Chapter 39
The day after my brother dazzled everyone with his technical and mechanical genius, I’m standing behind La Vida Buena’s check-in desk, kind of losing my happy mind. The familiar lobby with its rows of iron chandeliers, red-and-pink tiled floors, and large white vases filled with giant leafed philodendron is overrun with crew and contestants checking in. Porters and valets run here and there, handling the chaotic influx of arriving guests.
This feels like a vibrant dream, having all of these people, so many of whom I know and have relationships with, coming here to stay and play and workout in my fitness center. It’s wonderful.
After I finish checking in another guest and hand them their room keys, my prima finally makes her appearance behind the desk, wearing four-inch heels, a baby blue scooped neck top, and wide-legged, sparkly blue pants with thigh-high slits. I eye her outfit. She eyes mine. I open my mouth. She opens hers.
She’s quicker. “You look like the undertaker’s mistress in that black pantsuit.”
I smother a laugh. Even she can’t get me down today. “Thanks for taking over for me. I’m late for my training session.”
“You need to hire more people,” she growls. Putting a fake smile on lips painted bright red, she nudges me away from the computer station. “Mira”—she waves at the next crew member in line—“are you checking in or what?”
I cringe. He looks around for a moment, as if hoping for a kinder welcome, then shrugs and goes up to her station.
“Welcome, Tommy,” I say, glad I remembered his name. “This is my cousin. She’s grumpy, but she knows what she’s doing.”
Haydée barks a laugh, shakes her head, and to my complete and everlasting shock, bites her smiling lip.
A crash has me turning. Co?o. Someone smashed a luggage cart into one of the ornamental vases lining the entranceway. Part of the clay pot is cracked and spilling soil onto the ground. Thankfully, it’s heavy enough that it didn’t fall over. Unhooking my two-way from my belt, I make a call. “Maintenance to the lobby for cleanup. Priority one.”
They need to know this isn’t a sippy cup left on the ground, but something that needs immediate attention. I’m sure they’ll be able to clean it up quickly and save the plant. Still, I wave over a porter. “Keep people away from that mess until maintenance gets here.”
“Okay,” he says, “but another shuttle is arriving.”
Díos. Even with the help of my excellent hotel manager, desk staff, my cousin, brother, and my tía’s unparalleled skill as backup concierge, things are out of control. Maybe I should skip my practice. I want things to run smoothly for everyone so they can make this transition with little disruption or anxiety. I know how hard it is to be on the show and juggle things; packing up and coming here can’t be fun for anyone.
“Yolanda,” Colette says, sauntering over wearing FTW leggings and tank—she has made her job as an Ohio based FTW instructor part of her brand on the show, and never wears anything, even during lives, that isn’t FTW branded. “Where do I check in? I was told contestants had their own place.”
“Welcome to La Vida Buena,” I say, smiling widely and nodding to Hector, one of our porters, who trails her with a stuffed luggage rack in tow. “Yes. I made sure we had a separate check-in spot for arriving contestants, so you’d have as little disruption as possible as you get ready for the next challenge.”
I point at the five-foot green-and-black Contestant Check In Here floor banner by the gold roped area at the far end of the check-in desk.
Sil is there checking in, so I motion high to get the attention of my tía Julia, who’s just hung up from a phone call. Dressed in a caramel pantsuit that looks fabulous on her, she hustles over, and I make introductions. “Tía Julia, this is Colette Portman. Will you please check her in?”
“Of course, mija,” she says, taking Colette by the arm. “I’d be honored to assist one of our most famous contestants. Please come with me, Colette.”
“Gracias, Titi.”
Colette preens at the attention as my aunt gently guides her to the nearby check-in, then handles the routine service herself.
Once again, I’m reminded that I learned hospitality from the best.
My cell alarm goes off. Ay. I have five minutes before my filmed practice session with Easton, and I’m still wearing my work clothes.
Maybe, I can check-in one more guest. Moving back around the desk, my aunt catches my gaze and signals me with a shake of her head.
I stop short.
Smiling to Colette, Tía Julia’s gaze drops to the watch on her wrist. She opens her eyes pointedly.
I have no trouble understanding her, and though I hate leaving her shorthanded, I nod and walk away.
Honestly, since the moment the show made the switch to La Vida Buena, I haven’t had a minute to myself. Funny, if I didn’t know better, I’d say this was sabotage.
Except there would have been no way to rig this kind of switch. According to Easton, it was a mistake in paperwork made long ago.
Ignoring the many ways I could be of help, I walk briskly to the elevator. I get lucky and squeeze inside a packed elevator before the doors close.
I have just enough room to wave my key fob over the security pad and press the button for my floor. There’s light chatter in the elevator that soothes my nerves. Everyone seems to be handling the transition well, so maybe I can stop worrying.
The elevator doors open, and a bunch of people step out. I smile and nod at those exiting. I do the same at the next floor. And the next. I’m waiting for my stop with growing excitement. I’m actually looking forward to my practice session today. I spent the night thinking about all of the ways Mateo’s aerial rig could be used to best effect.
It’s odd that none of the other contestants wanted to use Mateo’s rig.
