Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
T he house was much quieter since the movers had gone.
Delta placed her blouses in the dresser and shut the drawer. When she turned around, Ignacio was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.
Her skin prickled under his gaze. “Hey.”
“Don’t you have someone who can do that for you?” he asked, inclining his head toward the rest of the clothes in the open suitcases on the bed.
“I like doing some things myself.”
They hadn’t seen much of each other today. He had been in his office most of the time, leaving once to go out while she worked with the movers. When he returned, he brought back Indian food and explained that his housekeeper, Maria, wouldn’t arrive from California until next Wednesday. Until then, they were on their own.
She studied his face, the neat scruff of hair on his jawline, and the pointed tip of his nose. He wasn’t just handsome. He was charismatic, exuding a confidence that made him even more attractive. What choice did he have but to become a movie star? If he hadn’t, the world would have been robbed of his persona.
“I was thinking, since we’re alone in the house tonight, I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom,” Ignacio said.
“Oh?”
“We don’t need to share a bed until Maria gets here.”
Share a bed. Hearing those words made her nerve endings tingle.
“Makes sense,” Delta said.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“We’re going to have to learn to live together like normal people and act normal around the staff,” Ignacio said.
“I’ll do my best, but you’re the actor, remember?” She continued putting away her clothes, walking from the bed to the dresser and back again.
“You’re angry,” he said.
Delta tossed the pants she was holding back into the suitcase. “Aren’t you? Don’t you hate putting on this charade when you have a million things to do?”
“Believe me, I don’t like doing this any more than you do.”
It was probably particularly difficult for him, given that his name had been linked with numerous women over the years: models, actresses, socialites, unknowns. He didn’t discriminate, and he was not known for being monogamous.
“What’s going on with your album?” Ignacio asked.
The question surprised her. They didn’t talk much when they were alone or show any interest in each other’s projects, as if conversation was too much of a burden without an audience.
“Dad wants me in the studio tomorrow, so that’s where I’ll be.”
“No rest for the weary.”
“Never,” she said ruefully. “I… I’m having a bit of a hard time. None of the music feels right. The songs the label provided don’t move me.”
Ignacio leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, settling in for the conversation. “Do you still write?”
He was probably remembering her notebooks filled with poetry and love songs she’d shown him when they were teenagers. She had held on to them all, though she never planned for anyone else to see them. Some were good, some were bad, but overall, compared to her work now, her growth as an artist was clear.
“A little,” she admitted.
“A little?”
“Okay, I have dozens of songs written,” she confessed.
She had written songs the label had passed on to other singers, several of which continued to generate good money due to the success of the artists singing the lyrics. But most of the songs she had kept to herself.
“If you have dozens, why don’t you use some of them?”
Delta laughed shortly. “They don’t want those songs. They’re too angsty.”
“Have you asked?” He raised his right eyebrow.
“No,” Delta admitted in a low voice.
“Then you don’t know that they don’t want your songs. I remember you wrote some good poetry.”
“You’re a liar,” she muttered.
Ignacio’s eyebrows snapped together. “What did you say?”
“You’re a liar,” Delta said louder.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I bet you don’t remember a single line from one of my poems.”
He didn’t say a word at first, and she watched him defiantly, daring him to contradict her. Then he spoke.
“Flowers blooming through the frost
Hearts dare beat though all is lost
Love is passion, love is pain
Love is sunshine, love is rain”
“Th-that’s my poem, Love Is. How did you… I don’t understand. You remembered that?”
“Of course I remembered it. It was beautiful. Angsty. Emotional.” Ignacio began reciting the rest of the verses, and all Delta could do was stare. At the end, she joined him in repeating the last two lines.
“Love is passion, love is pain. Love is sunshine, love is rain.” She drew in a tremulous breath, shocked and overwhelmed. “I wrote that in tenth grade.”
“You wrote it our junior year,” Ignacio corrected.
