Chapter 10
Gianna
I spent the entire subway ride to the Valdez estate thinking about how close Archie’s mouth had been to mine.
Pathetic. I was a grown woman with a massive legal case to prepare and finals looming, and all I could think about was the moment in his car when he’d leaned in, when I’d been absolutely certain he was going to kiss me, when every nerve in my body had screamed yes please finally, and then he’d pulled back.
Just stopped. Put space between us like touching me might burn him.
I’d replayed that moment, trying to figure out if I’d misread the situation entirely or if he’d wanted to kiss me as badly as I’d wanted him to.
The train lurched to a stop and I grabbed the pole to steady myself, earning an annoyed look from the woman beside me whose coffee I’d nearly knocked over.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She didn’t respond. New York manners at their finest.
The walk to the estate took fifteen minutes through tree-lined streets that always felt vaguely surreal compared to my concrete neighborhood in Washington Heights. The houses got bigger the closer I walked, sprawling properties with manicured lawns and expensive gates.
Hector’s estate sat at the end of a quiet street, behind iron gates that opened automatically when I pressed the buzzer.
The driveway curved through gardens my mother maintained with religious devotion, past the fountain Sarah had installed last year because Lily wanted to throw pennies and make wishes.
I’d lived here for seven years. In the guest house Hector had converted into an apartment for me and my mother, back when we’d had nowhere else to go and he’d decided we were his responsibility now.
Those years felt distant and immediate at the same time—like looking at a photograph of yourself and not quite recognizing the person staring back.
The front door opened before I could knock.
My mother stood there wearing an apron dusted with flour, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun, and that expression on her face. The one that meant today was a good day. That the panic that sometimes swallowed her whole was quiet right now, that she was present and happy and herself.
“Mija,” she said, pulling me into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and home.
I squeezed her back, relief flooding through me. Good days were precious. We never took them for granted. “What are you making?”
“Empanadas. Sarah requested them for dinner and you know I can’t say no to that woman.” She released me and stepped back, her eyes warm. “Come help me. You can keep me company while I work.”
The kitchen was huge and bright, windows overlooking the garden where late-afternoon light spilled across marble counters.
Dough sat in neat circles on parchment paper, waiting to be filled.
My mother had been cooking for hours, I could tell from the various dishes in different stages of completion scattered across every available surface.
She handed me an apron and I tied it on, already accepting that my help would be minimal at best. I couldn’t cook.
Everyone knew this. I’d once nearly set my apartment on fire trying to make toast. But my mother liked having me here while she worked, so I’d stand beside her and try not to cause disasters.
“So,” she said, sliding a bowl of filling toward herself. “Tell me what’s been happening with you.”
I picked up a spoon and stirred something that smelled incredible, grateful for a task that didn’t involve actual cooking skills. “Working on my case mostly. The displacement one against Devlin Holdings.”
“That’s going well?”
“It’s going. Frustrating but satisfying.” I paused, debating how much to share. “Every document I read makes me angrier. They’re doing to these families exactly what they did to us.”
My mother’s hands stilled in the dough. When she looked up, her expression was complicated. “And you’re going to stop them.”
“I’m going to try.”
“You’ll do more than try. You’re brilliant and determined and you understand what’s at stake.” She returned to crimping empanada edges with practiced movements. “Your father would be so proud of you. The way you took something terrible and turned it into something that helps people.”
My throat felt tight. I focused on stirring, letting the repetitive motion ground me. “I hope so.”
“I know so.” She reached over and squeezed my hand, flour dusting my skin. “Now tell me the rest. What else is happening in your life besides work? You’re young and beautiful and brilliant. There must be something good.”
The shift in her tone was subtle, but I caught it anyway. I glanced up and found her watching me with that expression mothers got when they were about to ask questions you didn’t necessarily want to answer.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. I’m just wondering if there’s anyone special in your life.” She paused, rolling dough with careful attention. “Do you have someone? A man who makes you smile the way you’re smiling right now?”
There it was.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
Her hands stilled. She looked up at me with eyes that were bright with hope. “Maybe?”
