“Well.” Valor nods slowly. “Leticia, you’re welcome here anytime.” He turns his attention to Antonella.
I swear to God, the way this man looks at her like she’s becoming the love of his life melts my soul.How can an arrangedmarriage lead to a love like that?It’s something I don’t think will happen for me, but a tiny little butterfly of hope finds my heart.
“And, Antonella, anytime you’d like to see Leticia” —Valor gestures between the two of us— “you two can meet up in public if you’d prefer. I don’t trust Gregorio or Berto and don’t want you at their home without me, but I have no problem with you two speaking and getting together.”
He’s absolutely, one-hundred-percent correct that Dad and Berto can’t be trusted. Valor doesn’t need to know the bad things they’ve said about him. I don’t know how this truce works, but if saying bad things about the other party violates it...
I hold the beer up, slightly blocking my mouth, and speak through clenched teeth with a cautionary melody. “It’s so weird.”
Antonella looks at me, cocking an eyebrow.
I keep my voice low while keeping my eyes trained on Valor. “He’s almost normal. Toni, are you sure he’s a Cavanagh? Did you look at his driver’s license? Did you marry the wrong rich guy?”
Valor softly huffs, but Antonella answers with an eye roll. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s the right rich guy.” Her voice turns almost wistful as she finishes. “The Irish do things differently.”
“Clearly,” I accidentally mumble and cut off the rest of my thought—because Dad would totally have Valor in the basement of the building, in the torture room they don’t think I know about.
“Daaaad!” a little girl calls from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Yes, Kerrianne?” Valor echoes back.
“Can I wear pants?” she shouts down the stairs.
“I told her one time that she had to wear a dress when company came over, and now we go through this every time she meets someone new,” Valor explains, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before letting go. He answers back at a louder volume. “Yeah, pup. Pants are fine.”
“Pup?” I squint.What sort of nickname is that?
Valor’s face pales, not a lot but enough to let me know that I’m right to question it.
“Term of endearment. Kerrianne is kinda unique.” Antonella is quick to explain but then tries to redirect. “You’ll like her.”
“Nope.” I shake my head, looking between the two of them. “Bullshit meter is off the charts.” I point to Valor. “He stiffened.”And I look Antonella over. I’ve known her forever, and it’s obvious she’s hiding something.Something is wrong. Something is different.I draw a steadying breath and pressure her. “You’re about as subtle as a freight train. You’re not actually offering an explanation. I wanna know.”
The two of them share a series of looks. Something literally flashes in Valor’s eyes. They almost turn a whole new color for a moment.
A gasp escapes my lips.What the fuck did I see? What is going on? Is he on drugs? What’s in this beer?
The fight-or-flight part of my brain is currently flicking back and forth, unable to settle on a response.What should I do? Calling Berto is absolutely out of the question. He only makes things worse.
I feel hot all over and fluff my hair, trying to cool myself.Keep it together. You’re not in immediate danger. They’re all the way in the city. It takes an hour to get here.
“Leticia,” Antonella calls, and I take my eyes off Valor for a second to watch her, hoping for an explanation. “Not tonight. But we will tell you later. When have I ever lied to you?”
Never. The answer is never, and she knows I know that’s the case, but this is suspicious.
I narrow my gaze on Valor and pull out the scary voice that I always want to use with Mom. “I don’t like this. I saw your eyes do something. If you’re getting her messed up or on some shit, I’ll be really pissed. I may have absolutely no skills to take you down myself, but don’t think I can’t come up with something.”
“I swear to you, the only trouble Antonella will find herself in is whatever she chooses to walk into. She will always have a choice for an out.” Valor steps closer to me, offering his hand. “I’ll tell you in two weeks when you come back for dinner again, you have my word.”
First, I didn’t know I was coming back to dinner in two weeks.
Second, why do I believe him?
I move my beer from my right to my left hand and eye him with hopes that he’ll see me as serious and not some woman he can brush off. I take his hand, and we shake. “Deal.”
Awkward does not cover the way silence has filled the room. It’s like that one time during church when Father Erickson forgot tomute his microphone and was in the sacristy complaining about Mrs. Bernsmith’s cooking and how he was invited to dinner, again.
A small, brown-haired child comes running into the kitchen and breaks up our silence. She slides on stocking-clad feet, swinging her arms in big circles as she comes to a stop.
