Alejandro blinked his surprise when he saw her, but quickly recovered and flashed his sexy grin.
The hornets in her stomach buzzed, stingers ready to do their damage to her already wounded soul.
“Hi, I was just about to come find—”
“Our moms are giving each other a history lesson,” she interrupted.
Unable to meet his gaze, afraid he’d see the disillusionment in her eyes, she gazed past his shoulder, searching the crowd for her brothers or Gina and Sara. Damn it, they were supposed to be her lifelines in times of need. And this was definitely a freaking time of need.
“Everything okay?” Alejandro shuffled closer.
His warm palm caressed her arm and she edged away, her chest aching. He frowned, head tilted in question.
“I think my papi got a text from the station. He stepped outside to deal with whatever’s going on,” she told Alejandro, thankful for the out her dad had inadvertently given her. “I’m going to see if he needs my assistance.”
Head high, insides trembling, she edged around Alejandro, intent on leaving before the inevitable foolish tears fell. Determined to save face in front of everyone, especially him. Her heart might be broken, but she had survived a broken heart before. She would again.
“Anamaría? Wait!” he called.
Heads swiveled their way at his cry, and her footsteps faltered. Turning to face him, she forced a smile to her stiff lips.
“You did good, Ale. Tonight’s a success.” She gestured around the open gallery with her silly gold clutch. “Everyone’s proud of you.”
“What’s going on?” he pressed. His crutch squeaked as he leaned on it to step toward her.
She shook her head and backed away. “Nothing. I just want to make sure everything’s okay with Papi. But you should go touch base with your mom. I didn’t get a chance to check on your abuela, but she’s going to love your Cuba section. You were right; it resonates with their generations, in a good way. Go, be with them. I’ll . . . I’ll catch you later.”
“Ana—”
“Enjoy this.” Arms spread at her sides, she twisted to indicate the friends and familia who had come to the gallery in support of the local celebrity. He had succeeded in achieving his dream. On his own.
Now it was her turn. On Wednesday she was leaving for Europe. Maybe twelve years later than anticipated. And with a different guy at her side, one who was only a friend. But she was done living in the past. Done waiting for someone else to make his decision and hope he included her. Done holding herself back.
“You’ve earned it, Alejandro. I’m happy for you.” Her voice caught at the end, and she clamped her mouth closed. Willing herself not to fall apart. Not yet.
Without waiting for his response, she spun away, weaving through the crowd and moving quickly toward the front. Her heart bid her to take one last look at him. Her head kept her gaze focused on the main entrance and escape.
This was Alejandro’s world.
Beyond that door up ahead, she had her own world to conquer. A business to grow. And a heart to mend.
* * *
Something was wrong; Alejandro was certain of it.
Anamaría had raced out of the gallery like the hounds of hell were chasing her. And now she wasn’t answering her phone.
After she went looking for her dad, Alejandro had brought his abuela to meet up with his mami and Señora Navarro, answering their deluge of questions about his trip to Cuba and reconnecting with their relatives there. His mami had cried again when he talked about finding the original Miranda’s and what it had been like imagining his abuelo, a man he had never known other than through pictures and stories, tirelessly cooking for customers. A man reminiscent of his own dad. Broad shouldered and robust, with a dark slash for a mustache, known for barking orders to those working alongside him in his kitchen, willing to work harder than anyone else, intent on making a good, honest living to support his familia.
Had he known his boys’ favorite foods and brought them home when he closed the restaurant for the night, even when he was at odds with them, like Alejandro’s papi did?
Would Alejandro’s abuelo have been proud of him and his work, even when his father was not?
Alejandro rubbed the ache in his chest wrought by the question that had haunted him all these years.
Seeing his familia’s emotional reactions to his photographs, hearing similar praise and awe from others throughout the gallery filled him with a sense of gratitude. And naturally, a measure of pride.
But none of that mattered if Anamaría wasn’t here to celebrate and share the moment with him. He’d even settle for an I told you so from her, as long as she was by his side, flashing her cheeky grin, making tonight, making every night, complete.
Fuck, why did it take the fear of a problem between them to make him realize the truth?
He didn’t want to leave her for good. He wanted to be with her, love her.
He simply hadn’t figured out how yet.
“Are you sure Enrique didn’t say anything to you?” he asked Natalia as he followed her into Bellísima’s office to finalize the sale of another piece. The woman was a freaking rock star when it came to matching artwork with prospective buyers, then closing deals.
When he had told her he planned to sell some of his photographs to help Miranda’s, she’d simply said, “Leave it to me. I’ll get you top dollar, so you can ease your brother’s and father’s worries.”
That’s exactly what she’d done tonight.
“Like I said the first, oh, I don’t know . . . What are we at, fifty-seven times now? I lost count.” Natalia heaved an exaggerated sigh and widened her eyes at him in a classic “you are driving me crazy” glare. “Your talented friend and I didn’t talk too long. Enrique clearly wasn’t ready to debate the value of sharing your God-given talents professionally versus hoarding them to yourself or, worse, applying them to vacation mementos that tourists impulse buy and later toss in the garage sale pile.”
Her red lips twisted with derision, indicating her distaste for Enrique’s waste of his talent. A sentiment Alejandro normally agreed with but didn’t care to discuss at the moment.
“The last time I saw your obstinate friend, he and your muse were slipping out the front door.” Natalia hitched a shoulder, her expression twisted in a surprising show of sympathy he didn’t expect from the no-nonsense business woman.
He wasn’t looking for sympathy though. What he wanted was answers.
There were two people still in the gallery who you could always count on to know more about the comings and goings-on of their offspring than said offspring would like. Tonight, their meddling mamis just might come in handy.
Swiveling on his good leg, Alejandro step-swung toward the office door. “FYI, when I find out where Anamaría is, I’m outta here.”
“Wait!”
He stopped, not because of Natalia’s blunt command, but because she’d proven herself to be more than just the art consultant Bellísima had hired, becoming a professional peer he admired and hoped to work with again in the future. Even more, a friend he’d look up the next time he visited the Windy City.
“What?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
When she set down her pen and splayed her hands on the mahogany desktop, he figured he was getting ready to hear another one of her astute observations. Many of which he typically found himself agreeing with.