“They are going to be green with envy. And I am gonna love rubbing it in!” Arms lifted to bounce in a raise-the-roof motion, Catalina happy danced around him, coming dangerously close to the edge of the pool.
“Oye, watch it!” Patricio grabbed the billowy material of her short sundress, dragging her back a few steps.
“Oops! Gracias.” She grinned, mischief lighting her hazel eyes. Then, as if a light bulb had switched off inside her, her smile dimmed. “Oh, don’t worry. I promise not to give them a video tour of your house or anything. This is your private space. And I am well aware that you’ve only shared a few pictures of it. Plus, the one interview you gave from that amazing lookout spot, which, I’m guessing, is the thatched roof–looking thing peeking out from behind those coconut palm and other trees over there.”
Rising on her toes, she craned her neck and pointed toward his thinking place, its rooftop barely visible through the foliage and in the fading sunlight.
“You’re saying you’d earn some serious big-sister cred if they got an insider’s view?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“When are you video chatting with them again?”
Stepping closer to the pool, she hunkered down and tugged up the elastic at the end of her puffy, long sleeve to dip her hand in the water. “We had familia breakfast tacos this morning, and we’re supposed to—”
“Wait, you actually ate together?”
“Uh-huh.” Pushing her hand through and out of the water, she sent droplets flying in the air to sprinkle across the deep end. A flurry of concentric circles floated over the still surface. “Every Sunday after eight a.m. mass, Papo stops to pick up barbacoa tacos for everyone. Ay, I’m hoping I can find some in Phoenix when we’re there later this week. Then, one night a week before or after Las Nubes rehearsal, we meet for familia dinner. The time usually depends on whether or not Mariana’s worked a shift at the hospital that day because that affects rehearsal. Why do you ask?”
Why did he ask?
Because to the young boy who had eaten most meals alone or with nannies growing up . . . the teen who came to view familia meals with his father as business meetings where talk of the industry and lessons learned and knowing his place in the hierarchy were the main points of discussion . . . and the man facing the realization that for all the riches he possessed and the adulation he received from many, he lived a solitary life . . . to all three of them, the idea of regular meals with loved ones sounded like something out of a sitcom. One he’d give anything to step inside.
He pictured the supersize dining table at the Capuletas’ place in San Antonio. The familia photographs on the walls, snapshots and formal portraits capturing special moments over the years. After having witnessed the sisters in action behind the scenes during rehearsals, he easily envisioned them sharing raucous meals ripe with laughter, teasing, and affection.
How Catalina could give that up for the limelight and lonely life on the road left his mind boggled. And, though he wouldn’t admit it, hungry to experience it.
“You said that this is the first time you’ve been away for an extended period. Do you miss them?” he asked.
Hell, he missed just watching their interactions. He couldn’t begin to imagine—
“Sí, me hacen falta. But phone calls and video chats help. This is only a couple months. Fingers crossed my next gig is bigger—”
“¡Oye!” Hands fisted on his hips, he shot her an affronted scowl. “Who’s a bigger tour name than me?”
She laughed and splashed water at him. He jumped back to avoid the spray, and dark wet spots splattered, then spread across the wooden deck.
Still crouched by the edge of the pool, she tilted her head and gazed up at him. Her long ponytail swung behind her to dangle over the water’s surface. The cheekiness she typically threw at him melted away. A gentle smile curved her full lips while certainty blazed in her warm honey-colored eyes. Her expression radiated with an intensity of love that had Patricio catching his breath. Wondering how it might feel if he were the recipient of something as beautiful and fierce.
“No matter what happens, Casa Capuleta and San Antonio will always be a place I call home. My parents and sisters and I, we’ll always have each other’s backs.”
A simple statement of unguarded truth that opened a floodgate of emotions inside him. Jealousy, awe, yearning.
“I’ve said this before, but are you sure this life is what you want?” he asked, his own internal struggle seeping out onto the pool deck.
“What do you mean?”
“A career like mine, like the one you are determined to achieve, it requires a lot of sacrifice. A lot of time apart from loved ones and familia responsibilities.”
A frown dipped between her brows. Her mouth pursed and she pushed herself to stand. “Why is it that so many men can have a successful, demanding career, and no one worries about their ‘familia responsibilities’? Yet with a woman, she’s often expected to choose between the two.”
He blinked, caught off guard by her sudden vehemence.
“Why are the men who choose career over familia praised, while society, especially in our culture, often questions and condemns a woman who does the same?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“¿Pues, qué? Exactly what are you saying?”
By now the sun had mostly set, leaving the darkening sky a swirl of deep purples and midnight blues in a moody backdrop behind her. The solar lights lining the perimeter of the deck flickered on, giving the area a hazy glow. Behind him, the lights from the sala and kitchen area reflected like splotches of gold in her fiery eyes.
“I’m saying, when it comes to you, Catalina Capuleta—” Stepping closer, he grasped her upper arms, grounding himself and her in this moment. “Forget everyone else and what they say. I know your familia is important. Your dedication to them is one of the things I admire most about you. Your relationship with your familia is . . . Bueno, it’s something I envy.”
Surprise flitted across her face. Probably his, too. The admission had slipped out, his subconscious willing him to give her the truth.
Catalina bit her lip. Her brow puckered, and for the first time since they’d met, indecision seemed to hold her in its grasp. She sucked in, then released, an audible breath. Her expression cleared and she gazed up at him intently, as if she’d come to some kind of decision.
“I don’t know exactly what happened with you before I came onto the scene and signed with Padua. I have my theories. But either way, I can’t help wondering if too much out there”—elbow crooked, she motioned in a small circle at her side, as if indicating the world in general—“is messing with in here.” Her palm splayed on the center of his chest for a heart-stopping second before she raised her hand to press her cool fingertips to his left temple. “And here.”
He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t bring himself to force another lie meant to cover up his weakness past the grapefruit-size knot in his throat.
“That’s why you’re having trouble writing,” she continued, her voice matter-of-fact but soft and understanding. Her nonjudgment quieted the turmoil raging within him. “Maybe Alberto knows. I doubt much can slip by him. But George doesn’t. At least, I doubt he knows how bad it really is. Am I right?”