Chapter Nineteen #2
“I don’t either. But I respect your decision and will be here if you need me. Like the investigation or any troubles you have. I’m always here for you, Isa.”
I smile softly. “I know.”
Valentina looks me in my eyes, her gaze unwavering. Her mouth opens slightly, as if she’s about to say something. My breath catches in my throat as I anticipate her next words.
“Val! Let’s go find our seats.”
I look over to see Silvana waving Valentina over to their table.
My stomach twists, and a poisonous rage is starting to ruminate inside me.
Of course, they’re still seated together—it’s part of the original seating plan.
I can’t believe I let this person—this monster—take the one thing that has made me happy in such a long time.
I want to run over there and snatch Valentina away.
Maybe even expose Silvana and Maritza’s story before she can expose mine.
But I can’t. Not only will I be known as the poor lying cousin, but I’d be the backstabbing one too.
The one who would willingly bring down someone else for their gain.
And that’s not me. Oh, but I wish it were.
“Let’s go find out seats, prima,” Maria urges as she pulls my elbow to get me away from the situation.
The guests begin to find their name cards and sit comfortably in elegant chairs arranged around the tables in a symmetrical pattern, with soft music playing in the background.
The servers move gracefully around the tables, offering glasses of sparkling pink champagne and presenting carefully curated dishes.
The plates are like pieces of art, each dish crafted with exquisite attention to detail.
The first course is a beautiful salad with fresh greens, grilled peaches, and crumbled goat cheese, all dressed with a tangy vinaigrette.
The peaches’ sweetness contrasts with the goat cheese’s saltiness and perfectly blends with the sourness of the vinaigrette.
I’m not the kind of person that enjoys or even thinks about salads, but I could eat this every day and live a very happy life.
“How does she manage to make salads fancy?” Maria snorts, shoving a huge mouthful of greens into her mouth.
“That’s all Val.” I smile, shifting my eyes toward Valentina, who must have heard me because she is looking right at me. Those little butterflies I know so well begin to flutter inside my stomach. That, or I’m seriously allergic to goat cheese, and this is the first sign.
“Valentina, you never cease to amaze me,” Maritza says as she savors each bite of the perfectly grilled peach. “You’ll have to make this for Silvana and me when we return home.”
“The only thing Valentina is going to make when you get home is pancakes the morning after your stay at her place,” Maria whispers.
“Maria!” I nudge her with my elbow and look around to ensure no one else heard.
Every so often, I find myself glancing over at Valentina, and almost without fail, she manages to look at the same time.
The main course begins to arrive. It’s a choice between two options: pan-seared salmon with a citrus glaze, served with roasted asparagus and creamy mashed potatoes, or grilled filet mignon with a red-wine reduction, served with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed green beans.
Everything looks delicious, but something feels off. “Why aren’t there any Latin food options to choose from?” I finally ask. Everyone looks up at me, almost shocked I would even ask such a question.
“Well.” Maritza laughs. “I may not have planned this wedding, but I think I can speak for everyone when I say that most Latin foods just aren’t…up to our standards for this event.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I retort, my words sharper than I intend.
Maria hits her foot against mine, trying to keep me from making a scene, but I can’t help myself.
“Oh, right. You’re saying the Cuban food we grew up on isn’t fancy enough. Got it.”
As I slice into my steak, a surge of pride bubbles up, mingling with the resentment I feel.
I know the food we serve at La Mariposa is special.
It’s rooted in our history and culture, and it has a soul that this polished steak could never hope to touch.
Yet here I am, trying to fit in, feeling like a fraud with each bite.
My thoughts drift to the ropa vieja and croquettes we make—the dishes that may not cost much, but they mean everything to me.
Their dismissiveness just reinforces the chasm between us, one that feels deeper with each passing moment.
“Get ahold of yourself, pendeja. I don’t want to get kicked out before I can pick up the last wedding favor,” Maria mumbles.
“Sorry,” I say dryly.
