Page 53 of The Last Sunrise

I nod. “It’s unbelievable. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“You worked hard on this, too, Ry.”

“Barely,” I admit. I spent most of my time here with Julián, and I don’t regret a single moment. I will always treasure the memories.

I turn to her, and she smiles, golden flakes reflecting in her dark eyes. “Still excessive and a waste of resources, though, right?” she asks, taking a sip from a champagne glass.

“Absolutely wasteful, but beautiful nonetheless.”

“I’ll take that compliment.” She eyes me up and down, and I do the same to her.

I’ve seen her dressed to the nines a million times in my life, but she looks more striking than ever. The satin fabric of her turquoise dress clings to her body like a glove. She looks insanely powerful, her hair slicked back into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and dark mauve lipstick painted onto her full lips. We couldn’t be more different, with my hair styled into voluminous pillowy layers, curled at the ends with little flowers pinned throughout, and lighter, more natural makeup. The contrast isn’t lost on me as I take in the details of her smoky black and gray eye shadow. I went for the opposite look, just a dusting of bronzer swept across my lids and minimal foundation. The makeup artist assigned to me worked wonders and nailed the minimal-makeup look, enhancing my features instead of burying them.

My mother clearly went in the opposite direction even with her jewelry, a chunky onyx necklace made of thick rocks resting against her sculpted chest bones. My mother is as elegant as they come, and as vicious. The combination makes her even more chilling. She’s the enchanting villain in every fairy tale; one smile and she can crush you without a single hair out of place.

“Mrs. Pera.” A man in a tuxedo nervously approaches the two of us at the arched entrance, a tray of champagne in one hand. She plucks a glass and downs half of it before turning to him.

“Miss,” she corrects him, the way she has the hundreds of men and women throughout my life who assume she’s married. It’s one of her biggest pet peeves, rightfully so. She’s fiercely proud of herself for being the moneymaking career woman she is. She’s always loved seeing the moms in our community’s shocked expression when she tells them she can’t do Pilates with them in the middle of the day because she has a job. Ironically, I was always so envious of the kids around me whose moms were home with them and not on the phone day and night or hopping on a flight somewhere.

“Miss Pera,” he fumbles. “Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?” the man asks with an accent and a smile. I’m surprised by how much English is used around us on this island.

Julián pops into my mind, him and his damn crossword puzzles and perfect English. My mother answers the man in Spanish, and he nods, disappearing just as quickly as he appeared.

“Are you sure you feel okay?” she asks me again, making me internally scream.

I nod, asking her not to ask me again, and she swirls the champagne flute between her long fingers; the maroon paint on her nails goes with her dark goddess theme of the night. A stark difference from the angelic wonderland style of the event. She walks away from me without another word, blending into the growing crowd of guests.

Nothing surprising. I roam around a bit and stop in front of a huge mirror. My sage-green dress fits the theme perfectly, the massive tree acting as a centerpiece of the party, the smaller trees lining the edges of the expansive room, and the twinkling seashell necklace at the base of my throat matching the lights wrappedaround the plants and dangling from the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about what Julián would think of seeing me dressed up like this. Would he like it or hate it? He’s so unpredictable, it’s hard to guess. But guessing and wondering about him is all I have left, so I keep doing it as I walk around the room.

The dress is loose and tight in all the right places, and the slit up my left thigh reaches higher than I would have worn at an event in Texas, but this summer, I’ve committed to doing things differently, especially knowing I’m leaving soon. I still need to figure out how on earth I’m going to escape this hotel and get a taxi without my mother or anyone on her team being alerted. I had to use a new email to even buy the ticket. I sigh, knowing I don’t want to leave but it’s better for everyone if I do. Lost in thought, I stare at my reflection a couple seconds longer when Amara pops into the mirror wearing a bright golden-yellow dress with ruffles covering the bodice. Her wild red hair is loosely tied back, but stray pieces of it cascade down her cheeks and touch her neck.

“Oh my god, Ry! I’m so glad you came after all.” She hugs me to her. She was the first person I texted when I decided to come to the event before leaving.

