“What does that mean?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
“You and Atzi have to be comfortable with each other. Make sure you’re not jumping out of the chair each time she touches you.” He gives me a knowing look. “Which you do often.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, yes you do. Since she affects you so much, you try to avoid touching her. You can’t do that in front of her grandparents.”
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, shaking my head. “Why didn’t I think about that?”
“So, we’re crashing at your house, huh?” one of my brothers mentions, almost mockingly. “He might need to stay there for years to learn how to lie.”
When I open my eyes, everyone is laughing at me. Yep, I’m fucked and they know it. And Fern might not like it or support us, and so I say, “But you’ll give my sister the 4-1-1, won’t you? Maybe work some of your magic to convince her to help us?”
Elliot scoffs. “Sure, that’s exactly what I’m here for. Work some magic and make my brothers-in-laws’ lives easy.”
“This is why he’s my favorite brother-in-law.” Gatsby pours more whiskey into his glass.
“He’s the only one,” I correct him.
Instead of going downstairs with Atzi, I decide to stay a few more minutes so I can drink enough alcohol to be numb when I see her again.
How are we going to pull off this stunt?
Chapter Fifteen
Atzi
Last night, I left Heath’s penthouse while he was with his brothers. I just scribbled a note that I needed to be alone, but I would meet him on Saturday.
This morning I woke up with a headache and a text from Heath saying we’re going to Fern’s house for the weekend. I hope he remembers my grandparents are here on Sunday and we’re… doomed.
Heath doesn’t like to lie. I can see him confessing the truth to Abuelita by Monday morning, right before I can drink my first cup of coffee. With that thought, I leave my bed, take a quick shower, and start my daily routine. Hopefully, I have enough time to prepare breakfast before he arrives.
I’m not that lucky. Right before I step into the kitchen, I hear the lock opening. As usual, Heath doesn’t knock, he lets himself in. He just enters my studio as if he belongs here. At least, mi abuelita won’t notice we’re not familiar with each other. Sometimes we even use the same toothbrush.
“Morning,” he growls. “Is there any coffee?”
“Good morning, grumpy. I was just about to start it,” I say, then turn to look at him. “Are you upset?”
His face flickers and then he shakes his head. “Of course not. I’m just tired.”
I narrow my gaze. Like I’m going to believe him that he’s just tired. “We don’t have to do this. You’re a terrible liar.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
I tilt my head. “Who’s this everyone you speak of?”
He sighs. “My brothers think this is a terrible idea and I can’t lie.”
I scrunch my nose. “You told them?”
“Yeah, last night while I was opening the roof for them. We got to talking and—”
I snap my fingers. “You’re hungover.”
“Ugh.” He holds his head.
I grin because that’s a lot better than being pissed at me. “Did Heath drink a little too much last night?”
“Please don’t shriek.” He flinches.
“I’ll make you my famous anti-hangover concoction, and in the meantime, tell me why you decided to share this with them.”
“They asked what was bothering me. Plus, it seemed like a good idea to tell them. What if they drop by unannounced while your grandparents are at my place? They’ll screw the entire operation.”
I twist my lips a few times as I think about his reasoning and search for the Tabasco sauce. “Huh, I didn’t think about that, but just remember this isn’t an operation.”
“See, I can lie.”
I hum thoughtfully. Even after years of knowing him, Heath can sometimes be hard to read. He’s a master of hiding his emotions beneath a perfectly agreeable face. That’s not lying, more like suppressing his feelings all the time. Most of the time, he’s willing to let me into his private thoughts, but right now it feels like there’s a wall up between us again.
If he’s regretting his offer, I’m okay with that, but if not… what is happening with him?
“So, what are we doing at Fern’s?” I ask, handing him the glass with the concoction I just prepared. “Make sure to plug your nose before you drink it.”
He does as I say and gulps the thing in less than twenty seconds. “This tastes like feet.”
“Do you eat feet often?”
He glares at me. “Not the point.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
He sighs. “Elliot thinks we should prepare for your grandparents’ visit.”
“I am ready for them. I stopped my special orders for the next couple of weeks and I made sure the store is covered. I might go to work for a couple of hours because the truffles don’t make themselves, but everything else should be good. How about you?”
“I’m on shift Monday night at six until Wednesday. After that, I’ll ask for a few days off so we can spend time with your grandparents. I don’t want them to think I’m rude. But that’s not what they mean by that. We have to be familiar with each other and make sure they believe the lie.” He smiles at me softly. I am caught up for a moment in his eyes. My smile back feels wobbly.
“I’m excited to meet your grandparents. Are they like Cécile?” He breaks eye contact and walks toward the coffee maker.
“Nope. They’re the absolute opposite. Loud, happy, and loving.”
“Cécile loves you.”
“Yes, but she’s also cold. My Mexican family is the opposite. Warm, friendly, and noisy. They like to hug and show affection.” I tap my chin. “You might want to get ready for that, since you don’t like PDA that much.”
He clears his throat. “What do you mean?”
“Abuelita might hug you and you’ll have to hug her back and not act like someone is trying to attack you or kill you with kindness.”
He does that with me often. I don’t take it personally. He’s just not a hugger, which I hate because, like my family, I’m pretty affectionate.
Heath makes some sort of frustrated noise as he pours coffee into the mugs.
“What now?”
“Atzi,” he says and then pauses for way too long for my newfound anxiety. “Now that you mention it, we didn’t really talk about uh… how?”
“How what?”
“How you want me to… act, I guess?” he says, sounding more unsure with each word.
His face is flushed with embarrassment, a rare sight, and I can feel my own sympathetic blush starting.
“Just… be you, but don’t react badly if she hugs you,” I warn him.
“No.” He shakes his head, and my stomach drops further before he holds up a hand to stop me. He’s clearly marshaling his words, so I wait. My bottom lip is nearly torn to shreds after the couple of days I’ve had, but I’ll worry about it later.