5 - LARA #3
The dress they find for me is a light pink, kind of weird—I can’t really explain it. At least it’s better than staying in my jeans and flamingo blouse at a party like this, and it’ll definitely draw less attention than the red one.
Walking down the hallway, I notice I’m not in any of the photos hanging up, not even the ones from when they were kids or teenagers.
Wait. I stop and look closer. I remember some of these photographs—there’s no way they were this clean, well-dressed, and presentable back then.
I cross the living room where only a few people linger; most who arrive head straight to the backyard.
I greet them out of politeness, and they do the same.
The backyard, once disorganized and abandoned, now looks like something from a decorating magazine or a celebrity home.
So beautiful! Flowers adorn the walls. The tables are strategically positioned to highlight the largest one, reserved for the families of the bride and groom.
Waiters circulate with appetizers and drinks in crystal glasses.
I grab one—yes, it’s real crystal. I sip, watching my parents on the other side, chatting happily with three couples who are clearly upper class. You can’t fake that kind of behavior.
I down the entire glass when I spot someone I think I recognize.
He’s sober and well-behaved, but yes, it’s the guy who approached us at Cecil’s.
That Olavo guy. Barbs’s Olavo. Is he the groom?
Thank God my friend couldn’t come. That would be cruel…
No, the invitation had a different name.
Tati mentioned it too—Adam. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel someone touch my elbow.
“Take it easy, sis,” Nicolas whispers, smiling. “You don’t want to meet your brothers-in-law drunk.” Always sneaky. “You look beautiful,” he adds, his gaze traveling over me with a playful glint as he twirls a lock of my hair around his fingers.
“Champagne doesn’t get you drunk—you know that better than I do,” I retort, making a clear reference to our family’s past.
“Better watch what you say,” he threatens, pulling me into a fake hug—like everything else around here.
When Nat visited me with his wife, he ended up confiding his fears about the path our brother was taking.
According to him, Nic had gotten involved in the underworld, dealing with very dangerous people.
Now I’m certain—he’s become one of the dangerous people.
Oh, Nic… Suddenly, I feel a lump forming in my throat.
I hold back tears. Despite everything, I love my brothers.
He calls over a pretty girl, Veruska—Korean, tall, with long black hair, pale skin, and rosy cheeks—and introduces her as his woman.
Yeah, a possessive term like that fits Nicolas perfectly.
He makes a point of emphasizing that I wasn’t at their wedding, but he’s happy I showed up even for Laura’s engagement.
“Even.” Hmph—“only” at Laura’s engagement. He doesn’t need to know that yet.
“And where is she?”
“Laura wants to make a triumphant entrance,” Veruska states. And I swear, I can see the mafia wife in her. Oh, Nic…
“Exaggerations aside,” Nicolas explains, “she just wants to enter when all the guests are present, like at the church. Nothing more than that.”
Nicolas tells them to come along so I can be properly introduced, then shows me my chair at the families’ table. Yes, Mom is really good at this.
Before we can take more than two steps, I look at the bride and groom’s table.
The older couples disperse, revealing other people who were in the middle of the group, talking.
Then I see him. SB. Highly elegant. Tailored.
Perfect. I freeze. We almost smile at each other the moment his gaze lands on me.
Bárbara was absolutely right—I should be here.
My foolish heart forgets the dirty trick, the note, the obscene amount of money left on my bed.
I want to run to him, hug him, kiss him, then beat him up demanding explanations—and then I’ll decide whether to forgive him.
My brother holds my arm, asking us to wait.
I don’t quite understand why. I barely comprehend him, captivated by the image of SB on the other side of the garden.
I catch a delicate perfume in the air. I see a slender woman with black layered hair, elegant, crossing the lawn.
SB’s almost-smile fading. The brunette giving him a peck on the lips.
Laura. I stumble. Nic holds me firmly. I lean on him.
I say I lost my footing. His expression changes, softening into something almost tender.
“Finally, a bit of emotion from ice-cold Lara,” Nic whispers, sliding his index finger along my jaw.
“I could say the same about you,” I say with a weak smile.
“Come on, let’s greet the bride and groom. Laura needs to see those little eyes of yours shining when you see her again after so many years.”
I try to transform my urge to cry and fall apart into joy at seeing my family again at such a beautiful moment for my sister.
Adam. That’s his name.