Page 73 of The Fighter

Tomas winks at me. “I thought you told her she’s family,” he says teasingly. “Which is it?”

Carlota makes a face at her brother. “Don’t you have to give Mamá a ride?” she asks pointedly. “Maybe you should do that.” She glances at me, a smile tugging on her lips. “How about we do it together? That’s my best offer.”

“I’ll take it.”

The kitchen is large and modern, and cleaning up takes very little time. It’s just a matter of loading everything into the industrial-strength dishwasher. Carlota and I chat companionably as we work. Mostly, she tells me all the places I must visit in Valencia. “The market, of course,” she says. “La Llotja de la Seda is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and Mercat de Colón is in a really beautiful building. And, of course, you can’t miss Turia, the park that runs through the city.”

“I’m only here until Sunday.” I handwash a beautiful jade green ceramic platter that won’t fit in the dishwasher. “I don’t know if I’ll have time for everything.”

“It’s a small city, just like Venice. Everything’s really close together. You can do it all in a few hours and then settle in the square with a glass of wine and people-watch. Have you set a date for the wedding?”

She’s good. One moment, she’s telling me about the tourist attractions, and the next moment when my suspicions have been lulled, she throws in a personal question. I’ll have to be careful how I answer; Tomas and I still haven’t got our stories straight.

Come to think of it, Tomas’s family’s questions are good practice for the meeting with my father. Under the circumstances, I’m sure he’ll have as many questions about my engagement, if not more.

“No,” I reply. “Not yet. We’re not in a huge hurry.” I flash her a smile. “And before you ask, we also haven’t picked a venue.”

She grins. “Only my mother will be mortally offended if the wedding isn’t in Valencia. I wouldn’t mind visiting Venice. I’ve only been there once.”

I’m dying of curiosity. “I know Tomas hasn’t visited in five years,” I say carefully. “Can I ask why you haven’t traveled to see him?”

“We wanted to,” she replies, her expression pensive. “He asked us not to. I’m afraid that when Tomas told us he was going to marry Estela, our reaction wasn’t the best. None of us liked her.” She makes a face. “When she turned him down—the evil bitch—he didn’t want to discuss it. He shut down every attempt to talk. Maybe he felt like we’d gloat. I don’t know. Tomas doesn’t love often, but he loves deeply.”

I can believe that.

“Anyway, that’s all in the past where it can remain. What’s important is that he’s found you, and you’re a zillion times nicer than Estela. And if you want to borrow my wedding dress…”

Umm, okay. “Is that another Valencian tradition?”

She bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry,” she says when her giggles have died down. “I should explain since Tomas clearly didn’t. Our abuela, Ana Isabel—my father’s mother—left Tomas her engagement ring, and she left me her wedding dress. It’s my most cherished possession.” Her expression softens. “Although Adan’s first pair of socks might rival that. Anyway, Tomas never gave Estela our abuela’s ring, so deep down inside, he obviously knew she was the wrong woman for him. And he gave it to you?—”

“What?” I yelp.

“He didn’t tell you?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Typical guy. Yes, you’re wearing the Aguilar engagement ring. We haven’t spent a lot of time together, but already I can tell you’re going to make my brother very, very happy.” Her voice is warm. “So, if you want to wear my wedding dress, I’ll be happy to lend it to you. But please, no pressure. Your mother might want you to wear her dress, of course?—”

My throat feels thick with tears. “My mother is dead. If she had a wedding dress, I never saw it.” I don’t even know if she was married to my father when she ran.

Carlota takes in my expression. “I’ve made you cry,” she exclaims in dismay. “Tomas is going to kill me. Oh God, Alina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a difficult memory?—”

“No, it’s not that.” Well, it is that, a little. I miss my mother. It’s been two years, but some days, the grief feels as fresh as ever. But it’s not just her absence that’s making me cry. It’s Tomas’s perfect, lovely, kind family. Throughout lunch, I sat there, surrounded by their warmth and laughter, and it was everything I’d always wanted.

But it’s not real. None of it is.

Is it all fake, though? A hopeful voice inside me whispers. He gave you his grandmother’s engagement ring. That’s got to mean something.

Two stories are happening here. One where reality intrudes and I get my heart broken, and the fairy-tale version with a handsome prince and a happily ever after. But I don’t know which version to believe.

46

TOMAS

My mom insists on dragging me inside the hospital to meet a couple of her coworkers. I’m walking back to the car when a man steps into my path. “Welcome back to Valencia,” Gabriel d’Este says. “How are you, Tomas?”

Gabriel d’Este is an intimidating man. I haven’t seen him since I left Valencia, but I’ve followed his career from afar. He wears his power lightly, but it exists all the same. He used to divide his time between Italy and Spain, but ever since he got married, he’s called Valencia home.

His reach extends far beyond the city. When criminal organizations around the world need their money laundered, they come to Gabriel. He’s ruthless and focused, vicious if you cross him. Not too many people are stupid enough to try it.

I shake his outstretched hand. “Do you really monitor everyone coming into your city?”

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