“This place is insane! And holy shit, look at you! Your back… turn around!” She swirls her finger in the air, and I smile, confidence simmering in my chest. “You should always, always, always wear backless everything!”

She spins me around and hugs me. Her bubbly mood softens me a bit; I just wish she didn’t remind me of Julián. I will never see him again, and the pain at that thought makes my stomach twist into a knot. I understand there’s no way in fucking hell he would step foot in here, but god, I wish he was bymy side right now. I would do anything to see him once more, even if that meant him cussing me out or banishing me from his sight like he did a few hours ago.

“You look remarkable too. Wow! This color… only you could pull this off,” I say, meaning it and wanting to keep my attention and affection on my only friend here. She’s been incredible to me and seems to have no idea about what happened at the protest. I couldn’t be more grateful. I take her in, her sunshine soul: her matching makeup is magnificently detailed, and little gold flakes surround her eyes and are sprinkled up toward her cheekbone until they disappear behind her hair.

“Prisha might come too. I know she’s not on the guest list, but since I know Javier, the security guy, she’ll be fine, right?”

“Of course! My mom won’t notice anyway. No one here is paying attention to anyone else, per usual.” I roll my eyes and Amara squeezes my back with one arm.

“I know it sucks that Julián isn’t here, but you should try to have fun. He was a dick to you earlier. I told him so, and more. But dance, drink, act as fire as you look,” she suggests.

“I swear you’re more American than me,” I tease.

Her casual slang always cracks me up. It would be so cringy coming from literally anyone else, but she makes it funny and charming.

“It’s what the kids are saying on TikTok. Now, let’s go have fun?” Her tone is wrapped like a question, but she pulls me by the arm straight to the full bar. The bar matches the theme, sparkling and shimmering and elegant.

The man behind the bar is shaking a drink in a mixer as we approach, and Amara asks him for two shots of the fanciest liquor there. I don’t argue. I won’t be drinking a ton, but thewarmth of alcohol to mask some of the loneliness and anxiety inside me from Julián’s absence and my last few hours on this island sounds like exactly what I need. Even the slightest bit of relief would feel monumental right now.

There are servers of both genders scattered around the ballroom dressed in tuxedos and carrying trays full of appetizers, champagne, and wine. Guests grab what they desire and the men on my mom’s legal team barely give them a second glance, but the locals, including a few fishermen I remember seeing at the docks, smile and thank them. I wonder if those fishermen sided with my mom’s company, or they just wanted to attend the over-the-top event, knowing they couldn’t stop the acquisition anyway. The party is in full swing, except the space around and under the massive tree in the center that’s intended for dancing. Then again, I don’t expect this kind of crowd to dance. Amara and Prisha, who couldn’t look more like freaking goddesses if they tried, are dancing, like always, to the beat of their own drum. Prisha came in a silver gown, perfectly contrasting with her bronzed skin and luscious black hair. Amara and Prisha are hands down one of the hottest non-official-official couples I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I watch with a tinge of delighted envy as their hips move together, deliciously curling around each other’s bodies as Amara wraps her hand around the back of Prisha’s neck and brings them nose to nose, chest to chest. The bottom of my belly aches, and I look away from their sensuality and, yet again, think about how much more fun I’d be having if Juliánwere here. If none of this would have happened. His anger toward me erased, his body pressing against mine, his mouth on my neck, his hands digging into my hips…

I sigh and try to tell myself that everything will somehow work out in the end, for him at least. Thankfully, my mom has the decency to at least pay his family enough to live off after dismantling their company and building a useless resort. I look around the room and see my mother standing with a group of men in suits and laughing the fakest laugh I’ve ever seen her perform, and find myself grateful that my life will never be like hers. I’ve at least known how it feels to be desired, to laugh in the middle of the ocean, to love someone, even if it’s unrequited. Julián has given me so much, and even though it was taken away at the hands of everyone here, I’m grateful that it happened in the first place. Yep, that’s where I land, gratitude instead of bitterness, and it’s an unwelcome but surprisingly nice feeling. I turn around to find another drink and run straight into the heavy chest of a man in a black button-down shirt. I look up, relief and shock washing over me in waves.

---