Will smiled graciously. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”
Will led her to a nearby living room, where a stunning older woman, dressed immaculately, was sipping a glass of wine and looking out the window at the rain falling in the backyard.
“This is my mother,” Will introduced. “Isabela Pemberley.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Lizzie said, not sure if it would be more appropriate to shake her hand or kiss her cheek. So she settled for an awkward head nod.
Isabela carried herself with the quiet elegance of a woman who had lived fully and loved deeply—olive skin that glowed from years of Florida sun, thick black hair swept into a loose knot with silver strands she refused to hide, and light hazel eyes that held laughter and steel in equal measure. High cheekbones, full lips painted a soft coral, and a presence that made the room feel smaller. She wore a cream linen dress that skimmed her figure without trying too hard, simple gold hoops, and a thin gold chain that disappeared into her neckline. Her smile was wide, genuine, and slightly mischievous, as if she’d already decided Lizzie was interesting.
“Will, grab her a glass of wine,” she said, in an accent that sounded to Lizzie as if she had been a native Spanish speaker many years ago, but that was a distant memory to her now.
Lizzie wanted to ask about her ethnicity, but wasn’t sure if it would be rude to ask so bluntly. She settled on asking, “It’s a beautiful home. Have you lived here long?”
Isabela nodded, looking around the room in admiration. “Yes, we built it the year we got married, so yes, quite a long time. Before that, my family lived in Hialeah. And before that, Cuba.”
Bingo! Lizzie thought. Proud of herself for finding the information out, but upset that she had made assumptions about Will on their first meeting that were not just wrong, but maybe even meant that her own prejudices directed her feelings towards him. She felt that perhaps she had been the villain all this time.
Isabela noticed that Lizzie seemed to be in deep thought and asked, “Are you surprised to find out that Will and Giana were half Cuban? I know they don’t look like what people expect Cubans to look like, but we come in all shapes and sizes.”
“No!” Lizzie blurted out, not wanting Isabela to think that she would make any such assumptions, even though, of course, she had. “I mean, yes, we do. My grandfather was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and I have several aunts and cousins with fair coloring, and we are as Cuban asropa vieja.”
Isabela smiled at the comparison. “I sometimes wonder if I passed on enough of that part of my history to them. But I think I was so focused on trying to fit in to this life, I left some of my Cubanism behind.”
“I get that,” Lizzie said. “But at least you’re still in Miami, where you can get a dose of Cuba whenever you need a fix. And you can always borrow my Abuela when you feel nostalgic. I’m sure the feeling will pass quickly.”
Isabela laughed and was about to say more when Giana could be heard from the kitchen. “Mama, can you tell Ramon that I’mallowedto make the flan?!”
Isabela rolled her eyes and excused herself as Will came back in with a glass of wine for Lizzie. “Sorry, it’s kind of a madhouse here.”
Lizzie smiled, “I like it. Feels like home.” Then she blushed and added, “You know, like the yelling and stuff. Abuela’s half the drama, I’m sure.”
Will seemed reminiscent all of a sudden. “You’re lucky to have her. I miss myabuelaevery day. She used to own a cafeteria in Hialeah.”
“The coordinates in your tattoo!” Lizzie said, making the connection.
Will nodded. “I spent a lot of time there growing up until I was old enough to help out at Pemberley.”
A voice, out of breath and slightly wheezing, broke in. “Some argued that we should have left him there longer with his grandmother, spending his days at the cafe…” A frail-looking older man wheeling an oxygen tank stood at the doorway.
“Come sit down, Pop,” Will said. “This is Lizzie.” Will Pemberley Sr. moved to a nearby armchair and sank into it, breathless.
Ignoring the introduction and continuing his thought, he added, “but we knew he’d be safer and learn more at the office. Not that he liked the decision, he fought us on it for months.”
“I loved it there.”
Will Sr chuckled painfully. “Of course, you were a young boy around a bunch of old ladies who spoiled you. What did they call you?”
“El Principe,” Will said quietly. His dad laughed a little more.
“That’s sweet,” Lizzie said, picturing a young Will Pemberley being doted on by a group of Cuban women.
“He was a prince. Now he’s a king.” Will Sr beamed at his son.
Will didn’t look as proud of the title. He quickly changed the subject. “Pop, Lizzie is the consultant I told you about. The one who has been making some real positive improvements at Pemberley.”
“Right, I understand,” Will Sr said cryptically. The trio fell silent then. No one seemed quite sure what to say next.
Lizzie decided to excuse herself by claiming she needed to use the bathroom to escape the awkwardness. Will gave her quick directions, down the hall to the right, and Lizzie left the two men on their own.
