31. Tamayo
TAMAYO
T he sound of a single cello heralds our entrance into the main hall.
Red roses cover the ceiling, trailing down at varying lengths and creating alcoves where there are none. Everything is presented unexpectedly—the food table looks like it’s melting, the orchestra sitting in forced perspective to appear too large, a giant clock ticking on one wall with its numbers all wrong. It’s disconcerting and all the more incredible for it.
I lead Zarina into a small circle created by the crowd, polite applause welcoming us. The four Cardinal patriarchs stand at their symbolic positions: In the north stands David Capone, wearing a maroon, velvet jacket with black lapels and his silk scarf folded into the shape of a heart. In the south, Riccardo Gallo glares, a real mustache perched on his lip, his suit the same shade as a walrus. In the east, Jimmy Falcone, a patchwork top hot sitting askew on his head, his suit made to match. And last but definitely least, Alonso Accardi in the west, the shoulders of his collar flaring dramatically away from his neck and gilded in silver embroidery, a glove with the appearance of a bio-mechanical skeleton on one hand .
I sweep Zarina in a wide arc and end with her pressed against me. The music pauses as we stand in the center, my hand at the small of her back and her neck gracefully arched. At the first note, we sweep into a simple waltz, a presentation of the impending union of two families. David steps forward and twirls his wife into the dance. And then Jimmy and his wife join a moment later. The leaders of each Cardinal Family step into the circle, symbolizing support and acceptance of the impending marriage.
Riccardo and Alessandra sweep onto the floor next. She’s draped in silver gossamer and black pearls, her high collar shaped like a clamshell. A sliver of relief releases down my spine. It was never guaranteed that the Gallos would partake in tradition, not with the Accardis standing in the west, glaring daggers at the four couples on the dance floor.
Until Marcus steps forward.
He doesn’t dance, rather standing stiff in all black with a heart-shaped patch over his left eye, a fur-lined cape draped across his shoulders. The orchestra plucks and thrums and the other dons ignore him, but the message is clear—the Accardis in the west do not approve of this union. With the majority rule, though, it doesn’t matter. And so Marcus’s glare follows Zarina and I wherever we dance, an immovable boulder against crashing waves of tulle and silk.
The song ends, and we bow to each Cardinal don.
“Welcome!” Zarina speaks to the room as a whole. “We are so grateful to celebrate our upcoming union with each of you, and even more grateful to have the blessing of our friends and families.”
Alonso snorts outright.
“Tonight is made more special not only by your attendance, but by your generous donations to our favorite charity,” I call. This is the only part of this farce I’m happy about. Well, that and seeing Marcus’s anger all night. “Queer youth, especially those experiencing gender dysphoria, experience homelessness and housing instability more than many other groups. Alphabet House works to provide safe haven and counseling for young queer people in our community. All gifts and profits tonight will be given in donation to help Alphabet House build better housing and make much needed updates to their community center. Thank you!”
A few faces frown in the crowd, but they all clap. I accept flutes of champagne for Zarina and myself, thanking the server as they spin away into the crowd.
“Drink! Be merry!” Zarina raises her glass. “Careful not to tumble too far down the rabbit hole.” She winks.
“Salut!” I cry.
“Salut!” The crowd raises their glasses and drinks.
The orchestra starts back up at the same moment David Capone strides forward to shake my hand, which was firmly around Zarina’s waist.
I reluctantly release her to greet him. “Hello, David. Thank you for your support.”
“Of course, of course.” He claps my shoulder.
“You make a dashing King of Hearts,” Zarina compliments him, offering her own hand.
“Thank you, dear. I must dance with my Queen of Hearts sometime this evening.” He kisses her knuckles, and his wife laughs.
Zarina’s lips twitch downward, but she twists it into a smile quickly. “I would be honored.”
His wife presses a hand to his lapel with a fond smile. “I can’t believe you got him to dress in something other than a black tux, Zarina. Impressive!”
She grins devilishly. “I can cajole when necessary.”
“Andrea, how’s business?” David cuts across his wife, who was about to speak and whom he has yet to introduce by name .
“Last week was difficult, but it’s turning around.” I sip my champagne and slip my arm around Zarina’s waist again.
