Chapter 43
"Wonderful Tonight," Eric Clapton
Cruz
Victoria planted herself on our couch like she owned it, booking a hotel room and ordering wine delivery while muttering about proper guest etiquette.
My sisters descended—Luisa interrogating her about law school, Adriana brandishing makeup brushes while Tori directed: “Not a speck of fucking glitter, ok?”
The linoleum creaked under my weight as I braced for her unsolicited opinion.
Bringing a woman home was a first for me.
I was trying to play it cool, but I’d have sprinted through Queens after Victoria if Mama hadn’t stopped me at the door with her “Give her space” wisdom.
Then she smirked at our joined hands, that infuriating I-told-you-so glint in her eye.
“You care about her.” Mama sipped the expensive wine then switched to Spanish for privacy, though I wouldn’t put it past Victoria I-Learn-Greek-For-Fun Blackstone to be secretly fluent. “But what happens when you bow out?”
I flinched. I expected Tori to dump me, not the other way around.
“You don’t do long-term, mijo. Not with jobs, not with women. Always one foot out the door.” Her tone wasn’t cruel, just factual. “You didn’t re-enlist. You didn’t take over Jim’s dojo. You dreamed of being a musician—”
“And I recognized how unrealistic that was.”
“Your band wants you to join as a full member, but you won’t—”
“I get it, okay?” I snapped. “I’m a fuck-up. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Her voice cracked like a whip. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your options open, Cruz. But now your sisters are getting attached.”
We glanced at the living room, where Luisa had curled into Victoria’s side while Adriana waved a curling iron like a fairy godmother’s magic wand.
“What about foundation? Concealer?” Victoria asked, voice alarmed.
“Nah, you don’t need it,” Adriana said. “Cruz, come see!”
I turned the corner—and forgot how to breathe.
Dark liner framed Victoria’s storm-cloud eyes, her hair tumbling loose over her shoulders. That wine-stained mouth pursed in a pout. “You’re not done.”
“Foundation would make you look older than Cruz!” Adriana said, and Victoria scoffed.
“Wait, you’re older than him?” Luisa asked.
“How old do you think I am?” Tori asked my baby sister.
Luisa shrugged. “Twenty five?”
“Oh my god, I love you,” Victoria’s laugh punched me in the chest. She shot me a half-smile. “That sister can stay.”
“She wants to cover up those amazing freckles—” Adriana said.
“Blemishes,” Victoria corrected. “I got teased for them, started wearing foundation when I was 13.”
“Freckles are in, Tori,” Adriana said bossily. “I fake them with broccoli on my clients, and I want them visible on my Instagram makeover.”
Victoria’s lips parted, her gaze shifting to me. I could see the question in her eyes, ‘What do you think? Do I look alright?’
I crossed to the couch and held out my palm, like so many times before—in the club to make Alex jealous, distracting her from her sex contract, goofing around with Kate and Mallory, on the pool deck this afternoon. She didn’t hesitate to slide her hand into mine.
“Your freckles are adorable.” I cupped her cheek, feeling the warmth of her bare skin under my hand. “Even without makeup, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Fine, you can take the picture without foundation,” she said … but I didn’t let her go.
My palm found the small of her back as our bodies started swaying to the beat only we could hear. Lyrics poured out of my mouth, easy to sing because they were true: a man reassuring his partner that she looked wonderful.
Her warm hand rested on my chest, and I let my eyes drop closed. Between my verses, she hummed the familiar guitar riff. Her breath warmed my neck as she followed my lead, trusting me to hold her, fitting herself against me like she belonged in my arms.
At the bridge, I realized what four-letter word I was a few lines away from confessing.
I stopped singing. Not because I didn’t want to say the words … but because I finally understood them. If I let them slip out—even in the safety of the song—they’d be real.
I coughed to cover the sudden rush of emotion, twisting to the sink to chug a whole glass of water. I tapped my fist on my chest. “Sorry, I guess I just—”
Tori stepped back to give me space. “Your throat is probably raw from screaming Green Day in the car.”
Over Tori’s shoulder, Mama leaned against the couch, hand on her throat. From the soft look in her eyes, I knew she knew. She studied me for a second, then smiled.
I nudged Victoria towards Adriana’s ring light, “Your adoring fans await, enjoy your photo shoot.”
But she leaned closer to whisper, “I have another confession.”
Her warm breath heated my cheek, my heart pounding so hard that I almost couldn’t breathe. Could she tell that I was barely holding back from spilling out my heart?
“I lied in the elevator. I said I liked being an only child,” she whispered before her gaze flicked to the textbooks and makeup. “I always wanted little sisters.”