Page 13 of Wait for You

The heavy wooden door was cracked, but he hesitated, unsure he should barge into a family argument.

Señor Sanchez sounded calm in opposition to his wife. He was a man used to having his word followed. “Your mother is right, Imogen. You know we disapprove of you seeing him. You brought him here tonight to upset us.”

Mat’s breath seized.Are they talking about me?

He could see Imogen through the door where she stood, arms crossed as she faced her parents. “You’re right, papá. That was my whole aim in bringing Mat here.”

Mat stumbled back a step. Imogen’s words fell like stones sinking into his stomach. He didn’t appreciate being a tool she used to get back at her family.

A chair scraped, and something slammed, like hands coming down on a desk—hard. Imogen flinched. Despite her using him, Mat was ready to intervene. Because he loved her. He wasn’t about to let her be badgered on his account.

Before he made it to the door, Señor Sanchez spoke. His voice boomed with authority and a hint of anger. “This rebellion has gone on long enough. Break things off with the campesino, or I’ll pull the funding for your community shelter project.”

Imogen gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I can, and I will. Don’t test me, hija.”

Frustration and outrage colored Gen’s voice. “You’d punish all those women and children to keep me under your thumb?”

“Really, Imogen! That’s hardly what your father is doing.” Señora Sanchez came into view, advancing on Imogen as if to grip her shoulders, but Gen shrugged her away. “You know very well how our world works, and Mateo doesn’t belong in it.” She reached out to stroke Imogen’s hair. “It’s time to grow up, mijita.”

Mat had gone well past the point of accidentally overhearing this conversation. He’d advanced to full-blown eavesdropping, and—big surprise—he wasn’t happy about what he’d heard. Being the wedge stuck between Imogen and her parents didn’t sit well with him. He’d grown up without family and didn’t want Imogen to lose hers, no matter what they thought of him.

Not only that, but he knew how strongly she felt about helping Latino women who’d been abused. It was how they’d met. She volunteered with the local hospital as a translator, and he’d been there to question a woman who’d suffered domestic violence. He still remembered Gen’s wide brown eyes when she realized he didn’t need her help. Or so he thought. Even though he spoke Spanish, the woman had preferred to talk through Imogen, wary of men who looked like him.

Imogen wanted to give those women a place to escape to, to start over, without fear of reprisal. She’d spent over a year drumming up funding for bilingual women’s shelters across the state. They were about to break ground on the inaugural one, and Mat couldn’t be the reason all that work fell through.

Those stones in his stomach turned to lead weights.

If he loved Imogen, he had to let her go.

“Am I understood, Imogen?” Her father’s sharp demand made Mat blink, pulling his thoughts back to the moment.

Imogen scoffed. “As always, señor. I know Mat doesn’t fit in this world.”

Her agreement stung like a slap, but Gen was right; he’d never fit in at this level of society where charity balls, political dinners, and high-class functions were the norm. He’d never played a polo match in his life, and he didn’t expect to start now. Even if he did conquer the class divide, he couldn’t change his background. He was a bastard. An orphan. A man without a name or dollar signs sufficient enough to ever meet theSanchez’s approval. He’d been a fool to think her father would give his blessing to propose.

If Mat asked Imogen to marry him, she’d be forced to choose. Him or her family.

I can’t do that to her.

The discussion continued, but the words faded into mere noise as he turned away. His heart split in two, and what was left of it remained too battered to stay and listen any longer. He wouldn’t let Imogen sacrifice what she was passionate about to be with him. Even if she wanted to at first, she’d probably end up resenting him for it.

Imogen knew he didn’t belong in her world. It was time he accepted that because the hard truth was they had no future together. Not that he could see.

It was time to let her go.

Mat stared up at the dark wood beams on his bedroom ceiling. His chest constricted, and it felt like they’d fallen, crushing him under their weight. He might’ve been the one to walk away five years ago, but it was for the best.

Even if it hurt to remind himself of that.

CHAPTER 5

Imogen

Imogen batted an orange feather out of her face while glaring at Mat, who walked beside her. When Mateo had shown up at her door with the samba dancer costume, she’d been relieved she wouldn’t need to put something together for the Carnival party, but now—wearing it—she was sure he’d chosen it to torture her. In the same way, his announcement about their need to carry out a fake relationship tortured her. She’d only agreed to the ruse because she surmised it would provide her better access to the lieutenant. Hopefully, at this party.

The headdress she wore gave her an extra foot of height in elaborate orange and gold feathers, which kept drooping with her movements and tickling her. The bands of the headpiece framed her face, covering her ears and her forehead with shiny topaz and clear-colored crystals. To be safe, she’d added shimmery gold face paint on her eyes and cheeks, further obscuring her true features. Her lips were orange, and she prayed that the paint would stay on her mouth, not her teeth. The rest of the costume consisted of a sheer gold dress with an orange bikini underneath to cover her lady parts. Crystals crusted it, too, making her worry she’d draw too much attention as soon as the ballroom lights shined on her outfit.

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