Delta paused. “Oh my goodness, you’re right!” She laughed. He remembered better than she did. “I can’t believe…”
“I told you, you write good stuff. You need to believe in yourself, Delta.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “You’re right. But I’m not as confident about my skills as you are, I guess.”
Imposter syndrome. She had learned the phrase years ago in therapy and had come to better understand those feelings of inadequacy and the belief that she didn’t deserve her status in the industry. Her last album flopping certainly didn’t help.
He had been self-assured, even when they were teenagers in the performing arts club in middle school. Because of her good grades, she had won a scholarship to attend the prestigious Westerly Academy, where the wealthy and notable people in Atlanta sent their kids. That’s where they had become close.
He never seemed to have doubts, and at times, that rubbed other kids the wrong way. They had called him egotistical and conceited, but none of the disparaging words had affected him. He knew he was good at his craft, and if anything, while they whined and complained, he worked hard to be better.
“I’m not always confident,” Ignacio admitted. “But I remind myself that if I don’t believe in myself, why should anyone else?” He shrugged.
“That’s one way to look at it,” Delta murmured. “What about you? How is your film project coming along? Is the script finalized?”
“More or less. Do you know what the movie is about?”
“Vaguely.”
She knew more about his first film because she had seen it. Though panned by critics, she didn’t think it was that bad, especially for a directorial debut.
“I got the idea from something that happened to a family member,” Ignacio explained.
That much Delta knew, but this was the most they had talked, and she was curious to know more. “So it’s inspired by true events?”
“Not exactly. The true event gave me the idea, the way you might get an idea for a song from something you see or experience. What you’re singing might not be based in fact, but the story in the lyrics could stem from something that really happened. One of my father’s cousins in Mexico was convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. When he was released, he continued to insist he hadn’t killed the man, but no one believed him.”
“Because he’d always been in trouble,” Delta guessed.
“Yes. Yet he was adamant he hadn’t done it, and my father, being my father, eventually looked into the case and discovered discrepancies.”
She wasn’t surprised. On the occasions she had met Benicio Santana, he had seemed like an honorable man, though rather strict. He had imposed a lot of restrictions on Ignacio at the start of his career.
Ignacio was not allowed to participate in events unless Benicio or another adult family member was present. Meanwhile, Delta’s parents allowed her to hang out in spaces a minor shouldn’t have been. Looking back, their lack of oversight was reckless, but at the time, she and Ignacio had fumed about his father’s overprotectiveness.
“Eventually, my father hired a private investigator, and she did some digging and found out his cousin was wrongfully convicted.”
Her eyes widened. “Stories like that always horrify me. How long was he imprisoned?”
“Fifteen years.”
Delta gasped in dismay. “Thank goodness for your father.”
He nodded slowly. “He was able to clear his cousin’s name and then set him up with whatever he wanted to do. His cousin, Carlo, chose to create a nonprofit to help formally incarcerated people transition back into society. He knew it would have been impossible for him without my father’s help.”
“Which parts of his life did you use to inspire your film?” Delta asked. The movie was more intriguing now that she knew what had sparked the idea for the project.
“The wrongful conviction and the time he spent in jail,” he answered, shifting against the door. “At the end of the movie, the character, Gideon, also sets up a nonprofit, but that’s where the similarities end. The story takes place here in the States, not Mexico. Gideon is played by a white guy—a new actor I discovered at a local theater. As soon as I saw him, I knew he’d be perfect for the part. The man is amazing, and his audition blew everyone away. When the character comes out of jail, he finds out he has a son with the woman he was involved with before his incarceration.”
“She never told him he had a kid?” Delta asked.
Ignacio shook his head. “They were from opposite sides of the tracks, different social classes. He was a poor kid, smart and on his way to college on a scholarship when he was arrested. She is the daughter of a wealthy philanthropist and currently runs the family foundation. She ends up helping her ex at the risk of destroying her reputation and having everyone find out this criminal is the father of her son.”
“What does she risk?” Delta asked.
“Alienating her family and losing donors.”
