I think about it, what would have been really impressive is if I had acknowledged Andrew as my ex-fiancé without showing any feelings whatsoever. You probably would have hired me on the spot.”
Rebecca’s face softens from granite to sandpaper—still rough but now suggesting some flexibility.
I press ahead. “I didn’t want you to see me get emotional, or worse, cry. And let me tell you”—I nod vigorously—“that was a real possibility. I hate the idea of appearing weak under any circumstances, and I cringe at the thought that someone would lose respect for me because of it. So I held out my hand and pretended not to know Andrew, and probably as a result of the shock or some sense of duty to me, Max and Andrew played along. It was not their idea, but once it was set in motion, I think they couldn’t figure out how to come
clean in a way that would satisfy you. I’m sorry I dragged them into this, and I hope you don’t penalize them for my mistake.”
Rebecca sits back in her chair. “You don’t have to advocate for them. Your version of the events will suffice for now.”
I blow out my cheeks and meet her lukewarm gaze. “Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that Max and I are seeing each other. And Andrew doesn’t know.”
Rebecca’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. “This is a fucking soap opera.”
Oh. She’s progressed to swear words. I’m in trouble now. “I don’t expect you to understand why I did what I did—”
“Lina, I understand,” she says calmly. “I don’t like what you did, but I do understand why you did it. You see, I’m the CEO of a hotel group founded by my grandfather. My concern has always been that people will think they can pull a fast one on me because I’m”—she rolls her eyes—“plainly in my position as a result of favoritism. I’m not imagining this, either. It’s happened so many times that I expect it. With you, though, I didn’t get the sense it would be an issue. I try hard not to build the kind of walls that would make it difficult to interact with my staff, but I do have my days. And today’s been that kind of day, in large part because I discovered that you and Andrew and Max had deceived me. People do what they need to do to protect themselves from the things they fear. I’m no different. Neither are you, apparently. So, yes, I get it, but I don’t like it. That’s about all I can tell you.”
It’s refreshing to speak with someone who not only relates to my experience but also doesn’t think the way I respond to it is entirely flawed. Protecting yourself from hurt doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re human. I’m thankful to Max for helping me see that. Every person has to decide whether to lower their shield and when. Lowering it won’t happen with every person. I didn’t lower mine with Andrew. And sometimes the privilege of getting behind that shield needs to be earned. In the way Max earned a place behind mine. “It means a lot that you understand, even if you’re upset about it. I’ll at least walk away from this experience knowing my reaction wasn’t completely uncalled for. That’s something.” I rise from the seat and put out my hand. “It was great meeting you, and I wish you the best of luck with the search.”