“Isa is right,” Sofia finally says. “I wanted to create a menu that would feel extravagant to match my wedding, but I’m kind of craving a Cubano, aren’t you?”
Everyone laughs in agreement.
“Thanks to my almost-husband’s investment, I promise my next party will be delicious Cuban food from the best Cuban restaurant in New Jersey: La Mariposa!”
The whole table begins clapping and cheering.
My face is flushed with embarrassment. I look over at Silvana, who is staring daggers at me.
A crease forms at the corners of her mouth, creating an unsettling smile.
I turn back to my steak, focusing on cutting it and enjoying every bite I can.
Who knows when I’ll eat another steak that costs more than my rent?
I take a small cut of the filet mignon and bring it to my lips.
The tender, juicy meat melts in my mouth, bursting with rich flavors.
The perfectly cooked steak has a charred exterior that gives way to a pink center.
I close my eyes and savor the flavors. The accompanying roasted vegetables are equally delicious, adding a hint of sweetness to the savory flavors of the steak.
I take another bite, enjoying the mashed potatoes’ smooth buttery texture.
Every element of the dish is cooked to perfection, and it’s clear that Valentina has put a lot of care into every aspect of the meal.
It might not have the Cuban flavors I crave, but she is a gifted chef.
I can’t help but smile, remembering all the moments I shared with Valentina over the week.
A warmth spreads through my belly as I think of telling her about the new clue I found, or even just admitting how much I miss her already.
But then, I stop myself. Valentina left the door open, yet I’m the one who locked it shut. If I reach out to her now, it’ll be like stepping back into something that might hurt us both all over again. So, instead, I keep silent, unsure if I’m protecting her or just myself.
“Valentina, you outdid yourself,” Rosita says as she wipes her mouth with her napkin.
Valentina gives a modest shrug. “Thank you, but I wasn’t the one who originally planned to be here. The team has been incredible, picking up all the details on such short notice.”
“Still. It came from your brain, verdad? That’s what makes it so special. It’s what makes you so special.”
Rosita stands up, holding her wine glass.
“I want to give a toast. The wedding is tomorrow, which means you all have spent several days with us. Ready to leave yet?”
A few chuckles break out in the crowd.
“I just want to thank you all for taking time off to watch my amazing, gorgeous, talented, and incredible daughter get married. Some of you I have known my entire life. Some of you I just met this week,” she says, nodding at Luciano’s parents.
“Regardless, you are all so special to me. Each of you has been placed in my life for a reason. Whether it was to heal from the past or see how bright my future could be. Some of you have been with me through the hardest moments of my life, and now you’re here, supporting and celebrating with me in the best one so far—”
As Rosita continues her speech, I notice a white glow from a distance. It’s moving up and down in a rhythmic bopping motion. It’s getting brighter and brighter. Soon, other people start to notice it as well.
“—Love is so easy to find but so difficult to keep, and I’m just so happy my daughter, Sofia, has found it—”
A yellow taxi cab pulls into the campsite in front of the front desk. At this point, we’ve all completely stopped listening to Rosita’s speech.
“Who is that?” Silvana asks.
Rosita stops and turns to look.
“Is there someone on the guest list that didn’t show up, Sofia?” Rosita asks.
Sofia shakes her head as she leans forward, trying to catch a glimpse of who it could be.
We all stare in silence, watching a shadowy figure inside the car shuffling around. Then, finally, the door opens. Two feet step outside. Then the rest of the body. They close the door and begin heading toward us, but we still can’t tell who it is.
Daniel gasps. “Oh my God, is this a wedding crasher? How dare they?”
The closer they get to the dinner, the more nervous I get. Until…
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
“No fucking way,” Maria whispers back.
“Is that—”
“Mami!” I exclaim as I stand up abruptly.
Murmurs are heard across the table. Silvana’s snickers can be heard a mile away. Rosita looks as if she’s looking directly at a ghost. Maritza won’t even look up from her wine glass. Sofia opens her mouth in complete shock.