“Good, good.” He waves his hand like he’s waving away the niceties. “I’d like to meet with you soon, discuss some property you’ve recently acquired in Gachico.”
“Excuse me, what property?” I hide my annoyance behind a mask of confusion. There should be no way David Capone knows about that deal. The shell company isn’t under my name, and I haven’t set foot in the area since last year.
“The one?—”
“David, darling, stop the shop talk.” His wife takes his elbow and tugs him away from Zarina and me, glancing back at the small crowd forming behind them. “We’re here to celebrate, not conduct business.”
“Excuse me, dear.” He clears his throat and pats her hand. “Later, Andrea.”
“Of course.” I tilt my chin as they teeter away, playing the gracious host. In reality, all I want to do is rip off this costume and horde a plate of hors d’oeuvres to myself.
“Don’t look like such a bored toddler,” Zarina chastises under her breath.
“Make me,” I snap. Ugh, I sound like her.
“Chin up, Tamayo.” The next person in line winks, and a huge grin spreads across my face as warmth floods my chest.
“Rita.” I breathe her name, and with it, tension releases from my muscles. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“I couldn’t miss this.” She wraps both arms around me, and I return the embrace, despite Zarina’s grip on my elbow. “Introduce me to your fiancée, you heathen.”
I laugh, pulling back with my hand still on her shoulder. Rita’s wearing a stunning light-blue gown with pearls embroidered into the seams. The colors are soft against her dark-brown skin, her twists tied back from her face with a bow perfectly placed in her hair. I’ve never seen her so done up, shining so brightly. She absolutely glows.
“Zarina, may I introduce you to the woman who changed my life”—Rita smacks my chest with a scoff—“and continues changing others’s lives—Rita Pollard, Alphabet House’s director and tonight’s guest of honor.”
Zarina reaches to shake her hand, but Rita ignores it in favor of a hug. “Oh.” The word is squeezed out of her as she pats Rita’s back. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Rita offers Zarina one of her warmest smiles. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“And you. The dress is gorgeous on you—thank you so much for letting me style you.”
I shoot Zarina a surprised frown.
She keeps her smile demure, but her eyes narrow in offense. “I’m not a monster. I’d never throw her to the wolves, even if she refused my help.”
“Both of you can’t keep your nose in your own business.” Rita fidgets in her dress, like she’s unsure where to place her hands when she’s wearing something so fancy.
“I consider that a compliment,” I tease.
She clucks her tongue. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Zarina waves her off. “Of course, you were invited, you’re the guest of honor. And thank god. I refuse to let this event be anything other than a queer celebration.”
Rita takes her hand and squeezes, voice genuine. “And that’s exactly what you’ve done. Even if the guests are anything but.”
“Thank you.” Zarina blushes with the compliment.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and land a peck on her temple. “She’s right, princess. You did amazing.”
She squints up at me. “Even if you hate the costumes?”
“Even then.” And I mean it. Because despite not wanting a theme and not seeing Zarina all week, she pulled off an event steeped in queerness and attended by the most toxically straight group of people in Louredo. And they absolutely don’t know it, which makes it all the sweeter.
“Speaking of the guests…” Rita trails off, brow raised. “Don’t play me for a fool, Tamayo.”
“Never would.” I lean closer, speaking so only she and Zarina can hear me. “Take their money and don’t look at it too hard.”
“Fine,” Rita sighs. “Can you have someone make sure Jaime and Mais are taken home before there’s any trouble?”
“Gemma’s already on it.” I aim my chin at the trio, Jaime and Mais posing wildly in the photo booth while Gemma giggles and encourages their antics. Rita shakes her head, muttering to herself. I think I catch the word embarrassment. “She’ll take ’em home in an hour.”
“I’d love to meet them.” Zarina cranes her neck, trying to find them in the crowd but failing. “Jaime and Mais and the other kids.”
Rita beams. “They’d love that, if only so they can tease Tamayo relentlessly. Bring her next time you visit, hm?”
“How often is that?” Zarina asks.
I don’t know if I want Zarina to know too much about Rita and Alphabet House. Especially not what it means to me. “Not oft?—”
“A couple times a month,” Rita cuts me off.
