Page 56 of The Last Sunrise

I can imagine Julián, disgusted by the nearly ten thousand square feet of my house in Dallas. With two kitchens, four living rooms, massive TVs that we never use in every room, the pool and hot tub, the perfectly manicured lawn, and three-football-fields length of a backyard…

“I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m bragging. I just didn’t want to lie,” I admit, sucking on my bottom lip with anxiety.

He smiles, a tiny but real one. I can tell he’s uncomfortable being here, but he still says, “Don’t be. Everyone’s lives are different, and yours and mine couldn’t be more so.”

I try not to decipher his words during our walk to the elevator. He hugs me closely, kissing my forehead and keeping his arm wrapped around my waist as we exit and head down the labyrinth of the hallway leading to the grand room.

As we reenter the ballroom, I wonder if anyone noticed my absence, but my curiosity is very quickly answered as I realize the servers are clearing the plates of the first course of dinner and the seat next to my mother is empty. I had forgotten completely about the meal part of the evening, even though most of the menu—the roasted duck, garlic seared shrimp, and mushroom ravioli—were my choices to add.

“She doesn’t look happy,” Julián warns as we walk toward the table, hand in hand.

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Does she ever?”

His shoulders rock to stifle his laughter as we approach.

“Ry.” My mom’s smile is wide, friendly, as if welcoming an old friend, not her only daughter and the son of the man she loved and is now destroying.

“Julián, thank you for coming.” My mother’s acting is Oscar-worthy.

“You may know Julián Garcia,” she performs for the table, pretending like we’re all on the same side of this. A little confusion rustles over the men at our table, but it quiets down as my mom looks at each of them.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Ry.” She looks around the table to comfort the investors there by sealing in the lie she must have told them about me not feeling well and disappearing.

A mild panic arises. What if she told them I was in the hospital just hours ago? What if one of them mentions my epilepsy or tuberous sclerosis? The timing could not be worse.

I manage a smile. “I spilled something on my dress and just needed a little break from the noise. I’m sorry for the delay.” I bow to the guests, giving my best feigned innocence, as my mother’s piercing eyes take in the change in my hair, the smudged makeup on my face.

I raise a defiant brow to her as the rest of the table continue talking among themselves, as if to say,Yeah, it’s exactly what you think, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.

Lena notices the tension and, as always, swoops in to make sure nothing gets out of hand, glaring at one of the lawyers who opens his mouth to address Julián but decides against it. Lena, the peacekeeper, waves toward Julián, moving her ownchair over to fit another between hers and mine. My mother wants to react; I can tell by the way her hands are gently gripping the edge of the round table, scrunching the dark gray cloth ever so slightly so it’s unnoticed. But she knows better than to interfere or say one wrong word to Julián right now, given the circumstances.

“Have a seat next to Oriah and let’s finish our meal.” Lena smiles warmly at him and he thanks her, sitting down slowly, as if he has an open wound in a pool of sharks. In many ways, that’s very, very true.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dinner seems to drag on endlessly. Once it’s finally over, Julián and I leave the table at our first chance. He kept one hand on my thigh during the entire meal and didn’t utter a single word. I hated every moment, but we both knew it was necessary to show my mom that we will not be separated, no matter how much tension is surrounding us. The air feels less constrictive the further from the table we get, and Julián finally talks, telling me how awful the food tasted and how he doesn’t know how I’ve sat through those stale, emotionless business dinners my whole life. He leads me through the crowd as the music picks back up, and we make our way to find Amara and Prisha’s still-dancing bodies. Makes sense that they didn’t eat, since there was assigned seating and neither of them was technically invited, but they certainly didn’t seem to mind.

“You showed up.” Amara pushes at Julián’s shoulder and turns her eyes to me. “Better late than never.” She smiles, knowing how desperately I wanted him here, or anywhere I am. She gets me.

“Wait, weren’t you wearing a green dress?” Amara asks, looking me over.

Her eyes fall on my hair, my obviously changed appearance. She giggles, looking back and forth between Julián and me.

“Okay, okay. I see.” She clicks her tongue. “Well, glad you two lovebirds made up, because I didn’t want to have to pick a side and really, really didn’t want you to leave tonight, Ry. You’re not leaving now, are you?” She grabs both of my hands between hers and my stomach drops.

I really hope Julián missed what she said about me leaving. Now that he’s here, physically and mentally back with me, I can’t imagine leaving. Deciding to do so was impulsive and wouldn’t have helped anything. What will Julián think of me running off, back to the States? I can’t bring myself to look up at him to find out. I can feel his eyes on me, but I purposely focus on Amara.

“Who’s in charge of the music? It sucks. We’re trying to make the best of it, but it’s getting a bit snoozy,” Amara says, tilting her head to the DJ booth.

An elderly man stands there, unmoving, very far from your typical DJ at a party. His shoulders aren’t moving to the beat, his eyes are downcast, not caring to notice if the crowd is enjoying it. But this is a fancy charity event, so I’m not shocked that my mom hired the stuffiest DJ in all of Spain. Frank Sinatra’s crooning voice fills the room. Frank himself is a legend but couldn’t be more opposite of what Amara is looking for.

“We’re the youngest people here, what did you expect? And the crowd isn’t exactly fun…” Prisha half smiles, and all four of us look toward my mother, who is anything but.

“Maybe you can request something? Who knows, the DJ might also be bored.”

She smiles, and Prisha shakes her head but follows Amara’s bouncing body toward the booth.

“They seem to be going well,” Julián notes, nodding toward their hands intertwining as they walk away.

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