Colette said it was too bulky. Fonzie said he was wary of taking those kinds of leaps of faith after his childhood fall. Sil said they don’t wear anything that looks like it belongs on a horse. Eli said he didn’t want to be seen relying too heavily on mechanics instead of his own body strength. Kay Lee said her creative routine was set weeks ago.
Everyone had a sound reason, but I’m disappointed. They’re fitness professionals, so why the lack of interest in cutting-edge technology?
For his part, Mateo thinks the lack of interest is tied to a sense of jealousy building among the contestants because of Easton’s attentions with me.
I get it. I really do. And though I’d like to justify having sex with him—as Easton said, it’s not technically against the rules to sleep with someone who’s already on the show—it’s still feels highly inappropriate. And the plain truth is that, if it were known, it would cause an uproar with his company, a furor online, and problems among the other contestants.
The elevator reaches my floor and I exit, hurrying down the hall to my apartment, still mulling over my choice to sleep with Easton. Part of me feels horribly guilty that he and I gave in to all that lust; a larger part of me feels… well, happy.
I’ve never connected with someone like I connect with him. Never enjoyed someone’s company as I do with him. And certainly, never enjoyed sex with someone as much as I do with him. It feels like fate had a hand in us. Out of all the places Parker could have chosen to have the show, she chose San Juan. That feels like fate.
Twelve years ago, after Easton left, I’d consoled myself with the idea that sex would always be that good, the bond that instant, the conversation that easy, but I’ve learned the hard way that isn’t the case. What I have with him is special, magical, and not to be taken for granted. And I won’t. Ever again.
* * *
I arriveat the practice session late. Easton is there wearing casual clothes—navy sweatpants and a matching t-shirt. Not his usual workout clothes. He has a leather travel bag at his feet.
I walk to him with my suspicious heart thudding. “You’re leaving?”
“I’m so sorry,” he says. His hand lifts toward me, hovers, then drops. He shoves his hands, almost angrily, into his pockets. “We have an issue with the expansion. My board has asked for face-to-face meetings starting tomorrow. I leave tonight. Not sure when I’ll get back, but definitely not for the next competition.”
A stab of fear lances my heart. The last time he left, I lost him for over a decade.
No. This is nothing like that night—he’s explaining why he’s leaving for one thing. Still, it’s so unexpected that I can’t help the wash of doubt.
I’d thought I’d known him that night. I’d thought we’d had something special then, too.
What if there’s an issue and he can’t come back? What if he realizes I’m only an island fling? What if his board says his reputation is restored and there’s no reason for him to rejoin the show? Ay. Díos.
“Earth to Yolanda,” Easton whispers. “What has those lines appearing on your forehead?”
The last thing he needs is for me to make this harder on him. I swallow my doubt and paste on a bright smile.
He frowns at me. “Don’t lie to avoid hurting my feelings.”
I open my mouth to deny this, but on seeing his patient and knowing look, warmth suffuses my chest and I switch to honesty. “It hurts to think of you leaving again. I worry that you might not…”
He steps into me and whispers urgently, “I’m coming back. Nothing could keep me away. I promise you.”
Hot tears prick my eyes. I want to tell him I believe him. I want to reassure him that I’m fine, but before I can get a word through my tight throat, he says, “I’m sorry, Yolanda. I’m sorry that I left, and I’m sorry that I stayed away, and I’m sorry that it took the biggest fuck-up of my life to get me back here. Please tell me that you believe that the way I feel about you is not something I would ever take for granted again. I’ve learned my lesson. Okay?”
The tears fall. I duck my head, swipe them away.
Easton takes the final half-inch step between us. His trainers are toe-to-toe with mine. “Yolanda,” he whispers. “Tell me you know that’s true.”
I do. Suddenly, I know a lot of things are true. Like, nothing is worth losing him over. Not the show, not the hotel, not the criticism of the other contestants or online trolls. Nothing is worth having to give him up and let him go again. And not being able to show him how I feel right now, right here, is so painful, I can barely breathe. I need to touch him.
Gulping air, I meet his eyes. “I will tell you,” I say. “In my room. In private. If you have time.”
His eyes widen. He licks his lips, then grins at me. “I have time for private. I have two hours to give you. I’ve already packed and changed into travel clothes because I thought I’d leave straight for the airport once we were done our training.”
Training? Ay. I almost forgot.
He cocks his head to the side. “Reconsidering that offer?”
“No. Not at all. It’s just…” I trail off when his eyebrows raise and his eyes lock in on something over my head. I’m guessing he’s already discovered what I was going to say.
He makes a disappointed sound in the back of his throat. “Your brother is coming up behind you.”
And that’s what I was going to say.
Blushing, I turn to see Mateo.
He assesses us with an appraising sweep of his dark blue eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. No. We’re not leaving here until this routine is perfecto, so put whatever is behind those longing looks away.”
Easton gapes at me.
I shrug. “It’s a twin thing.”
Mateo barks a laugh. “It’s a human thing. You two aren’t anywhere near as subtle as you think you are.”
With that, he shoves past us into the practice studio.
“One hour,” I tell Easton with a hopeful grin.
Following Mateo inside, I hear Easton mumble behind me, “It’s going to be a long, hard hour.”