But the questions remained unspoken. This was an old argument he would never win. Not with her. And never with his father.
“Look, I’m here only as long as I have to be.” Alejandro popped two pills in his mouth, then washed them down with a gulp of water. “I don’t plan on seeing Anamaría again. She’s safe from me.”
His father humphed and took the meal tray off Alejandro’s lap, then strode from the room without another word. Not that there was anything left to say. His papi had made his feelings clear. He hadn’t wanted Alejandro to return. There would be no fatted-calf celebration for this prodigal son.
Feeling like he’d aged fifteen years in the last fifteen minutes, Alejandro leaned back against the pillow behind him and closed his eyes.
First Anamaría, now his papi. What a fucking messed-up first day back.
At least he’d told his dad the truth. He had absolutely no intention of seeing Anamaría while he was here. Being around her stirred up too many emotions, too many what-ifs he preferred to ignore.
The only wrinkle in this plan would be whether or not their mothers stayed out of it. Then again, when had a determined Cuban mami ever stayed out of her children’s business?
Shit. Alejandro thumped his head against the wall behind him. The answer to that question would be never, which did not bode well for his bid to recuperate in solitude.
Not. At. All.
Chapter 4
“So, nena, how was Alejandro when you saw him earlier today?” Anamaría’s mom asked.
Seated across their familia’s dinner table, Anamaría’s younger brother laughed, turning it into a fake cough at her glare.
Her obvious annoyance didn’t stop Enrique from rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, indicating she and her two older brothers would have to pay up as losers in their wager. Not a single plate was filled yet and already their mami had started henpecking about Alejandro’s return. Anamaría had bet they’d make it halfway through the meal, at least until someone went in for seconds. Luis and Carlos had placed their money on dessert and during cleanup—like there’d been any chance at all their mom would wait that long. Ha!
Pay up, losers, Enrique mouthed, his eyes laughing at her.
She wrinkled her nose and was about to mouth, Bite me, when Sara leaned toward her on Anamaría’s right.
“Ignore him. He’s being infantile,” Luis’s fiancée advised.
“But you still love me,” Enrique shot back with a cheeky wink.
“Not nearly as much as she loves me.” Luis, Anamaría’s closest sibling, older by barely a year, set his glass of water on the table so he could wrap his arm around Sara’s pale shoulders. “Right, cariño?”
The endearment brought a pleased blush to Sara’s cheeks. Luis hugged his fiancée closer. Sara laid her head on his shoulder and gazed adoringly up at him. Anamaría’s brother’s bronze skin and black, close-cropped hair were a striking difference to Sara’s peachy coloring and wavy blond tresses, but the couple was a perfect match when it came to their temperaments.
The secretive half smile that had garnered Sara over half a million social media followers broadened into a pleased grin when Luis brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and dropped a kiss on her nose. She tipped her chin and he obliged, pressing his lips to hers.
Anamaría marveled at the change in her formerly sedate, guarded brother thanks to his relationship with the gregarious social media influencer who managed to pull him out of his shell. Bringing him back to the land of the living after he suffered a devastating loss years ago. One that had torn Luis and their younger brother apart. Until Sara.
Luis’s life wasn’t the only one changed thanks to Sara. With her soon-to-be sister-in-law as her business mentor, Anamaría’s AM Fitness brand and online presence had grown exponentially over the past year. She’d taken Sara’s advice and transferred it into hard work, garnering a sizeable increase in athletic-training clients, social media buzz, and, most recently, a potential agent.
“Bleh! Kissy-face mushy stuff!” little Ramón complained from the other end of the table. “My papi and mami do that all the time.”
“And one day, you’ll understand why, hijo.” Seated next to the younger of his two sons, Anamaría’s burly oldest brother, Carlos, ruffled Ramón’s dark hair, then linked fingers with his wife, Gina, in between their dinner plates. The high school sweethearts exchanged an innocent peck on the lips, with Carlos adding a loud muah for special effect.
Their eight- and six-year-old sons’ scrunched faces matched their loud groans of “Gross!”
Nudging her nephew José with her left elbow, Anamaría hunched closer with a conspiratorial grin. “At almost nine you think it’s gross, but let’s see how you feel when you’re nineteen.”
“That’s so ooooold!” he whined, drawing laughter from the adults around their familia’s table.
Anamaría chuckled as she grabbed the dish of oven-fried chicken Sara passed her. Dios mío, at nineteen she’d been—
Don’t go there.
It did no good to think about that time.
Too bad the pesky memories of her nineteenth birthday wouldn’t be deterred.
By the time that particular December fifteenth had rolled around, Alejandro had been gone nearly six months. Impressed by his work, the photographer had offered to make the temporary apprenticeship that had lured Alejandro away a permanent, paying job.
Alejandro was thriving in Europe . . . traveling and taking amazing pictures and learning more about his craft . . . living his dream.
The morning of her birthday, he called. As he had every birthday morning since she’d turned fourteen. Only this time they’d wound up fighting about her enrolling in spring classes instead of flying out to join him.
“I don’t get it. What about coming out here?” he had asked.
“I just . . . I’m not ready yet,” she hedged. “I can’t go.”
She broke off, that supersize tsunami wave of fear and doubt gaining momentum, crashing over her like it did every time she thought about leaving the island, her familia.
What if something happened to Papi or Mami, one of her brothers, or someone else she loved while she was away? God forbid they were gone before she made it home! She had lived that loss before when her abuelo suffered his fatal stroke during her eighth-grade trip to DC.
Papi’s heart attack the week before her and Alejandro’s high school graduation had unearthed the devastation she’d hidden after her grandfather’s death. Faced with her mami’s and abuela’s gut-wrenching sorrow over the loss of their father and husband, she had buried her own. Nearly losing her papi had made it all come flooding back.
“I just . . . I need more time,” she told Alejandro. “Caring for Papi over the summer, taking my health and nutrition class during the fall semester. They gave me a sense of purpose. I think I want to earn my EMT certification.”
“Are you kidding—” His huff of frustration blew through the phone line. “And then what?”
“I’m not sure,” she had admitted softly, torn and confused. She had stared at their prom picture on her nightstand. Missing him desperately. Afraid to leave when she felt so unsettled inside.