“She is your older sister, Bannini,” Mama says softly. “All the things you both dreamed about, you’ve actually done. Your sister made different choices. She wouldn’t trade Anna for the world, but hers was a different path. She’s been slowed down. Maybe sometimes it’s hard for her to see you running so far ahead.”
That renders me speechless. It never occurred to me that Camilla, gorgeous, perfectly formed Camilla, could ever envy me. My sister does not have a weight problem. Never has. She’s beautiful, and with that beauty came many temptations. While I was studying and wondering why no one else wanted to spend their weekends learning Italian, she yielded to every temptation, the greatest of which was Anna’s father, who is now nowhere to be found. I suck my teeth and shake my head, exasperated.
“Well, this is Anna’s big day, and I will help make it as special as it can possibly be,” I say. “Like Camilla and I had.”
My quincea?era wasn’t in a beautiful villa like the one I’m reserving for Anna. It was in a small salon near the church where Mass was held. My aunts all prepared the food and the entire family was involved. My damas and I worked for months on the carefully choreographed dance. I bonded with all fourteen girls and did the same for them when it was their turn.
“I still have my first heels I received that night,” I tell Mama, smiling, reminiscing.
“Your Uncle Javier picked those out, believe it or not,” Mama says, her deep chuckle making me miss her smile.
“Yes, but he could barely stand up to help put them on when the time came,” I say, my words touched with affection for one of my favorite godparents.
“Yes, well, Javier loves his tequila almost as much as he loves you.”
We laugh together as I pull into the short, pebbled driveway of my pride and joy, the mid-century modern post and beam house I purchased when I relocated. Though only three bedrooms and two baths, the tongue-and-groove ceilings, clerestory windows, walls of glass, and cool concrete floors create an open, airy tone that I appreciate after apartment living in New York for years. And the view through all that glass offers me the Hollywood Hills on nature’s platter.
I let myself into the house through the garage, still listening to Mama, and smile at Zo over his bare, muscled chest and bowl of cereal.
“Mama, let’s talk later,” I say. “There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”
I hand the phone to Zo.
“Hola, Mama,” he says, trying to pull me onto his lap. I avoid his hands and laugh over my shoulder, leaving him and my mother chatting in rapid Spanish and laughing like the old friends they are. Probably plotting our engagement. I leave them to it so I can shower and get to work.
I’m drying off when the bathroom door opens letting steam out and my boyfriend in. Irrationally self-conscious, I grip the towel tighter around my breasts. Silly. He’s seen me naked many times during our relationship, but I’m not used to sharing my space and my privacy. His big hands grip me by the hips as he pulls me close and kisses me thoroughly. I’m breathless and reassured by the time he’s done. This can work. This should and will work. There’s no reason it shouldn’t.
“How was the gym?” he asks, stepping away to shuck off his boxers, revealing his beautiful, well-conditioned athlete’s body.
“It was great.” I go into my walk-in closet, pulling out a summer pantsuit to put on once I’m done with my hair and makeup. “Quinn had no mercy, as usual.”
“I wish I’d gotten to spend more time with her.” He raises his voice over the shower. “I wish I had more time with you for that matter.”
“I know. This trip was much too quick,” I yell back. “And next week I’m in Denver for that convention.”
I head back into the bathroom to grab my hair dryer. There’s a snow globe on the counter beside it. It’s heavy when I pick it up. The base is marble with Vancouver, British Columbia etched into the stone. A winter sunset fills the glass arch, a gold and scarlet sky vivid against the snowy ground and the drift of powdery flakes when I shake it.
I walk over to the shower, globe in hand, delighted grin on my face.
“And what is this?” I ask.
A pleased smile creases Zo’s handsome face. “Just a little something I picked up for you.”
“It’s beautiful.” I lean my head in to kiss him lightly on the lips, but his soapy hands slide down my arms and bring me under the spray.
“Zo!” I laugh and grab at the towel slipping from my breasts and the globe slipping from my hand.
“Thank me properly,” he says, his voice husky, his eyes hot on my wet, bare skin.
I tip up on my toes to kiss him, taking his tongue into my mouth and allowing the towel to fall. I press my body into his and slide my fingers into the thick, wet curls at his neck. He groans, cups my ass, and pushes into the V of my naked thighs.
“I can’t. I’m already late.” I giggle into the watery kiss, pick up the now sodden towel, and step out of the shower. “But consider yourself properly thanked.”
His laughter follows me to the linen closet where I find a fresh towel to dry off and wrap around myself again.
“You got a full day?” Zo asks, his voice still slightly raised over the shower.
“Very.” I run a hand through the hair hanging past my shoulders and pick up the dryer. “Isn’t every day?”
“When do you meet with Lowell?”
Even with my back turned, I know Zo well enough to hear concern in his voice.
Lowell, the Titans’ president of basketball operations, is a tough customer. He’ll play hard ball because Zo’s numbers are down, and it’s bad timing. Right at the end of the regular season, going into post, his performance started suffering, but Zo has almost a decade of outstanding performance in this league. He’s eligible for a supermax contract, the designated veteran player extension, which can be up to thirty-five percent of a team’s cap space but can only be given by the team that drafted the player. He’s earned it, and I plan to get it for him.
“Hey.” I put my dryer on the counter and turn to face the shower, propping my butt against the counter and meeting the concern I anticipated in his eyes. “You know I got you.”
“En las buenas,” he says, our private message of loyalty through the years.
Through thick.
“En las malas,” I reply.