“There’s someone. It’s new. I don’t know what it is yet.”
“But you like him.”
“I do.” The admission felt bigger out loud, more real. “He’s smart and kind, and he makes me feel like wanting something beyond survival isn’t selfish.”
My mother set down her rolling pin and wiped her hands on her apron, then reached over and cupped my face. “Mija, wanting things has never been selfish. You’re allowed to have a life. You’re allowed to be happy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her thumb brushed my cheek. “Because sometimes I think you forgot how to want things just for yourself.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe I’d spent so long being careful, being practical, being the one who held everything together that I’d forgotten what it felt like to just want something because it made me happy.
“He took me to dinner on Saturday,” I said quietly. “Brought me flowers. These beautiful peonies that are still sitting on my kitchen table making me smile every time I walk in.”
“That’s lovely.”
“It was perfect.” I thought about the restaurant, the wine, the way Archie had looked at me across the table like I was the only person in the room.
My mother’s smile was soft. “He sounds wonderful.”
“He is. I think. It’s still early.” I paused, debating how much to share. “At the end of the night, we were sitting in his car and I was so certain he was going to kiss me.”
“But he didn’t?”
“He almost did. Got close enough that I could feel his breath… and then he just pulled back.” I grabbed the spoon and stirred with more force than necessary.
“Maybe he’s being respectful. Taking things slow.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m an idiot who’s building this up in my head and he’s just being nice.” I set down the spoon before I did damage to the bowl.
“You’re not an idiot,” my mother said firmly. “You’re a woman who likes someone and that’s completely normal. Stop overthinking it.”
“Overthinking is literally what I do.”
“Then take a break and just be a person who went on a good date.” She handed me a clean spoon. “Here. Keep stirring. And stop worrying so much.”
I took the spoon gratefully. My mother worked beside me in comfortable silence, the kind we’d perfected over years of being each other’s primary person.
“I’m happy for you,” she said after a while. “That you have someone in your life who makes you feel that way. You deserve good things, mija. You’ve earned them a thousand times over.”
The words settled warm in my chest. I wanted to believe them. Wanted to think I deserved Archie and his flowers and the way he looked at me like I mattered.
We worked together for another hour. My mother talked about her book club’s latest selection, some romance novel where the heroine apparently spent two hundred pages being oblivious to the fact that she was in love with her best friend.
“It was so unrealistic,” my mother said, sliding a tray into the oven. “Obviously she should have realized sooner. But the ending made me cry anyway.”
“Is crying at romance novels a requirement for book club membership?”
“Strongly encouraged but not mandatory.” She smiled. “Though Maria cried so hard she had to excuse herself to the bathroom for ten minutes. We were worried.”
“Was the book that good, or is Maria just emotional?”
“Both. She’s been married forty years and still cries at every love story.” My mother wiped her hands on a towel. “I think it’s sweet. That you can be with someone that long and still believe in romance.”
I thought about Hector and Sarah, about the way they looked at each other. Like they’d found something rare and intended to keep it. “I think it’s possible. Just rare.”
“Very rare,” my mother agreed. “But worth it when you find it.”
The front door opened and voices filled the hallway. Young, bright, moving fast.
Lily burst into the kitchen like a small hurricane, her hair escaping from its bun, ballet tights visible under her jacket. “Rosa! We’re back and I’m starving and I did a pirouette without falling!”
Sarah appeared behind her, windblown and laughing, looking happy and glowing in that way she had been since marrying Hector.
She was beautiful in this effortless way, dark hair that always looked perfect even when messy. And the way she carried herself, confident but never cold. I understood exactly why Hector Valdez had fallen for her.
Lily launched into detailed explanation of everything they’d done with Delia, the ballet instructor, complete with dramatic reenactments that involved spinning in circles and nearly knocking over a vase.
Sarah caught it before disaster struck, her reflexes apparently honed by years of parenting an enthusiastic eleven-year-old.
“And then Delia said my form was improving,” Lily continued, “which means I might get to be in the advanced class next semester if I keep practicing. So I need to practice every day. Can we clear space in the living room?”
“You broke a lamp last month,” Sarah pointed out.
