Chapter 12- El Sanksgiving
“Lizzie!” Lidia bounded over, practically vibrating. “Guess what?! George is taking me out tonight, and we are meeting up with some friends of his on a yacht, and we are going to spend Thanksgiving at sea! Isn’t that crazy romantic?”
Lidia was giddy with excitement. George was stretched out in the chair, head leaning back, looking bored by the whole thing.
Lizzie was a little surprised that Lidia was planning to go on a trip with him so early in their relationship, and for a holiday.
She thought it would be rude to point it out so blatantly, so instead she said, “Oh, and you’re okay with spending the holiday with some people you don’t know? ”
Lidia’s face fell slightly since Lizzie wasn’t matching her wattage. “Well, yeah. We don’t usually do a big thing anyway, and this sounds like a great opportunity for some good content. Why? Did you guys have plans?”
“We got invited to dinner at the Pemberleys,” Lizzie said.
George’s head snapped up like someone had yanked an invisible string.
“The Pemberley estate?!” He grinned, all teeth. “What did you do to be so unlucky?”
Lizzie thought, for maybe the first time, how incredibly wolf-like George’s features were. Had he always looked this predatory, or was it only now that she knew the truth?
“Abuela got us invited.”
George laughed and clapped his hands together as if this was the funniest thing he’d heard all year. “Oh boy, I bet you’re dreading having to do a whole evening with stuffy, sour-puss Will Pemberley!”
Lizzie stared at him deadpan, more than a little annoyed. “I think Will improves, actually, the more time spent with him.”
George’s smile suddenly looked more like a snarl. “How fortunate for you,” he said through his teeth.
He was studying her now, eyes narrowed, clearly trying to figure out how much she knew. Lizzie kept her face perfectly neutral.
“Okay, great then, it’s no big deal that I go do something else,” Lidia said, oblivious to the tension. “Ready to go?” She turned to George.
Lizzie wanted to stop her. Wanted to scream he’s lying to you, he’s not the nice guy you think he is.
But she couldn’t figure out how without betraying Will, and she knew Lidia wouldn’t listen anyway.
So she just stood there with a sick knot in her stomach as her little sister walked out the door with a snake wearing boat shoes.
Lizzie and Abuela arrived at the Pemberley estate at 11:00 a.m. sharp, as requested.
Being on time was shocking since Lizzie had tried on roughly twelve different outfits before settling on a simple brown A-line cocktail dress that made her feel simultaneously elegant and armored.
Abuela was shocked by how basic the dress was for celebrating “El Sanksgiving,” as she called it.
Then she’d had to fight Abuela, who insisted that Lizzie should bring a jacket.
“It’s like eighty degrees outside!” Lizzie had protested.
“?Sí, pero it’s going to rain! And you could catch una gripa!”
Lizzie won, but the second they stepped out of the car, fat drops started splattering the gravel. Abuela hugged her cardigan tighter and shot Lizzie a triumphant te dije look.
“Don’t ask for mine when you’re wet and cold!” she sang, then marched up the steps like she owned the place.
Lizzie rolled her eyes and rang the doorbell.
Giana flung the door open before the chime finished.
“?Llegaron!” she squealed, pulling them both inside. She was barefoot, wearing an apron longer than her jean cutoff shorts. “Chef Ramón isn’t loving all the help I’m giving him in the kitchen, but I’m determined to prove to him this kitchen hack I learned on TikTok works!”
Will appeared in the archway behind her, looking unfairly good in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that made his eyes look lethal. He had a glass of red wine in one hand and the expression of a man who had already died inside twice this morning.
“Lizzie. Senora,” he greeted, voice low. “Welcome.”
Abuela sailed past him like he was the butler. “?Qué lindo is your house, mijo! Show me the kitchen, I can help with the mojo.”
Lizzie protested, feeling that a chef might be annoyed by her interference, but Giana waved her concerns away, “She can be my ally, come on!” Lizzie glanced at Will, who nodded, indicating that it was fine, so Lizzie conceded.
Giana grabbed Abuela’s arm like they’d been best friends for fifty years and dragged her away, chattering in rapid Spanglish.
This left Lizzie and Will alone in the foyer.
Although it had been more than two weeks since the rooftop confession and their last words in private, without the buffer of another person with Will, Lizzie felt exposed, unsure how to act.
She had played what she would say to him in her head several times, but now, faced with the actual man, she was anxious.
“I’ve been wanting to say for a while…” Lizzie started the speech she had practiced many times, but then looked him in the eyes. His intense stare made her mind go blank, and suddenly she wasn’t sure what she had practiced would be enough. “Thank you for the coffee.” Coward, she thought.
Will smiled graciously. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”
Will led her to a nearby living room, where a stunning older woman, dressed immaculately, was sipping a glass of wine and looking out the window at the rain falling in the backyard.
“This is my mother,” Will introduced. “Isabela Pemberley.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Lizzie said, not sure if it would be more appropriate to shake her hand or kiss her cheek. So she settled for an awkward head nod.
Isabela carried herself with the quiet elegance of a woman who had lived fully and loved deeply—olive skin that glowed from years of Florida sun, thick black hair swept into a loose knot with silver strands she refused to hide, and light hazel eyes that held laughter and steel in equal measure.
High cheekbones, full lips painted a soft coral, and a presence that made the room feel smaller.
She wore a cream linen dress that skimmed her figure without trying too hard, simple gold hoops, and a thin gold chain that disappeared into her neckline.
Her smile was wide, genuine, and slightly mischievous, as if she’d already decided Lizzie was interesting.
