Chapter 21
twenty-one
VANESSA
I’d had every intention of inviting Elliott to dinner with us.
Actually, that was a lie. My mom had made me promise I’d bring him when I came out to the house, but I wouldn't technically be lying when I told her he never came home.
I was too chicken to break the freeze-out first, and honestly, a night without him—without worrying about running into him around every corner—was exactly what I needed.
I debated taking Steve with me, but that would have meant texting Elliott. Despite all my jokes, I wouldn't take his baby anywhere without permission. You don’t mess with people’s dogs; that was just a line you didn’t cross.
I couldn’t decide on a restaurant, but nothing sounded better than my mom’s cooking. It beat any five-star Michelin place. There was just something about mamás—when they made you food, it always tasted better. Maybe it was all the love injected into it.
Since Elliott still hadn't come home, I ordered an Uber to my parents’ house. I even wore a dress, partly because you only turn twenty-eight once, and partly because my mom had begged me to look decente.
The scar down my left leg was on full display, but my family already knew the whole sordid truth.
With them, I didn't have to hide. What I didn't tell my mom was that the scar was the real reason I lived in pants. I couldn’t stand the stares, and the unsolicited questions were even worse.
Heels were out, too—after the surgeries, walking in them just hurt too much.
My mom hadn't pieced that together yet, and if I had it my way, she never would.
I opened the front door and was immediately barreled down by someone freakishly tiny and strong, smelling like bottled sunshine.
Morgan.
“Don’t be mad, okay?” she whispered against my hair.
Another pair of hands snaked around my ribs and pinched me.
Penelope. She had a wicked sense of humor, I never knew if it was the weird frenemy state and she secretly wanted to hurt me, or if this is how she showed affection. I think it was the latter but with Penelope you just never knew.
“Let her be mad. Who cares?” she said to Morgan, totally on brand.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
That was when I saw it—the room beyond the entryway. My mother might as well have invited everyone I’d ever met. In reality, it was just my two friends, my cousins, Julián, my siblings and their heathens—and Elliott.
Elliott, who was boring a hole straight through me with his eyes.
No smile. No emotion. His face stayed unnervingly still.
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but my chest pounded like I should be afraid.
Why did this feel like fear? Elliott didn’t scare me.
If he was upset, fine; I was upset, too.
He’d brought a woman into his house, dangled his future bride’s dresses in front of her, and then iced me out.
It wasn't even good manners. If he wanted to be mad, fine—I could be even more mad. We’d always been good at one-upping each other in our endless little wars.
Before the stare-down could get lethal, my favorite tiny woman pushed Morgan and Penelope aside, making me burst into giggles. My mom hugged me tight, and in that moment, I knew she’d missed me just as much as I’d missed her. My sister joined in, and suddenly I was in a Miranda-woman sandwich.
“I’ve missed you, bitch,” she whispered. Then, without missing a beat: “Did he pork you yet?”
I yanked the strand of hair closest to me.
“Ouch! What? I want details. You need to get laid.”
“Mamá,” I said into my mother’s shoulder. It didn't hit me until then how badly I’d needed this—them.
“Mija, I miss you. There’s no one here to counter your dad’s snoring.” She pulled back just enough to study me. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
She was handpicked for us. Only this woman could put up with not just my dad’s snoring, but apparently mine, too.
“Me neither,” I lied. The truth was that the mattress in Elliott’s guest room was so luxurious I’d been sleeping like a baby. I’d even fantasized about smuggling it out without him noticing.
My mom clapped her hands. “Okay, everybody, the birthday girl is here. Let’s eat.”
She shuffled people outside to the backyard, where tables were lined with food. She must have been cooking all day, and the thought alone made my throat tight. My mom always went out of her way to make us feel loved on our birthdays. It was why they mattered so much to me.
Before I could move, Julián stepped into my path with a warm smile. “Feliz cumpleanos, guapa.”
I felt Elliott’s stare burn hotter from across the room. He had no right to be mad. Julián handed me a perfectly wrapped gift box, complete with a ribbon so pretty I didn’t even want to open it. He’d totally wrapped it himself.
“Thank you,” I said as he leaned in for a hug. “Do you want me to open it now?”
“No, al rato,” he said.
He barely knew me, yet here he was, thoughtful and careful. He’d probably handle my heart the same way. And still—I felt nothing. Am I broken? Did the men from my past obliterate me for any hope in the future?
Julián must have felt the glare, too, because he turned and politely said, “Hello.”
Elliott didn’t move. Didn’t answer. My mom would have lit his ass up if she’d seen that.
“Ignore him,” I whispered to Julián. “He’s got a big stick up his ass.”
Julián just huffed a laugh and headed outside, leaving me alone with Satan himself.
“What, you don’t speak anymore?” I snapped.
