21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Lisa
I watch as Mateo approaches Aaron, his stride purposeful. The two exchange a few quiet words, Mateo’s hand resting briefly on Aaron’s shoulder. Aaron nods, his expression shifting to something more sober.
I wave at my friends and smile, the warmth of the moment lingering, when my phone begins to ring. The screen flashes Unknown Caller . With Mateo still occupied, I decide to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
"Hello?" I say, absently.
"Congratulations, Lisa!" Marian's British accent cuts through, sharp and unmistakable.
My stomach sinks, the joy of the moment dimming. I regret answering instantly. "What do you want?" I ask, trying to keep my tone even while glancing at Davey. He's oblivious, sitting beside me and waving cheerfully at Katherine, Adam, and the few stragglers lingering outside to see us off.
Marian's laugh filters through the line, a little too bright, a little too mocking. "Oh, Lisa. Is that any way to greet your husband's special friend ?"
Her words feel like ice, sending a chill right through me. I glance at Davey, who’s now watching me intently, his curious eyes scanning my face.
"Who's that?" he asks quietly, as if sensing the shift in my mood.
I force a tight smile in an attempt to reassure him. "No one, Sweetie," I say, keeping my tone light even though my chest feels tight.
"Is that my son?" Marian’s voice cuts through the line, rising to an annoying shriek.
Davey tilts his head, his brow furrowing. "Who is it?" he asks again, more curious now.
"Lisa!" Marian's voice claws at my composure. "I can hear him! Put my son on the phone right now!"
"No," I say calmly. "This is neither the time nor the—"
"Fine!" she snaps, cutting me off. "But before I go, why don't you ask David where I've been since I left Cold Spring. Go ahead, ask him."
The knot in my stomach tightens, and though I know I should end the call, I find myself glancing into Davey's blue eyes instead. "Davey, where’s your mom, Sweetie?"
"Mérida," he replies with a proud smile, as if he’s just answered a trivia question correctly.
My heart pounds as I tighten my grip on the phone. "I don't believe you," I whisper into the receiver.
"Aha!" Davey exclaims, misinterpreting my words as meant for him. "Mommy called me from Mérida!"
"I told you," Marian says, her voice dripping with icy calm. "Men like Mateo don't change, darling. And when I call, he always comes running."
She pauses, waiting—for effect or for my reply. When I stay silent, she continues, her tone dripping with satisfaction, "Not only am I in Mérida, I’m in his house. In his bed, wrapped in his silk sheets."
My mind races, but I force my expression to remain calm and my mouth shut, for Davey’s sake. "Goodbye," I say coldly.
"Enjoy your honeymoon, hermosa ," she says brightly, as if speaking to an old friend.
I end the call without saying another word. My hand shakes as I set the phone down on my lap, the sound of her laughter mocking me even after I’ve hung up.
"Who was that?" Davey asks again, his blue eyes wide with curiosity, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind my mask of calm control.
"Just someone who called the wrong number, Sweetie," I say with a smile I don't feel, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"Okay," he says with a shrug, turning back to the window just as Mateo opens the door, his face lighting up as he spots us. "Ready to go?"
"Yes," I reply quickly, forcing a smile as I pull Davey closer. But as the limo glides away from the venue, Marian's words echo in my mind, refusing to fade. They dominate my thoughts throughout the ride to drop Davey off.
When we pull into Noah's driveway, Mateo steps out and opens the door. I press a kiss to Davey’s forehead before Mateo helps him out of the limo. As they make their way toward the house, I remain frozen in my seat, the same phrase looping in my mind: I’m not a crier. I’m not a crier. I’m not a crier.
"Did you say something, ma’am?" the limo driver asks, his voice breaking through my thoughts.
"Oh, I’m sorry," I mutter, shaking my head. "I was talking to myself."
A few minutes later, Mateo climbs back into the limo, sliding in beside me. He drapes an arm around my shoulders and presses a soft kiss to my neck. "You smell so good," he whispers.
"Mateo, please," I murmur, glancing toward the front. "The driver can hear us."
"So?" he teases, brushing a kiss against my cheek. "We’re married. Newlyweds. I’m sure he’s seen a lot more than a man kissing his wife on the cheek."
I chuckle—a sound that’s meant to feel natural, normal—but it comes out thin and hollow, fake even to my own ears.