She paused, thinking about the story in her head. She was already intrigued and saw how it could play out on screen. “Do they fall in love?”
“They do, as she starts to work on his case to help him. Their feelings for each other cause problems because she’s now married to a well-known politician running for state senator. He’s been great and is a father figure to her son.”
“Sounds messy, but a romance subplot is always a nice touch.” She noticed him frowning. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. The script is complete, but it needs tweaking. I feel as if there’s something missing, but I don’t know what it is.”
“What feedback have you gotten from other people?”
“Everyone who has read it loves the script, but I… I don’t know,” he finished, sounding exasperated.
“Maybe you’re overthinking it,” Delta said gently. She understood because she could get inside her own head sometimes. He didn’t want to fail again, just as she didn’t want her next album to flop.
“Maybe. Brockwell Media reached out,” Ignacio said.
“Who are they?”
“The biggest production company in the South. If they’re interested and sign on, the movie is as good as done.”
“Ohmigod! What? That’s amazing. Way to bury the lede.”
Ignacio chuckled, and the low sound was sexy and enticing. His whole face changed—softening, brightening. Her insides ached with the need to reach out and touch him and bury her fingers in his soft curls. Instead, she buried her fingers in the clothes in her suitcase—a pitiful substitute for what she really wanted to do.
“I meet with them on Tuesday.”
Delta noted his tempered reaction. “You should be way more excited than you are,” she remarked.
“I don’t want to put the cart before the horse,” he explained.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding offended.
“You don’t like to get too excited about good news.”
“Because in the blink of an eye, good news can turn into bad news. You know that.”
“True.” She let out a little laugh.
He tilted his head. “What are you thinking about?”
“That time you auditioned for the soda commercial back in middle school.”
He paused, and then his eyes lit up as he remembered. “Oh damn, I forgot about that. I had to pretend to like that awful drink.” His upper lip curled in distaste.
“It was so gross.” Delta wrinkled her nose. She had been proud of him and insisted her father buy an entire case. “It tasted like carbonated cough medicine.”
“Worse. I warned you, but you didn’t listen.”
“I was certain it couldn’t be as bad as you said.”
He chuckled, his voice warm at the memory. “I had my first national commercial, only for them to call me the next morning and say, ‘We’re going in a different direction.’” He shook his head, and his curls tumbled around his face.
“Um, it probably didn’t help that you were running through the halls at school singing ‘All I Do is Win’ by DJ Khaled.”
He laughed again. “I did do that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“You’re right, that probably didn’t help.”
“Hey, at least you didn’t suffer for very long. You landed a shampoo deal a few months later.” Because of his beautiful hair and the success of the initial commercial, the brand created a series of commercials that played nationally and elevated his profile.
“Thanks to Yvonne. The exposure changed my life.”
Despite their personal conflict, deep down she wanted a win for him, and a small part of her was pleased by the amount of information he’d shared.
Ignacio straightened from the wall. “It’s late.” He went into the bathroom and came out with his toothbrush.
“That’s all you need? Do you have clothes in the spare room?” Delta asked.
“No.”
“Then…”
A smirk tucked into the right corner of his mouth.
“You still sleep naked,” Delta surmised.
“Yes.”
She felt a pull in her belly as memories of his warm, naked body pressed against hers beneath cool sheets came flooding back.
“It’s very comfortable. You should try it.”
“Do you plan to do the same thing when… when we’re in the same bed?” Delta asked.
He paused, watching her closely before answering. “Yes.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“Not a problem for me,” she said with a casual shrug.
“Glad to hear it. Good night.”
He was gone before she had the presence of mind to respond.
“Good night,” she said, her voice a little breathless.
Then she replayed their conversation in her mind and grinned. Ignacio had remembered her poem from eleventh grade. The whole poem.
He had shared his success with her, like old times. He had laughed with her—real laughter, not fake. Maybe living together wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
And maybe, just maybe, Vivian was right. Maybe Ignacio didn’t hate her.