“I’m working on it. Poorly, but I’m working on it.”
I grabbed a blanket and threw it at him. “Go to sleep.”
“You’re a good friend, Archie. Even when I don’t deserve it.”
I walked to my room without answering.
In the shower, hot water pounding against my shoulders, I tried to think clearly. About Gianna and the truth I owed her and how close I’d come to kissing her and how pulling back had been both the right thing and the worst thing.
But I didn’t find answers. Just more questions. More evidence that the man Gianna thought I was didn’t actually exist.
I turned off the water and stood there dripping, staring at my reflection in the foggy mirror.
Was there any way forward that didn’t end with me losing everything I wanted?
CHAPTER 10
Gianna
I spentthe entire subway ride to the Valdez estate thinking about how close Archie’s mouth had been to mine.
Pathetic. I was a grown woman with a massive legal case to prepare and finals looming, and all I could think about was the moment in his car when he’d leaned in, when I’d been absolutely certain he was going to kiss me, when every nerve in my body had screamed yes please finally, and then he’d pulled back.
Just stopped. Put space between us like touching me might burn him.
I’d replayed that moment, trying to figure out if I’d misread the situation entirely or if he’d wanted to kiss me as badly as I’d wanted him to.
The train lurched to a stop and I grabbed the pole to steady myself, earning an annoyed look from the woman beside me whose coffee I’d nearly knocked over.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
She didn’t respond. New York manners at their finest.
The walk to the estate took fifteen minutes through tree-lined streets that always felt vaguely surreal compared to my concrete neighborhood in Washington Heights. The housesgot bigger the closer I walked, sprawling properties with manicured lawns and expensive gates.
Hector’s estate sat at the end of a quiet street, behind iron gates that opened automatically when I pressed the buzzer. The driveway curved through gardens my mother maintained with religious devotion, past the fountain Sarah had installed last year because Lily wanted to throw pennies and make wishes.
I’d lived here for seven years. In the guest house Hector had converted into an apartment for me and my mother, back when we’d had nowhere else to go and he’d decided we were his responsibility now. Those years felt distant and immediate at the same time—like looking at a photograph of yourself and not quite recognizing the person staring back.
The front door opened before I could knock.
My mother stood there wearing an apron dusted with flour, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun, and that expression on her face. The one that meant today was a good day. That the panic that sometimes swallowed her whole was quiet right now, that she was present and happy and herself.
“Mija,” she said, pulling me into a hug that smelled like cinnamon and home.
I squeezed her back, relief flooding through me. Good days were precious. We never took them for granted. “What are you making?”
“Empanadas. Sarah requested them for dinner and you know I can’t say no to that woman.” She released me and stepped back, her eyes warm. “Come help me. You can keep me company while I work.”
The kitchen was huge and bright, windows overlooking the garden where late-afternoon light spilled across marble counters. Dough sat in neat circles on parchment paper, waiting to be filled. My mother had been cooking for hours, I couldtell from the various dishes in different stages of completion scattered across every available surface.
She handed me an apron and I tied it on, already accepting that my help would be minimal at best. I couldn’t cook. Everyone knew this. I’d once nearly set my apartment on fire trying to make toast. But my mother liked having me here while she worked, so I’d stand beside her and try not to cause disasters.
“So,” she said, sliding a bowl of filling toward herself. “Tell me what’s been happening with you.”
I picked up a spoon and stirred something that smelled incredible, grateful for a task that didn’t involve actual cooking skills. “Working on my case mostly. The displacement one against Devlin Holdings.”
“That’s going well?”