"What's wrong?" Mateo asks, his gaze searching mine.
"Nothing," I say quickly, knowing that if I utter even one word about my conversation with Marian, I’ll break down completely.
He intertwines his fingers with mine, settling back in his seat, apparently satisfied with my answer. When I glance sideways at him, his face is calm, serene, the contentment clear in his expression.
"Your hands are cold, hermosa ," he murmurs, lifting my hand to his lips, the warmth of his kiss sending a small shiver through me. I love him. This is supposed to be the beginning of our life together. Our first night as husband and wife. Marian's words planted the seed of doubt in my heart, and there's no way in hell I'm going to brush it aside and pretend everything's okay. There will be a talk tonight, and maybe nothing else.
Earlier, after the photographer had finished taking photos, I slipped out of the long skirt of my wedding dress, leaving behind a shorter, more manageable length that made it easier to move around. When Mateo climbs out of the limo, I briefly consider climbing out the other side and running away—the thought is absurd, but the fact that I even entertain it is enough to almost break the facade I’ve been wearing since Marian’s call.
Mateo helps me out of the limo before pausing to tip the driver. I don’t wait for him. My heels echo sharply against the pavement as I stride toward the house, each click as loud as the pounding of my heart.
"Wait!" Mateo calls, quickly closing the distance between us. When we reach the door, he pulls out his keys and unlocks it. Before I can protest, he lifts me off my feet. "I was so looking forward to this part," he says, his voice warm. "Crossing the threshold with you in my arms."
The sweet, romantic gesture nearly brings me to tears, but Marian's words crash back into my mind like a relentless tide. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I rest my head on his shoulder, letting him carry me into the house. But as he turns toward the bedroom, a wave of unease ripples through me. I consider waiting until morning to face the inevitable, but the weight of it won’t let me.
"Put me down, Mateo," I say, my voice cool, before his closeness clouds my judgment.
He sets me down gently, concern flickering in his eyes. "Something is wrong," he says quietly.
"Mateo," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "Where were you last week?"
"What?" he asks, his surprise evident in his eyes.
"Our entire future," I say, urgency sharpening my tone, "our marriage, my trust in you—everything hinges on your answer. So please, think carefully and be honest with me."
"I told you, hermosa ," he says with quiet confidence. "I was in Mérida."
My heart sinks. I nod slowly, weighing his words—and what they mean. "You know what Davey told me tonight? While we were waiting in the limo?"
He shakes his head, clearly confused. "I have no idea. What?"
"He told me that Marian is there."
"There? There where?" he asks, still shaking his head. His confusion seems genuine, and for a moment, I almost believe he has no idea what I’m talking about.
"Mérida," I murmur, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Marian was—and still is—in Mérida."
“ Hermosa , I never saw her,” he says, his voice sincere.
“I want to believe you,” I say, a wave of utter despair rising inside me.
“Then believe me,” he says. “Whatever you’re imagining, it never happened.”
"So you spent almost an entire week in Mérida, and Marian made no attempt to see you? That’s your story, and you expect me to believe it?"
"Yes," he replies. His eyes are so candid, I want nothing more than to believe him.
"It would’ve been better if you’d come home and said, 'Guess what, hermosa ? That lunatic Marian traveled all the way to Mexico to stalk me. Can you believe that?' But you’re standing here, telling me you were in the city where it all began—where you had an affair with her, not once, but twice—and she never tried to see you? That’s an insult to my intelligence."
The fury building inside me must be showing on my face, because he makes no attempt to convince me I'm wrong. He just stands there, staring at me. His expression is unreadable. Is he debating whether to come clean, or is he just deciding how to continue lying?
"Maybe Davey misunderstood," he says, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a plausible explanation for what Davey told me.
"So your defense is to blame Davey?" I mutter. "Davey is little, but we both know how incredibly intelligent he is. He didn’t make a mistake."
"I don't know what else to tell you, except the truth," he says, his voice pleading. "I never saw Marian."
"She called me," I say, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "Yeah, Marian called me and said she spent the week with you. How did she put it? Oh, right—she said, ‘I'm in his house. In his bed, wrapped in his silk sheets.’”
" Hermosa , I—"
"She also said that when she calls, you always come running."