Zarina covers her mouth as she snort-laughs. “Wow, tried to play it cool and failed.”
“That’s kind of her whole thing.” Rita grins, obviously teasing.
“Zarina, dear!” Alessandra effectively crashes through our small circle to embrace her daughter. It’s been more than a decade since I stood this close to her, and then, she was looming over me, painted in reflected neon lights coloring her face red. I shake the memory and focus on Riccardo behind her, standing like an unattended toddler waiting for their parent. Alessandra kisses Zarina’s cheek, stepping back to look her up and down. “Where did you get this dress? It’s stunning. Did Portia pull it together for you?”
Zarina’s smile is plastered on her face like a painting. “No, Mother, it’s a new designer.”
Alessandra’s hand trails down Zarina’s arm to wrap around her bicep, her claw-like nails threatening to dig into her daughter’s skin. “You must share their information.”
“I doubt you’ll employ them,” Zarina mumbles.
“And Andrea.” Alessandra turns, ignoring Zarina and boxing Rita out of the conversation. She cuts an icy scowl at me. “You look quite acceptable.”
I snort. “A glowing compliment, thank you.”
She twirls back to her daughter, using her body and wide skirts to separate them from the rest of us. “Zarina, dear, when will you return home?” she asks, as if the loss of her daughter is causing her great pain. “It’s unbecoming for a woman to live with her fiancée before the wedding.”
“We’re a modern couple, Mother.” Zarina continues to speak through her forced smile. “It’s not like we haven’t fucked already.”
“Zarina!” Riccardo snaps from behind his wife.
She clears her throat. “I’ll make you both a deal. You be honest with me, and I’ll come home.”
“Zarina, dear, we’ve always been honest with you. We miss you at home,” Alessandra says through gritted teeth, her long, manicured nails digging into the space between Zarina’s muscles. I step around Zarina’s skirts to stand at her shoulder and erase the distance Alessandra put between us. She cocks her head, condescension dripping off her like the pearls sewn into her dress. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll have a real wedding, hm? It won’t take place in a church, ordained by a priest, will it? ”
Rita freezes. And it’s not like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. No, it’s the quiet arrest of the woods before lightning strikes. And though Alessandra doesn’t know it, she’s a copper wire at the top of a skyscraper.
“Then our living in sin hardly matters, does it?” Zarina surmises, her voice dripping with sweet poison.
“Alessandra, don’t hog the bride-to-be.” Riccardo steps forward to hug his daughter and cut the tension. Alessandra is forced to release Zarina and step aside. I take the opportunity to signal Rita to escape, and she does without hesitation, though she throws a heated glare at Alessandra on her way.
Riccardo embraces his daughter. “Congratulations, Zarina.”
Zarina’s muscles stiffen, and her jaw clenches. “Thank you, Father.”
He steps back and threads his arm around his wife, like he’s holding her back from invading Zarina’s space again. “Have you set a date?”
“Christmas,” Zarina answers.
That’s news to me. I barely hold back a reaction, masking my surprise with a wide smile and a brush of my hand over the small of Zarina’s back. I wish I could whisper in her ear without her parents hearing, because what the fuck . When was that decided? And then it occurs to me—that’s the end of our three-month timeline.
When this sham of an engagement will be over.
Riccardo coughs. “So soon?”
“Why wait?” Zarina challenges, still speaking with candy-coated condescension.
“Indeed!” Jimmy slides into our small circle, clapping Riccardo on the shoulder. Jimmy’s patchwork hat sits somehow more askew than before, and yet still clings to his head. He raises his half-empty glass of champagne. “I expect your wedding to be as unique as your engagement.”
Zarina offers a sly smile. “Oh, it’ll be the event of the season. ”
“I have no doubt.” Jimmy downs the rest of his drink.
“Tamayo, Zarina!” Logan Anderson’s voice clangs against my ears. He’s dressed in all black, pauldrons formed of metallic feathers decorating his shoulders—a raven. He shakes my hand, grabbing it despite my failure to offer it, and then he kisses Zarina’s, lingering too long on her knuckles for her comfort. Or mine. I barely stop myself from breaking his hold before he releases her. She slips her hand behind my back, wiping it across the fabric surreptitiously. I bite back a laugh at that.
