Chapter 12 #2
“I’m not surprised that he’s into you. I’m surprised your mother would let you date a non-fae.”
“I don’t care that Ernesto isn’t fae.”
“I’ll bet your mother cares quite a bit about Ernesto being a human,” Walter said, his expression pitying.
“She thinks that being fae makes us better than everyone else, a sentiment no doubt encouraged by Pastor Collins. But I’ve worked with too many talented people to believe that matters in any meaningful way.”
He looked thoughtful. “I like your worldview. Give me a call when your mom pressures you into breaking up with Ernesto.”
“She already tried,” I said, too softly for him to hear as he walked away.
I waited in the lobby until Neto came out, waving goodbye to his teammates as he crossed the distance to me. “Hey.” He picked me up at the waist and twirled me around once before setting me down and kissing my forehead. “Thanks for coming.”
“I enjoyed watching you. You played well,” I said.
His eyes lit up. “I had someone I wanted to impress.” He kissed my cheek. “Did you get Walter to confess?”
“Quite the opposite, actually. I realized it couldn’t possibly be him.”
“And how did you figure that out?” He took my hand and threaded my fingers in his.
“When you punched that player, his nose bled and Walter passed out at the sight of it. There’s no way he could have stabbed Paolo and not fainted right onto the crime scene. But I got another lead. Lillian Daniels was there that day. Walter said she was with him.”
“Do you think she could have killed Paolo?”
“I don’t know. But I definitely want to talk to her and see what she knows.”
He rested his chin on the top of my head and held me close, and even though I was gathering all my bravery for a conversation I desperately didn’t want to have with him, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly I fit, like I belonged there.
“Neto, what if we keep our relationship a secret?” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat.
He frowned. “I understand wanting to conceal a relationship; I’m always walking a fine line between publicity for the band and privacy.
That’s why I play hockey as Ernie Reyes.
” He rubbed the back of his neck, a self-conscious gesture, and guilt crawled beneath my ribcage and settled in next to my pounding heart as Neto continued, his words coming out a little too fast. “The press will eventually find out about us, but honestly, the band doesn’t draw much attention.
Wickham is almost never bothered by paparazzi.
There might be a story or two about us, which we could get help from a publicist to manage…
” He shook his head. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not the press I’m worried about.”
His eyes widened, and I saw a glimpse of hurt in them before he masked it. “Everyone in my life already knows I’m crazy about you. So I assume what you mean is that you want to keep it from your mother.”
I swallowed thickly. “I’ve told my abuelo about you and he wants to meet you, but my mother—it’s just not the right time.”
He rubbed his jaw. “If I’ve moved too fast, we can dial it back or—”
“No, it wasn’t you at all. You’re wonderful. It’s me and my stupid family and—”
“Your mother doesn’t approve of me.”
A tear slipped down my cheek and he wiped it with his thumb. “Anne, please. I don’t want to create tension between you and your mother, but I’m not a guy that’s going to sneak around with a girl I care about. If you want to be with me, why not let it be in the open?”
I clasped my hands, willing them to stop shaking. “I get that, and I respect it, but maybe if I just give her some time?”
“Time for what? How can she get used to the idea of you dating me if you’re not willing to tell her that we’re together?
” He paused for what felt like an eternity, and then he said quietly, “Maybe I’ve assumed too much.
I know we come from different worlds and that your mother will never approve of me for a million different reasons.
But I care about you and I think we had something good.
I think we still can. But only if it’s something you want. ”
I covered my lips with one palm, mind racing for a way to salvage the situation. I did want him, wanted him so much it scared me, but I didn’t want it to be this hard. My mother would never accept him, would never accept me if I was with him.
She’d chipped away at the undesirable parts of me for years, shaping me into someone worthy of the de Bourgh name. Maybe now there wasn’t enough left of me for Ernesto. An image of his fangirls came unbidden to my mind. He had so many women who wanted him, both as Ernie Reyes and Ernesto Garcia.
A quiet voice reminded me that he’d wanted to meet the violin player he’d seen rehearsing, that she was enough to interest him. I shoved that voice aside.
Ernesto sat next to me, holding my hand, patiently waiting for me to speak, but the minutes dragged on and I still didn’t know how to explain, how to tell him that I didn’t have enough to give him. Finally, he let go of my hand and stood. “I think you’re just scared, Anne,” he said softly.
He turned and walked away. And I let him.