I held up a hand.
“Are you sure? Diego’s lemon sole seviche is light and delicious. Perfect for this god awfully hot day.” She fanned her neck with a file folder.
I shook my head. “I have to leave in twenty. Nat’s flight lands in an hour.” Imelda dismissed the waiter and I gave her a bemused look. “Why do you work out here?”
She shrugged. “Habit. How’s Natalya?”
“Good.” She was flying here on business but planned to stay several weeks, which was typical during the summer months. She spent her vacation time with us.
Imelda sighed, knowing she wouldn’t get any further details from me.
The waiter returned with a cappuccino she’d ordered before I arrived. He set the cup and saucer beside her laptop, bowed slightly, and left. Imelda ripped open a raw sugar packet and stirred until the crystals dissolved. She lifted the cup, blew across the surface, and sipped, testing the temperature.
I jiggled my knee and tapped the chair arm.
“Thomas signed over the deed.”
I stilled. “When?”
She took another sip and set down the cup. “Last winter. The hotel is doing better than it was two years ago.” As part of her deal with Thomas to portray my sister while I physically recovered, and to waylay any interests I might have had to learn who I really was, Thomas loaned her money, but on the condition his name be added to the deed.
She got to keep her hotel and I got a glorified babysitter.
“Is he still sending you checks?” Thomas had also compensated her.
“Not since December. I stopped cashing them over a year ago.”
“Why did he keep sending them?”
She sipped her cappuccino. “Guilt would be my guess. He hates himself for what he did to you.”
I wouldn’t know. I hadn’t spoken with him since he left Puerto Escondido last December.
“He’s under investigation for faking your death. I guess your friend Aimee mentioned something about your being alive when she filed a restraining order against him.”
“He told you this?”
She returned the cup to its saucer and picked up the pen. “Sí. We still talk.”
“After everything he’s done?” I bit out the words. She clicked the ballpoint and I swore. “He’s keeping tabs on me.”
“He cares about you, Carlos.”
“I don’t give a shit about him. He can rot in prison for all I care.” Good riddance.
“He won’t go to jail for faking your death. There’s no law in your country—”
“My country?”
“I didn’t mean . . .” She cleared her throat. “You’re right. I apologize. The United States. Apparently designing a fictitious death isn’t illegal, and that’s what Thomas did. Your funeral and burial were for show. The authorities are looking into the consequences of your death. They want to know if Thomas gained financially.”
I pinched off the sweat from the bridge of my nose and pushed the Maui Jims back into place. “The Donatos are wealthy. I’m sure he has.”
“Quite the opposite. Donato Enterprises hasn’t fared well since Phil’s arrest. Your portfolio is still intact. Thomas has it all in a trust and has been managing it. He never collected insurance upon your death.”
“How kind of him.”
Imelda lifted her eyes toward the ceiling with an air of big-sister impatience. “Your investments, your accounts, everything. It’s all there when you want it.”
Which I didn’t. She clicked the pen. I wanted to snatch it from her hand and fling it over the balcony. “Thanks, but no thanks. When you get word of Thomas’s arrest, feel free to text the good news.” I pushed up from the chair, wood legs scraping on the tile floor.
“Sit down, Carlos.” There was the big-sister tone. I bristled, stopping midrise. She pointed her pen at my chair. “Por favor. This affects you. Hate me and Thomas all you want, but believe it or not, we both care about you. And I love your sons.”
I eased back into the chair, my head cocked as a chill swept over me. “What does this have to do with them?”
Imelda looked left, then right. She set down the pen and leaned forward. “The authorities are asking Thomas questions about your death. I’m concerned they might come looking for you to verify everything Thomas has told them. You and I are the only ones here”—she gave the tabletop two distinct taps—“who know about you. Thomas gave me your identification papers. I have no idea where or how he got them. They can be legitimate, for all I know, but if they’re not . . .”
I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe. My back slammed into the chair. “I can be imprisoned or deported.” Because I might be here illegally. Fake ID and no visa.
“No one can find out I helped you. I’ll lose my hotel. And you, Carlos,” she said, panicked, “you could lose Julian.”
CHAPTER 7
JAMES
Present Day
June 22
Los Gatos, California
“You’re Se?ora Carla?”
“Well . . . yes,” she says as though this revelation shouldn’t be a surprise to him.
James swears. He can’t believe it. Claire vacationed in Puerto Escondido every summer and Christmas holiday for the past five years. She’d become close enough to Carlos and his sons that she was practically family. She hadn’t once told them she was family.
James clamps his hands behind his neck and glances wildly around the kitchen. When would the lying and deceit end?
Marc shoves past him and hugs Claire around her waist. He presses the side of his face against her belly. Claire gasps; then the biggest smile James recalls seeing on her appears. She rests her hands on Marc’s back, holding him against her.
“You love him.” The words sound like an accusation. A pulling sensation ripples through him. He jerks his gaze away, envious of the affection his mother doles out for his son. Her grandson.
James shoves down the sour knot in his throat. As much as he wants to keep the truth from Julian and Marcus, he’ll eventually have to tell them who Se?ora Carla really is. How will this news affect his sons on top of the other changes?
They won’t trust anyone, he thinks somberly. Imelda wasn’t their aunt. Carla wasn’t a random neighbor. And Carlos wasn’t their father’s true identity. The only genuine person in this mix is their aunt, Natalya Hayes. Thank God they at least have her.
Claire folds her legs until she’s eye level with Marc. She clasps his shoulders. James sharply inhales through his teeth. Will she tell him?
She better not breathe a word.
He’s outraged. These are his kids. There’s no way he’ll let his family screw with their heads. Between the death of their mother, and their father forgetting everything about them up until six months ago, they’ve dealt with more heartache and upheaval than any children should be expected to handle.