Logan inclines his head to Riccardo and Alessandra. “Congratulations, Gallos! I am impressed by your daughter’s wit and talent, though her beauty surpasses both to be sure.”
Zarina grimace-smiles and drains the rest of her champagne, immediately trading it for another glass off a passing tray.
Alessandra frowns at Logan. “What’s your name?”
I choke on a snort.
Logan’s face falls and reveals the offended ego of a man who thought himself more important than he is. “Logan Anderson, Louredo district attorney.”
Alessandra hums, regarding the man as if he’s a beetle crawling over her most expensive shoes. “And how do you know my daughter?”
“I introduced them, of course.” Jimmy steps in. He’s traded his champagne for a glass of scotch. “Maybe next time Ricci comes to Casa Nostra, you can attend with him as Zarina did.”
Riccardo’s face pales. “Zarina?”
“You went to Casa Nostra?” Alessandra asks, voice more of a whisper.
“It was most entertaining,” Jimmy says, as if he’s speaking about this moment rather than Zarina’s appearance at the infamous gentleman’s club.
“She fit right in,” Logan says. By the looks on Zarina’s parents’ faces, such a sentiment meant a number of things to them and absolutely none of them were acceptable for their well-bred mafia princess.
“My daughter at Casa Nostra?” Alessandra’s hand wraps around Zarina’s upper arm again, and this time, her nails dig directly into the skin. “What business could you possibly have there, dear?”
Zarina bears the claws threatening to break her skin without flinching, like this is a common occurrence. Normal pain. And that says far more than anything else could. “You know I’ve always been keen to learn the family business.”
“Yet you attended without your family.”
Zarina plucks a third glass of champagne from a passing tray, the movement forcing her mother to release her arm. “After years of refusals, I seized the chance I received.”
She means the chance she created. I take a generous gulp of my drink, feeling the ghost of Zarina’s knife scraping over my neck at the memory. I would have much rather left her at home that night. At least I get to watch her parents have a polite meltdown at the revelation of her attendance and my suspected involvement in the corruption of their perfect princess.
Jimmy squeezes Riccardo’s shoulder in mock comfort, the Gallo patriarch leaning away in distaste. “She comported herself quite well, Ricci, no need to be worried.”
“To be expected of such a fine young lady,” Logan compliments.
Alessandra shoots him a withering glare. “The expectation of fine young ladies in Casa Nostra leaves much to be desired.”
“Perhaps if their name is anything less than Gallo,” Zarina snaps through a smile.
“Tamayo!” Jaime and Mais tumble into the circle, and I catch them before they accidentally tackle one of the most dangerous people in Louredo. Gemma’s hot on their heels, grimacing an apology behind their backs. I just shake my head, amused and honestly happy to have an excuse to step out of the stifling ring of Cardinal Families.
Jaime’s bright-blue hair is shaped into a mullet, and their costume matches—a glittering suit of azure with a fake hookah-pipe hanging from their lapel to represent the Caterpillar. In my other hand, Mais is wrapped in a ball gown made of tulle with red rose petals floating between the layers. His long, black hair sits atop his head, somehow shaped into a rose. I hazard a guess that Zarina provided both outfits, like with Rita.
“This party is so cool!” Jaime hugs me tight, unaware of the powerful people shooting disapproving looks around us. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Jaime,” Mais admonishes. His tawny brown skin burnishes in the low light meant to simulate candlelight. Unlike his friend, he’s very aware of the judgment they’re receiving. “You’re being rude.”
“It’s okay, Mais.” I pull Jaime backward, further away from the Gallos and Falcones and Logan. Zarina takes the opportunity to follow me, hand at Mais’s back. I hold Jaime at arm’s length with a wide grin. “Let me get a look at you both.”
Zarina stretches her hand to Mais, who graciously accepts it with a blush. “I am so happy you’re here.”
“Thank you, Miss Gallo.” Mais’s voice is soft.
She smiles wider. “Call me Zarina.”
