Page 27 of Bedding Rose
I finish applying my ruby red lipstick and check my reflection in the mirror, giving myself a fake smile so that I can ensure that none smeared onto my teeth. Then I smooth down the backless black midi dress I’m wearing and plump my dark curls one last time. I left them loose tonight, to help keep myself a smidgen warmer than I’d be with it up. It’s probably futile, though. Most likely, I’ll end up ducking inside eighty times to avoid getting the shivers because tonight’s fundraiser is in the courtyard of The Piñon Hotel in Santa Fe. My mother’s event coordinator, Ricardo, planned it, and he’s an idiot with the same tactical precision as Napoleon marching on Russia in midwinter. We’re going to freeze.
I check the time on my phone as I slide on a thick silver and turquoise bracelet I inherited from my grandmother. We need to leave soon. “Quique! Get a move on!” I shout, because my easy-going brother can’t be on time to save his life. He’s coming tonight because this is a big enough deal that it will probably make the papers and Mom wants a photo of the three of us all together, smiling happily for the press.
I briefly wonder if that guy she’s screwing is going to be there tonight. Will he bring his wife? Disgust and anger zigzag through me like little lightning bolts and I have to breathe deeply to regain my sense of calm. It doesn’t matter. I can’t stop other people from making shitty life choices—not even my own mother. And family … even when you resent them the way I do right now … they’re still all you have at the end of the day.
I blow out a deep breath as I pack my beaded red clutch. I just need to do my job, keep my head down, and make it out of there as quickly as I can. Instead of focusing on my mother’s secrets, I try to think about the night and mentally lay out how it’s going to unfold.
The drive to the hotel will take an hour, then we have to check the set up before the guests arrive and Mom has to practice her speech. I’ve got placard duty, checking that the names match our little layout map. Mom doesn’t want to foist such a boring job on anyone else.
I sigh as I slip on my red heels and tuck my clutch under my arm. I toss a black velvet coat on top, a coat I’d wear all night if Mom wouldn’t verbally elbow me with snide comments every two seconds.
About to step into the hallway, Mom opens my door just as I reach for the handle.
“Oh, good. You’re ready. This is a big one, tonight, Rosa.”
I nod, though she says the same thing for every event. Each one is always essential, big, important. She hardly ever shows up at my room like this though, so I’m curious about this display of nerves.
“Well, how do I look?” she asks, holding her arms up for inspection as a professional hair and makeup crew file out of her room and through the front door behind her. In a deep red suit that offsets her tan skin perfectly, her dark hair is teased and fluffed like a news anchor’s. Though she left a few crow’s feet around the corners of her eyes for authenticity, she’s gotten a few touch-ups elsewhere and there isn’t a line to be seen on her forehead. She looks like an older, less pale version of me, sans the green eyes—hers are a rich brown.
“You look great, Mom.” I give the requisite, expected answer with a smile. She really does look good. Seeing her look so professional used to make me swell inside with pride, but right now, I just feel queasy. I’m not certain if it’s due to the fact that I really don’t want to go to this event tonight or the secret knowledge I have that knocks her off the pedestal she used to stand on.
“Thank you. You do too, honey. Now, look. There’s going to be a big donor there tonight. The Garcia family. But there’s been a little bit of a complication. I know you can handle it for me.”
My fingers dig into the beaded purse as I study her eyes and the serious expression on her face. Her lips thin in displeasure before she says, “Your brother doesn’t take this seriously enough. He’s treating this like a party. He’s invited a date and … Angelo.”
I nearly drop my purse. “What?!” Immediately, I can feel my cheeks heat as if I just touched them to a piping hot griddle. I’m not ready to see Angelo yet. I’m not ready to deal with him, especially not in front of my family or in a situation where I have to be on my absolute best behavior. I want to cover my face with my hands, but then I’ll ruin the makeup that I spent over an hour applying. So my purse takes the brunt of my aggravation, dimpling under the press of my fingertips.
Mom mistakes my dismay for outrage on her part. “I know. I’ve had a chat with him, but the damage is done because they’re both already here.”
Angelo is already inside my house? My throat goes dry and though I lock up my knees, they tremble slightly.
“Maybe I should stay behind—that’s too much for your entourage—”
“Absolutely not! I need you to help me minimize this disaster. The Garcias hate the Walkers.”
“They do?”
“Yes. Apparently, some deal went south about twenty years ago. I don’t know all the details. But I know they hold a grudge as deep as the Capulets and Montagues. In any case, you know I hate to ask this, but I need you to keep Angelo away from them.”
My mouth opens in dismay and a nervous sweat immediately breaks out along the back of my neck. “Mom—”
“I know I can trust you to keep it professional, mija.” Her hands come up to clasp my shoulders. “I need your help. Your crush is long gone, yes?”
I press my lips together as she stares at me, the weight of her expectations draping over me like heavy chains. I find myself nodding automatically, an ingrained response, to give her the answer she wants.
“Good. Good. I knew when he came back looking like a criminal with those tattoos and things, you’d start to see him for what he really is.”
She’s such a snob. I don’t know that I ever realized it before. Or maybe I glossed over that knowledge, just like I ignored a million other little things—her late-night meetings with donors, the trips she’s always on, the fact that I don’t think she’s checked in once with me about how classes are going now that the spring semester has started.
“Thank you, mija.” She gives me a loose hug, careful not to muss my hair or her outfit. It’s a fake hug, a hug more concerned with our appearances than anything else, and I derive absolutely zero comfort from it.
When she pulls away and turns to open my door, I want to cry like a stupid little girl. Even though Angelo’s video lifted the veil from my eyes, seeing my mother’s machinations in person cuts a whole new wound into my heart. She’s not evil. She just sees other people as a means to her end. Or … is that the definition of evil?
I blink rapidly, trying to contain the burning behind my eyes. Even though my mascara is waterproof, I don’t have time to fix everything else. The inside of my chest compresses, pressure building, and I wish more than anything that I had a tiny razor in my hand—just a quick and easy way to bleed off some of the chaos tainting my thoughts.
“Okay!” Mom claps her hands loudly as she steps into the hall. “Let’s get this show on the road! Guys, I have boxes for you.”
I move out into the hallway and I’m surprised to see Quique’s door already open. He’s dressed? This is a first. Mom must have spoken with him already. That, or he’s actually excited about this date he’s got. I didn’t even know he was seeing someone.
