“But I’m happy. About the baby,” she rushes to explain.
“I know you are. But that doesn’t mean you have to be happy one-hundred percent of the time.”
“Mostly, I’m scared,” she admits.
“Me too. What if I’m single forever?”
Marlowe shakes her head. “You won’t be. There are a thousand guys who would trip over themselves for a chance to date you.”
“But what if I don’t connect with any of them? I’ve never had anything…meaningful. Not like what you have with Alejandro.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not out there, waiting for you. You’re only twenty-five, Carla.”
“I don’t have anything to offer now.”
Marlowe scoffs. “You’re the real prize. You’re it, babe.”
I heave out an exhale, dabbing at my eyes. Squeezing her hand, I say, “I’m so thrilled my brother married you.”
“I’ve always wanted a sister. You can’t imagine how lucky I feel to have two.”
We smile at each other, our faces stained with tears, our eyes bleeding with emotion. But I feel lighter, better, since confessing my deep fears to Marlowe.
A male voice clears his throat and Marlowe and I turn to see Alejandro, Andrés, and Luca standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
“Is everything…okay here?” my brother asks slowly. His eyebrows pull low. “Are you crying?”
Concern flashes across Luca’s face and I don’t miss the way his eyes—melted chocolate—assess me. His jaw is tight and he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his feet.
“Don’t call her out for it,” Andrés hisses. “She’s pregnant.”
“I was asking my sister,” Ale mumbles back.
At Ale’s words, a muscle tics in Luca’s jaw.
I pull my gaze from his and look at Ale.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, dragging the napkin under my eyes.
“We’re great,” Marlowe gushes, unconvincingly. “I just, you know, miss wine.” She adds more to my glass, making it a double pour.
I narrow my eyes at her and she shrugs weakly.
“Want to fire up the grill?” She turns toward Ale.
My brother looks between us. “Are you?—”
“I chopped vegetables too to make skewers,” Marlowe cuts him off, linking her arm with his and directing him toward the grill.
“I’ll grab the trays,” Andrés offers, moving toward the refrigerator.
Luca loiters close by, his expression softening. “Everything alright, cucciola?”
“It’s fine,” I whisper.
Luca dips his head. Sighs. “If only you would talk to me…”
A soft smile touches my lips at the sincerity in his tone.
