Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
KIERAN
Short of rejecting her, I don’t know how else I can make myself clearer to Natalia.
At the museum, she followed me around like a stray dog.
I was grateful for Isabel’s presence, but somewhere along the way, she disappeared.
Then it was just me and Natalia, who said we were all going out tonight to grab some drinks at this rooftop speakeasy.
“Wear something nice,” she had said, fluttering her lashes at me.
That evening, we pile into one of the many vans the Aranazes own. Me, Cisco, Bo, and Jaime; Erin, Chiara, Ravina, Luz, and Natalia. Two bodyguards sit up front in black button downs.
“Wait, where’s Isabel?” I ask.
Sitting with the girls in front, Natalia answers, “She’s not coming.”
“What?”
“Relax,” she says, laughing. “She didn’t want to come. Something about her church or whatever.”
I tap Bo’s leg to get him to swap places with me. From there, I start hitting the back of Erin’s chair. “Let me out,” I say. “Let me out.”
“Dude!” Erin glares at me.
“Let me out,” I say again.
“Kieran!” Natalia whines.
One bodyguard slips out of the passenger seat and slides the door open. Erin groans and steps out to let me through.
I race into the house and up the stairs. I burst through Isabel’s bedroom door and find her curled up under the covers, scrolling on her phone. She lifts her head to look at me. “Hey,” she greets. “Where are you going?”
“You’re not coming with?” I ask.
“Coming where?”
“The speakeasy.”
“What speakeasy?”
“They didn’t tell you?”
Isabel sits up. She’s dressed in a muslin blouse and a matching pair of shorts. Pajamas.
Those fucking assholes.
Isabel frowns. “Oh,” she says. “I guess I wasn’t invited.”
“I’m not going without you. Fuck that.”
“What? No, you have to.”
“No, I don’t.” I’m already unbuttoning the top of my dress shirt. “It’s bullshit, how she treats you. This has her name all over it. What the fuck? Why would she do this?”
“Kieran—”
“At the museum earlier,” I say, undeterred. “You disappeared. Why?”
“I—I—” she stammers.
“She asked you to leave, didn’t she? Tell me the truth.”
“Kieran.” Her voice cracks. She wears a look of pain on those delicate features. That’s answer enough.
“Wait for me,” I tell her. “I’m gonna get changed and tell them I’m not coming.”
“No!”
“What do you mean, no? I won’t stand for this.”
“She’s going to be so pissed at me,” Isabel says. “Just go, please. I don’t want to make things any worse than they already are.”
“Fuck that. You did nothing wrong.”
When I head back downstairs, changed into my home clothes, the van’s already gone. Good, I think. Fuck you.
I turn to head back upstairs but find Isabel standing on the ground floor landing. I want to scoop her in my arms and tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for how they’re treating her. I’m so sorry they’re even my friends.
“Did they leave?” she asks quietly.
I nod.
“Do you want to go to your studio?”
“We don’t have to do that right now,” I tell her. “We can just—chill.”
“You have a deadline,” she says. “Let me go get changed. I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
We hear them return a little past 2 a.m., laughing and chatting among themselves.
There’s a scream, followed by splashing water, and then more laughter, more splashes.
Isabel and I exchange looks. The portrait is halfway done, and after sitting there for hours, I figure she can use a break.
I incline my head toward the door, but she shakes her head.
“You go.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“Natalia will kill me if she sees me in here with you.”
Right. “I’ll wait here with you, then.” I step toward the curtains and peer out. My friends are in the pool, drunk and high off of God knows what. Coke, probably. It’s almost always coke, if not ecstasy. Maybe Ket.
Isabel peeks behind my shoulder. Her nearness has me holding my breath.
I drop the curtain and face her. Her eyes meet mine.
All it would take to close the distance is a couple inches.
Neither of us moves. I’m aching to kiss her, to feel her lips on mine, to taste heaven in her sighs.
But I can’t be like Jaime. She has to make the first move.
Isabel backs away. “Do you want to keep painting?”
I’m too lightheaded to work. “I think I’m going to take a break,” I say. She drops down on the couch and pats the space next to her. I oblige, leaning back and resting my head on the woven backrest. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.
When I re-open them, it’s noon, and Isabel is nowhere to be found.