“That was an accident! I was practicing my grand jeté and the ceiling was lower than I thought.”
“The ceiling hasn’t moved, sweetheart.”
“Then I’m getting taller, and we need higher ceilings.” Lily spotted me and her face lit up. “Gianna! Did you hear? I did pirouettes!”
I held up my hand for a high five and she smacked it with enthusiasm that nearly knocked me backward. “That’s impressive. Soon you’ll be on stage and we’ll all be in the audience and clap for you.”
“Dad will definitely like it,” Lily said confidently. “He cried at my last recital and tried to pretend he had allergies.”
Sarah smiled, and something about that smile told me she was completely gone for Hector Valdez. The ice-cold businessman everyone else saw wasn’t the man she knew. She’d somehow found the soft parts of him and decided they were worth keeping. “Your father has very convenient allergies.”
My mother handed Lily an empanada fresh from the oven, warning her it was hot. Lily ignored the warning and bit into it immediately, then made exaggerated faces while fanning her mouth.
“I told you it was hot,” my mother said, but she was laughing.
Sarah caught my eye and tilted her head toward the hallway. I followed her while Lily recovered from her self-inflicted burns and my mother fussed over her.
“How are you really doing?” Sarah asked once we were alone.
I leaned against the wall. “I’m okay. The case is taking up most of my mental energy but I’m managing.”
Sarah’s expression shifted, concern giving way to something fiercer. “You’re going to win.” She paused. “Your father would be proud of you.”
My throat felt too tight to breathe. I nodded because speaking felt impossible.
Sarah’s expression shifted again, this time into something warmer. Teasing. “Now. Tell me about this date you mentioned.”
I blinked at the sudden change in topic.
“So tell me—are you in love?”
“I’m not in love. It’s been one date.”
“That’s not a denial about the possibility.”
I felt my face heat. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m curious. There’s a difference.” She leaned against the wall beside me. “Besides, watching Hector try to be smooth is getting old. I need new romance in my life.”
“He’s still smooth,” I said. “You look ridiculously happy every time he walks into a room.”
“That’s different. That’s marriage. I’m legally obligated to look happy.” But her smile said she was completely gone for him anyway.”
Lily’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Are you guys talking about boys? Can I hear? I want to know about boys!”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “We’re having adult conversation, sweetheart!”
“That means you’re definitely talking about boys!” Lily appeared in the doorway, empanada crumbs on her face, looking absolutely delighted with herself. “I want to be in love too. It sounds fun.”
“You’re eleven,” Sarah said.
“So? That’s old enough to understand romance. I read books about it.”
“Those books are fiction, baby. Real life is different.”
“But it’s still romantic, right? Like you and Dad?” Lily looked between us. “You’re always smiling at each other and holding hands. That’s love.”
Sarah’s face went soft in a way that made my chest ache. “Yes, that’s love. But you have plenty of time for that. Right now you should focus on ballet and school.”
“That’s boring advice.”
“That’s good advice.” Sarah grabbed Lily and pulled her into a hug despite her protests. “How about this. You can worry about love when you’re at least sixteen and have explained to your father why boys are worth the trouble.”
“He’ll never think boys are worth the trouble.”
“Exactly. So you have plenty of time to practice your arguments.” She kissed the top of Lily’s head. “Now go help Rosa clean up before your father gets home and sees the kitchen disaster we’ve made.”
Lily ran off and Sarah turned back to me, grinning. “Don’t let Hector hear her talking about boys. She will give him a panic attack.”
“She’s going to be trouble when she’s older.”
“She’s trouble now. I’m just preparing myself for teenage years.” Sarah shook her head, still smiling. “But seriously. About your guy. I’m happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you feel that way.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
“And if he hurts you, let me know. Hector has connections.”
I laughed again. “Are you threatening him?”
“I’m just saying. Options exist.” She squeezed my arm once more. “Come on. Let’s go rescue your mother from Lily’s helpfulness before something else breaks.”
We walked back to the kitchen together and I felt lighter somehow—like talking about Archie had made it more real, and maybe wanting something good wasn’t selfish after all.