“Okay.” The corners of his mouth twitch up into a tiny smile. “Thank you for the dress.”
“It was made for you—literally,” she says.
Mais’s eyes widen, and his hands fall to pick at his skirt. “What?”
Zarina leans close to him, like she’s telling him a secret. “Rita relayed your ideas to the designer, and she designed this. For you.”
“What?” He can’t seem to say anything different .
Zarina laughs, delighted. “She said you have a promising eye—the designer, that is.”
Mais blushes fiercely, the apples of his cheeks darkening. “Who is she?”
Zarina cranes her neck, gaze flicking over the crowd. “She used to be a drag queen, and now?—”
“Oh my god, you know Sally Vator?!”
“She’s a dear friend.” She laughs. “She designed mine and Jaime’s, too.”
Mais grabs Zarina’s arm and hangs on, eyes wide with admiration. “You’re so much cooler than Tamayo.”
“Hey!” I grab my chest like he stabbed me in the heart.
He doesn’t deign to even look at me, shaking his head. “It’s true. You would never throw a party like this, let alone a party.”
“That’s the bar for cool?” I scoff.
Mais looks me up and down. “Among other things.”
Zarina giggles, and my hand curls tighter over my heart, the muscle spasming under my ribcage.
“Not even married yet and you’re already outshone.” Jaime pokes my side.
I let my shoulders hang, dramatics on full display. “My years of toil and friendship mean nothing to you all, hm?”
“You’re the moon next to Zarina’s sun, T.” Mais raises his chin, at his most haughty—the surest tell he’s about to land a perfect repartee. “She is the light, and you a reflection of it.”
Zarina hides her mouth behind her hand, eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking. I want to yank her wrist down and let her giggles spill from her lips, honeyed delight so sweet it’d rot her teeth. And mine. Because I would bottle it up, drink it down on days the weight of my choices, successes, and failures, threatens to bury me.
Instead, I shoot her a playful glare. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Whoa, that was deep, Mais.” Jaime slow claps. “Did you watch Pride and Prejudice yesterday? ”
“No…” Mais grins. “It was Shakespeare in Love .”
Jaime bends over laughing, the sound bouncing off the floor and up to the ceiling.
“You’re banned from the TV room,” I jest.
“Aw, poor baby.” Zarina pats my cheek in mock comfort. “Being the moon must be so cold and lonely.”
I rest my forehead against hers, our eyes so close I can see the gold threading through her irises. “Thankfully, I have my own personal sun to warm me.”
Zarina lifts onto her toes and captures my lips. It’s so surprising, I almost rear back and shatter the illusion of us . Of two women in love, about to marry and spend our lives building an empire together. But I catch myself in time, leaning in rather than away, my arm reaching around her waist to splay my fingers over the bare skin of her back.
Outside our bubble of warmth and stolen kisses, Jaime fake gags and Mais smacks them. “Shut up, you fucking yeti.”
They gasp. “Just because I’m tall and white?—”
“And loud,” Mais finishes.
“I hate the snow, though,” they whine.
Zarina pulls back, gaze finding mine with something like bemusement in the furrow of her brow. Her thumb finds the skin below my lip and wipes away traces of her lipstick, which is unmarred on her own lips. I blink, the tingle of our kiss prickling through my jaw, my gums.
Why did that feel different?
Zarina clears her throat, turning out of my embrace toward the kids. “Mais”—her voice is tighter than before—“Sally Vator is here. Would you like to meet her?”
Mais’s eyes widen, and he pats his hair. “Really? Oh my god, um, I don’t know. Do I look okay?”
Zarina offers him her hand and an endeared smile. “I think she’d love to see her design on the person who inspired it.”
Mais’s eyes glisten for a moment before he inhales a steely breath and rolls his shoulders back. Seventeen years old and already more poised and true to himself than ninety percent of the people in this room. I can’t help but glow, watching Mais rest his hand upon Zarina’s, as if they are both royalty gliding unbothered through a pit of vipers.
“Go with them.” I nudge Jaime, who jumps to rush after them with a buoyant wave. Gemma hurries behind, shaking her head, Pat beside her. I watch them go with a soft smile, my heart warming in my chest.