“The devil doesn’t need manners,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong with you? If you didn’t want to come, you didn't have to.”
“I didn’t know he would be here.”
“What do you have against him? You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough,” Satan said, still leaning against the entertainment system, arms crossed like a sulking child.
“So, you are mad?”
“I am mad.”
“But why? You’re the one who wanted me to stay with you.”
He finally moved, slowly heading toward the backyard, frustration radiating off him in waves. “You’re a smart girl, Ness. You’ll figure it out.”
I stood frozen, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, when my dad appeared beside me.
“Happy birthday, princesa.” He pulled me into a side hug, his eyes already glassy. “Aww, you even wore a dress for your mamá.”
“I didn't know you guys were throwing a party. Maybe if someone had given me a heads-up, I could’ve worn pants.” I shot him my sharpest side-eye, but he only grinned.
With all the chaos, nobody noticed my scar, and I planned to keep it that way, even if I had to glue myself to the picnic table.
My dad was the only one who knew why I avoided dresses.
Maybe it was because he was in the car with me that night.
Inevitably, he carried that guilt. It was why he got extra weepy on my birthdays.
I could tell him a thousand times it wasn't his fault, and he’d still lock himself in that prison.
“C’mon. Let’s go. Can’t stay inside forever.”
“Or—OR—we sneak to the taco place down the street and come back in a few hours,” I suggested.
He laughed and dragged me outside.
There was an empty chair beside my mom and another beside Elliott. His arm rested across the back of it casually, like it was waiting for me. Across from him sat Julián. My dad took one look at the scene, then at me, and smirked. With a quick wink, he took the seat next to my mom.
Everyone’s eyes tracked me as I walked to the empty chair next to Elliott. I expected him to move his arm, but he didn't. Across the table, he and Julián were locked in a silent stare-down.
My sister caught my eye and mimed eating popcorn, grinning like the devil.
I sat down, and the air around the table immediately turned heavy. Elliott didn't move his arm from the back of my chair; instead, he seemed to claim the space around me like it was his birthright. Across from us, Julián sat with a composed, polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
The dinner started as a blur of passing bowls and loud Miranda chatter, but the center of the table was a dead zone of silence.
“So, Elliott,” my brother-in-law started, oblivious to the nuclear tension. “Vanessa tells us you’re keeping her busy with a new line. How’s the work coming along?”
“She’s talented,” Elliott said, his voice a low grate. He didn't look at my brother-in-law. He looked at Julián. “But she’s been a little... distracted lately.”
I choked on a sip of water. My mom reached over and patted my back, her eyes darting between the three of us. She knew. She always knew when a storm was brewing.
“Distraction is part of the creative process,” Julián countered smoothly, his tone like silk. “Sometimes you have to step away from the work to find the inspiration again. We had a wonderful afternoon in the city.”
Elliott’s fingers drummed once against the wood of my chair, right behind my neck. I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Inspiration is fine. But Ness has a deadline. I’d hate for her to lose her focus over something... temporary.”
The word temporary hung in the air like an insult. My fork clattered against my plate. I wanted to disappear, to crawl under the picnic table and stay there until Cabo.
“Elliott,” Morgan warned from down the table, her voice sharp.
He didn't back down. He just picked up his glass, took a slow drink, and never took his eyes off Julián. The message was clear: I was here first. I’m the one she’s staying with. You’re just a guest.
“Everything tastes amazing, Mrs. Miranda,” Julián said, pivoted with a grace I almost envied. He was refusing to get into the mud with Elliott, which somehow made Elliott look even more like a sulking villain.
I leaned closer to Elliott, whispering through gritted teeth. “Stop it. Right now.”
“Stop what?” he murmured back, leaning in so close his breath stirred the loose hairs by my ear.
“Being a prick. It’s my birthday.”
“I’m being a perfect guest, Ness. I’m even sitting where your father told me to.”
He finally shifted his gaze to me, and for a split second, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else—something dark and hungry and frustrated. It was the same look he’d had in the bedroom before I’d bolted. My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest.
I looked back at my plate, but the food might as well have been sawdust. I felt like a prize in a contest I never signed up for, caught between a man who was perfect on paper and a man who was a nightmare in reality—but whose hand was currently a fraction of an inch away from touching my shoulder.
My sister kicked me under the table and winked. She was enjoying this way too much.
“To Vanessa,” my dad suddenly announced, standing up with his glass raised. He was definitely on his third beer. “To my princesa. May this year be better than the last, and may you finally realize how much you’re worth.”
Everyone cheered. Julián raised his glass to me with a wink. Elliott raised his too, but his expression remained grim, like he was the only one who knew exactly what the year ahead actually held for us.
I took a long drink of my wine. If I was going to survive the rest of this dinner, I was going to need a lot more of it.