"I never saw her," he says, his eyes searching mine, hoping to see a hint of trust.
"How did she know you were going to be there?" I ask.
"I don’t know," he replies, his tone deflated. "Lily and Noah knew. Maybe Davey told her. Hermosa , she might be in Merida, but she's not in my house, and I never saw her."
The words "I don't believe you" are on the tip of my tongue, but I resist the urge to say them, knowing that once I do, I can never take them back.
"I think you should leave," I say instead.
"You don't mean that, hermosa ," he replies, anguish in his eyes.
The expression on my face must speak volumes, because he doesn't argue. Instead, he quickly adds, "I'll leave. But believe me when I say, I never saw Marian."
"Convince me then," I plead. "Convince me that what you're telling me is the truth."
"I love you, Lisa," he whispers. "I love you, and when I told you I would never hurt you, I meant it. I never saw her."
He leans down and kisses me gently on the cheek before turning on his heels and walking out the door.
***
"Serve me another," I say, thrusting my empty bowl into Laila’s hands.
"Don’t you think you've had enough?" she asks, her green eyes soft with sympathy.
"You can never have enough rocky road," I counter, the words slipping out bitterly. "Especially when you’re heartbroken."
Laila sighs, setting the cup down and looking at me carefully. "He’s been calling every hour, Lisa," she says. "I really think you should talk to him."
"You’re only torturing yourself by avoiding him," Loren says, offering me a slight smile.
"Lisa," Katherine presses, her tone insistent. "Sweetie, you can’t avoid him forever."
I reach for a tissue and try to wipe away the tears threatening to spill.
"You need to let him explain," Laila says, taking a step closer. "Marian is a liar, and you know it."
"How did she know he was going to be in Mérida?" I snap, defensively. "How?"
"She’s been spending a lot of time with Davey," Katherine says, grasping for a plausible explanation. "It wouldn’t be hard for her to figure out what Mateo’s up to. Davey might be young, but he picks up on everything happening in his house."
"Are you sure you don't want us to call Lily?" Loren asks gently. "She might be able to shed some light on this."
I let out a shaky breath, the tears finally flowing freely. "She warned me about Mateo, and I didn’t listen," I say. "I don’t want to upset her. She has enough to worry about—taking care of herself and the baby."
"She's your best friend," Loren says. "She’d want to be here for you."
"I don’t want to drag her into this mess," I say, my voice cracking. "I don’t want her to feel like she has to take sides."
"It’s not about taking sides," Katherine interjects. "It’s about exposing Marian for the liar she is."
A sudden knock at the door startles us all. We freeze, glancing at one another as if the sound were something alien. An inexplicable sense of dread suddenly washes over me. Could it be Mateo? Or Lily? I don’t know which possibility feels worse.
"Should I get it?" Katherine asks, breaking the silence.
I nod, the motion laden with resignation. Dread washes over me as I consider the state I’m in—two days spent in bed, emerging only for absolute necessities and endless bowls of rocky road ice cream. I feel like a stranger to myself, buried under the weight of depression and doubt.
I feel Laila’s fingers threading gently through my hair, her touch soothing but purposeful as she gives me a once-over. "Just in case," she murmurs, smoothing the disheveled strands and attempting to restore some semblance of order. I know she means well, but I’m sure a mirror would betray the truth—a devastating portrait of puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and the unmistakable wear of heartbreak. I probably look as awful as I feel.
Katherine steps back into the bedroom, her expression carefully neutral, like she’s weighing every word before she speaks.
“Who is it?” I whisper, my voice trembling with equal parts dread and hope. Mateo. Please, no. Please, yes. My hands fumble with the collar of my crumpled pajama top, a futile attempt to look less disheveled. The effort only reminds me how unattractive and utterly pathetic I feel in this moment.
"It’s your dad," Katherine says, her tone cautious, as though trying not to set off a landmine.
"My dad?" I murmur, the words catching in my throat. A sudden chill runs down my spine as my hands instinctively clutch the blanket tighter. I thought Mateo was the last person I wanted to see, but I was wrong. It had to be him—my father.
"Do you think he knows what happened?" I ask, as my gaze darts between my friends. Their faces mirror my confusion, each of them shaking their heads in silent agreement. They’re just as perplexed as I am.
