After vetoing her idea of a gray wig with ’70s-style sideburns, he had agreed to a baseball cap with a mullet hairpiece sewn in the back. Add a tropical-print button-down, his own black-and-red swim trunks, and a pair of sneakers, plus a fanny pack and the dark ski-goggle-size sunglasses he’d worn during his clandestine visit to her hotel room all those weeks ago, and . . . voilà! He transformed into the stereotypical tacky tourist ready to gamble, drink, and see the sights.
Of course, Patricio had decreed that if he was required to wear a disguise, so was she. Seeing his bet and raising it, Cat threw on a perky bleached-blonde bob wig; a pair of white, retro cat-eye sunglasses; and a bright-pink WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS tee over her leopard-print leggings.
No one would recognize either of them in the selfies she had snapped in front of the Bellagio fountain, but she did. And she would always treasure those pics. Especially the one that caught her surprise when he pressed a kiss to her cheek, water cascading behind them, her mouth open in a soft “oh!”
“I don’t know what that lady was thinking,” Patricio said. “But if I ever tell you I’m considering a mullet, feel free to smack me upside the head. Or have Alberto give me a trim while I’m sleeping.”
Cat chuckled. “You can count on me to have your back. Of your head at least.”
“Oye, be nice.”
Slipping her cell out of her leggings pocket, Cat checked the time. “Blanca should be here already. It took us a little longer to walk down the Strip.”
His hand on her lower back, Patricio guided Cat around a large group wearing matching T-shirts announcing their family-reunion weekend and a gaggle of girls clearly several drinks into their bachelorette party already. Unfortunately, the two groups were gathering in the same place she had arranged to meet her sister.
Cat’s heart raced. Excitement, trepidation, and homesickness churned in her stomach like a ball of tortilla masa being kneaded in her mamá’s mixing bowl. Uncertainty of this magnitude wasn’t something she had ever associated with her sister. Oh, they’d had their tiffs in the past. Mostly due to Cat’s impatience and strong character; she’d own that. But they had never had a rift between them like the one over the past few weeks.
A rift that had led Blanca to tell Cat that she didn’t need help getting from the airport to the hotel because Luciano had arranged for a car to pick her up.
Cat had gritted her teeth to stop her expletive-riddled response. Her anger came from a place of hurt, and wounding her sister would only make Cat feel worse. Instead, as soon as she’d hung up with Blanca, she had dialed Mariana’s number for advice, in dire need of her older sister’s rational, problem-solving skills and empathetic outlook.
Craning her neck to scan the MGM Grand’s lobby area, Cat waited impatiently while the bachelorette party took yet another series of group shots and silly-faces pics in front of the hotel’s famous gold lion. When the group finally headed off to find their next photo op in Sin City, Cat spotted Blanca across the lobby, talking with two men over by the front desk.
Blanca looked a little pale, and she’d lost some weight on her already thin frame. Her delicate brows were angled in a worried frown, her fists strangling her leather purse strap. Typical behaviors for the familia worrywart, but Cat hated that she was responsible for her sister’s visible unease.
Blanca’s gaze swept the lobby, passing over Cat, then darting back. Recognition slowly dawned on Blanca’s face. Her eyes widened with joy, and her sweet smile split her pink lips. In a flash Cat was racing to her baby sister, sidestepping an elderly couple with a breathy “excuse me.” Then she was hugging Blanca tightly.
“Ay, me hiciste tanta falta,” she whispered.
“I missed you so much, too,” Blanca said.
“I hate when we fight. Especially when—”
“When you think you’re right.”
Cat laughed at her sister’s ability to finish her sentence. They knew each other so well. This fight and the chasm it had created between them couldn’t last, especially now that they were together. They were each other’s touchstone. Yes, there were others now, gracias a Mamá and Papo, but she and Blanca had been the first constants in each other’s lives. Nothing could or would ever change that.
Stepping back, Cat clutched Blanca’s shoulders to get a good look at her. There was so much she wanted to ask about home, so much she was missing. How were rehearsals, were Sabrina and Violeta comfortable filling in for Cat, how were the others and their music students, and what was going on with the loan their parents had taken out to cover structural repairs to Casa Capuleta’s building?
But behind Blanca, Luciano waited, his fingers fiddling with the brim of his black Stetson, his youthful face, with its cute dimples and normally quick smile, now serious and sober. He leaned to his left and said something to a shorter gentleman, who stood with his back to the rest of them, wavy gray hair brushing the collar of his navy-and-gray plaid western shirt. The man turned, his paunch straining against his black leather belt. He dipped his head in greeting and . . . something about his eyes, the slightly crooked slant of his nose. There was something Cat couldn’t quite . . .
Blanca twisted to look back at the stranger. He offered her a tentative smile, and a memory flashed in Cat’s head.
Her stomach spasmed, nausea churning and rising with her dread. Saliva pooled in her mouth as bile bubbled up like hot lava, threatening to erupt, right there in the middle of the bustling lobby.
Stumbling back, she bumped into Patricio.
“Whoa, ¿qué pasa? ¿Estás bien?” Cupping her elbows, he peered down at her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the ghost from her past.
“Cat, let me explain!” Panic laced Blanca’s cry.
“No. No-n-n-no!” Cat shook her head. Words of denial, betrayal, and rage tumbled on top of each other in a race to be voiced first. “This isn’t happening. He is not. You are not.”
“I know this is a shock. It was for me at first.” Blanca stepped toward her, hands outstretched, but Cat drew back, plastering herself against Patricio. “Maybe we should talk in pri—”
“Uh-uh. I—I’m not—I can’t. Not with . . .” Her pulse pounded in her head, her skin suddenly clammy and itchy and hot and . . . Overwhelmed, Cat pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling the scream threatening to break loose.
Around them hotel guests engaged in Vegas-style antics. Snapping pictures of the iconic lobby with its lavish decor. Sipping exotic drinks. Chatting animatedly about their next must-see as they bustled by, money for the casino burning a hole in their pocket.
But even surrounded by the boisterous cacophony, all Cat could focus on was her sister’s betrayal burning a hole in her heart.
“How could you do this?” she rasped, the painful words scraping her throat. “How could you betray her like this?”
“I’m not—it’s not like that,” Blanca cried, her face pinched with anguish.
But Cat couldn’t think about her sister’s distress, not when her own consumed her with the intensity of fiery blue flames. “How could you, Blanca? How could you betray me?!”
Without waiting for her sister to respond, Cat spun and fled into the crowd, refusing to believe this was actually happening. That he was here. That Blanca was with him.