“Will, grab her a glass of wine,” she said, in an accent that sounded to Lizzie as if she had been a native Spanish speaker many years ago, but that was a distant memory to her now.
Lizzie wanted to ask about her ethnicity, but wasn’t sure if it would be rude to ask so bluntly. She settled on asking, “It’s a beautiful home. Have you lived here long?”
Isabela nodded, looking around the room in admiration. “Yes, we built it the year we got married, so yes, quite a long time. Before that, my family lived in Hialeah. And before that, Cuba.”
Bingo! Lizzie thought. Proud of herself for finding the information out, but upset that she had made assumptions about Will on their first meeting that were not just wrong, but maybe even meant that her own prejudices directed her feelings towards him.
She felt that perhaps she had been the villain all this time.
Isabela noticed that Lizzie seemed to be in deep thought and asked, “Are you surprised to find out that Will and Giana were half Cuban? I know they don’t look like what people expect Cubans to look like, but we come in all shapes and sizes.”
“No!” Lizzie blurted out, not wanting Isabela to think that she would make any such assumptions, even though, of course, she had. “I mean, yes, we do. My grandfather was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and I have several aunts and cousins with fair coloring, and we are as Cuban as ropa vieja.”
Isabela smiled at the comparison. “I sometimes wonder if I passed on enough of that part of my history to them. But I think I was so focused on trying to fit in to this life, I left some of my Cubanism behind.”
“I get that,” Lizzie said. “But at least you’re still in Miami, where you can get a dose of Cuba whenever you need a fix. And you can always borrow my Abuela when you feel nostalgic. I’m sure the feeling will pass quickly.”
Isabela laughed and was about to say more when Giana could be heard from the kitchen. “Mama, can you tell Ramon that I’m allowed to make the flan?!”
Isabela rolled her eyes and excused herself as Will came back in with a glass of wine for Lizzie. “Sorry, it’s kind of a madhouse here.”
Lizzie smiled, “I like it. Feels like home.” Then she blushed and added, “You know, like the yelling and stuff. Abuela’s half the drama, I’m sure.”
Will seemed reminiscent all of a sudden. “You’re lucky to have her. I miss my abuela every day. She used to own a cafeteria in Hialeah.”
“The coordinates in your tattoo!” Lizzie said, making the connection.
Will nodded. “I spent a lot of time there growing up until I was old enough to help out at Pemberley.”
A voice, out of breath and slightly wheezing, broke in. “Some argued that we should have left him there longer with his grandmother, spending his days at the cafe…” A frail-looking older man wheeling an oxygen tank stood at the doorway.
“Come sit down, Pop,” Will said. “This is Lizzie.” Will Pemberley Sr. moved to a nearby armchair and sank into it, breathless.
Ignoring the introduction and continuing his thought, he added, “but we knew he’d be safer and learn more at the office. Not that he liked the decision, he fought us on it for months.”
“I loved it there.”
Will Sr chuckled painfully. “Of course, you were a young boy around a bunch of old ladies who spoiled you. What did they call you?”
“El Principe,” Will said quietly. His dad laughed a little more.
“That’s sweet,” Lizzie said, picturing a young Will Pemberley being doted on by a group of Cuban women.
“He was a prince. Now he’s a king.” Will Sr beamed at his son.
Will didn’t look as proud of the title. He quickly changed the subject. “Pop, Lizzie is the consultant I told you about. The one who has been making some real positive improvements at Pemberley.”
“Right, I understand,” Will Sr said cryptically. The trio fell silent then. No one seemed quite sure what to say next.
Lizzie decided to excuse herself by claiming she needed to use the bathroom to escape the awkwardness. Will gave her quick directions, down the hall to the right, and Lizzie left the two men on their own.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Will Sr wheezed, “What are you thinking, inviting her here?”
“I didn’t. Giana did.” Will said defensively.
“Let’s not play coy; I can see how you look at her.”
“She’ll only be working for me a few more weeks. I haven’t crossed any line.”
“Of course you have! You should never have hired her the way you are feeling!” Will Sr fired back.
Will grew irritated and upset that his father was so strict about the employee-employer roles, which, in his eyes, were black-and-white. “She is the right choice for the company. She’s doing great work. No one can say that I’ve been inappropriate or anything.”
“Damn it son! It’s not your reputation I’m protecting, it’s hers!
” Will Sr took a few drags off his oxygen while Will looked at him quizzically, then continued.
“If you start a relationship with her, every achievement, every career move, every accomplishment will be marred by you. No one will think it was of her own doing. They will think it was your affection for her that skewed the feedback and outcome!”
Will had never considered this at all. “But I… I hired auditors to check her work. I made sure there was an unbiased evaluation.”
“Yes, and that will protect you with the board. But in the court of public opinion, it won’t mean much.”
Will was crestfallen. How had he not considered this? He really must be an arrogant bastard after all, to think all this time he was only concerned with his own reputation; he never considered hers.
“If you pursue her, you’d better make damn sure you know what you’re taking from her, and make sure she knows what she’s getting into.”
As if on cue, Lizzie returned to the room. She was the embodiment of spirit. Curls were escaping her chignon, her eyes dazzling. She was alive in a way that made his chest physically ache—and realized his father might be the only person in the world still capable of talking sense into him.
Will tried to push his father’s words from his head and focus instead on the lively conversation with Lizzie and the fire in her eyes as she talked about past projects and the problems she had solved.
Will admired the joy she had for her work, but all he could think was how, if his dad was right, he’d be destroying just that.