“Thanks for the invite, putas,” my mother seethes.
She’s wearing a long black gown with black heels.
On her arm is the Prada bag I bought her.
Her hair is done professionally, I have no doubt.
There’s no way she could have gotten those curls on her own.
Even her makeup looks like a celebrity artist did it.
My mother would do anything to impress, especially this crowd.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Mariposa,” Rosita finally says, shaking out of shock. “So glad you’re here. Someone get her a chair.”
“Oh, I won’t be staying,” she replies coldly. “I’m here for my daughter.”
“Me?”
“Si. Tu. Would you like to explain to me why you’ve been ignoring my calls and texts and tell me where your father’s journal is?”
A burning sensation overwhelms the skin on my face and ears. I probably look as red as a beet right now.
“Uh, well—”
“Don’t bother. I already know you stole it. You had no right, Isa. That journal was the last piece of him I had, and you just took it.”
I glance at Valentina, who is looking directly at me. I almost want to cry just at the sight of her. She’s the only one who knows the contents of my father’s journal and the secret we were trying to uncover.
“Would you like to explain what the hell this is?”
She holds up a sheet of paper. I squint to try and make out the words. It’s my father’s note about his journal and finding the truth. I must have left it in her bedroom when I left in a rush. Fuck.
“It’s a letter,” I say softly.
“I can see that, Isabella. Where did you get it?”
“From Gabriel.”
Silvana and Maritza both look up at the same time, eyes wide.
“He handed it to me when he came to collect the rent. It’s a letter from Dad. For me.”
“What the hell was Gabriel doing with that letter? What’s the truth then, mija? What’s the secret truth he had to keep from his wife and only tell you about?”
“The truth?” I cough, looking over at Valentina again, knowing we haven’t actually figured out the truth. “It’s—”
“I can tell you!” Silvana shouts in a sing-songy voice.
Everyone’s eyes whip over to her as she slowly stands up, loving the attention. She’s going to tell them everything. Fuck. Shit. What do I do? I’m frozen in shock.
“I already know the truth, and I think it’s time everyone else did too. The real truth about the Valdes family.”
Mariposa crosses her arms, waiting to hear more. Rosita shuffles on her feet nervously. I feel like throwing up. Maybe I can cause a distraction if I projectile vomit all over Silvana. Valentina tries pulling Silvana back down, but she snatches her arm away and walks around the table.
“You see, Isa here has been lying about something huge. To all of us. But especially to Rosita and Sofia.” She stops before me and smiles.
“Silvie, please,” I beg in a whisper so only she can hear.
Silvana’s smile gets even larger.
“I mean, Luciano hasn’t found the rings yet, right? I wonder why.”
“What?” I say, looking over at Sofia and Luciano.
They both look confused but as if they understand what Silvana is implying. That I stole the rings. I’m the thief.
I glance over at Valentina, hoping she’ll speak up, but she’s staring at the floor, fidgeting with the corner of the tablecloth. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but Silvana steps forward, cutting her off.
“Isa and Mari are liars. They’re deceitful.
Always have been. And Luciano, if I were you, I wouldn’t invest in someone who would be so fake, like Isabellita is.
The fact that she’s been here this entire week, lying to everyone and acting like it was okay…
I don’t know, it seems kind of sketchy to me.
Would you trust them with your life? Money? Rings? I know I wouldn’t.”
“Silvana, shut up, that’s not—” Valentina shouts.
“No, esta bien,” my mother cuts in. “This is why I stayed away from you people. Isa, this is why I told you not to trust them. They’re all liars and cheaters. They only know how to take, take, take. They act all nice until they stab you in the back. Vámonos.”
“But—”
“Now, Isabella. It’s over. We’re not welcome here. We’re leaving.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the table. I turn around as we walk away, looking at Sofia, Rosita, Luciano, and Valentina—everyone I let down.