"What should I tell him?" Katherine asks, her voice hesitant.
"Let him know I'll be right out," I reply, forcing my legs to carry me toward the bathroom. My hands tremble as I brush my hair, twisting it into a bun and securing it with an elastic. I lean over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, the icy shock momentarily numbing my senses. I grab the eye drops from the counter, tilting my head back and blinking rapidly to mask the redness. As I glance in the mirror, my reflection feels foreign—puffy eyes, pale skin, and an expression caught between fear and utter despair. I glance down at my wedding band, its delicate shine entwining with the brilliance of my engagement ring—a pairing that once symbolized hope and forever. Now, it feels like a glaring contradiction to the state of my hands. My nails, once flawlessly manicured, are jagged and chewed down to the quick, each mark a testament to the turmoil swirling inside me.
When I step out of the bathroom, I find that only Laila remains. "The girls left," she says quietly. "I just wanted to make sure you’re okay before I go. I know you’ll need privacy with your dad."
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and pull her into a tight hug. "Thank you," I whisper, wishing I could beg her to stay, to not leave me alone with my father, but the words catch in my chest.
"Call me if you need anything," she says, her hand resting on my shoulder as she pulls away. She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with a practiced motion. "I’ll check in with you tomorrow."
I walk out of the bedroom behind Laila, trailing her into the living room where my father sits, his posture restless and his patience wearing thin.
"Good night, Mr. Preston," she says with a light smile, trying to ease the air around us. My father grunts in response, barely acknowledging her. Laila glances at me, offering a wink before her fingers close around the doorknob. She steps out without another word, leaving me alone with the man who has always made me feel small.
"Where’s your husband?" Dad asks, his eyes scanning the room as if he expects Mateo to materialize out of thin air. The fact that he doesn’t greet me or comment on my appearance only drives home the point that he doesn’t truly see me.
"He's not home right now, Dad." I wonder if he's just confirming that Mateo is gone, so he can berate me without any resistance or interruption. "I'll wait for him," he says, shifting his weight and leaning back on the sofa.
"So, you're here to see Mateo?" I ask, a mix of confusion and curiosity bubbling up. What could they possibly have to discuss?
"Yes," he mutters, barely looking at me. "He owes me some money."
I freeze, my blood turning to ice. "Pardon me?" I manage to say. "Owes you money?"
"You didn’t know?" he asks, suddenly showing a flicker of interest in my presence.
"Your husband came to LA and told me he’d pay me twenty thousand dollars if I came to the wedding and walked you down the aisle," he says, his voice void of shame. "I showed up. It’s not my fault you chose Aaron over me. He owes me, and I’m here to collect."
"When did this happen, Dad?" I ask. "When did Mateo go to LA?"
"Last week," he replies casually. "He showed up in my office and offered me cash. I would've done it anyway, but since he offered, I had no reason to say no."
I should be offended, disgusted by his admission, but my mind races, trying to piece everything together. "How long was he in Los Angeles?" I press, my voice tightening with each word.
"Oh, I don't—" he trails off, as though the details don't matter.
"Think, Dad," I demand, the words sharp. "It's important."
"Almost a week," he finally says. "He came to see me every day, trying to convince me."
I feel like the floor beneath me is about to give way. The ice cream I’ve consumed in copious amounts throughout the day threatens to make a swift return, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay composed. My pulse quickens, each word sinking deeper, and I can barely breathe. Mateo couldn’t have been in two places at once.
I look my father in the eyes. “Mateo might have humbled himself and begged you to be my father," I say, my voice certain, "but there’s no way in hell he would have bribed you to show up for me on one of the most important days of my life.”
Before my father has time to react, the light knock on the door pulls my gaze away from his disapproving glare. I take a step back to answer, and I hear him huffing and puffing behind me, as though he's being inconvenienced by the interruption.
I swing the door open, and the sight of Mateo standing there makes my heart stutter in my chest. He’s as devastatingly handsome as ever, and the vulnerability in his eyes hits me like a wave. My pulse quickens, and every ounce of anger and doubt I’d been holding onto fades, replaced by an overwhelming rush of love and regret. I realize, now more than ever, that this man has never lied to me. I feel terrible for doubting him, for questioning whether his love and commitment to us were strong enough to withstand Marian.