“Thanks.”
I don’t, though, because I take two seconds at the mirror in the hallway to fix my hair and make sure my mascara isn’t smudged, so when I get to the entryway, Susan is already opening the door and everyone is making theirHello, Welcome to the Dinner Partynoises. I hang back a bit, smoothing my skirt, giving them a little room for hugs and cheek kisses.
Paloma’s on the short side, and I think she’s in her fifties but her wavy, shoulder-length hair has already gone steel gray, setting off her deep brown eyes and warm amber skin. She always manages to look put together, her earrings matching her necklace—that kind of thing. I always wonder how long it takes her to get ready because I swear I have to stand in front of a mirror for hours to get the same effect. Is it practice? Maybe it’s just practice.
“Madeline,” she says, “so good to see you again. How are you?”
Paloma’s a hugger, so my head is somewhere over her shoulder as I answer that I’m fine, I’m glad she could come, it’s always nice?—
I’m halfway through some platitude when I finally see the man standing in the doorway. Everyone else is hugging and making their politehellonoises, and it’s a very goodthing because madeline.exe chooses that moment to fail catastrophically.
He’s got his hands in his pockets, and he’s staring back. His hair’s a little longer than the last time I saw him, I think. He’s more dressed up. He’s a little heavier, his face a bit more filled out and his shoulders wider. He’s still got those sharp cheekbones and those pretty lips, and god, he still looks good.
And he’s staring right at me, not moving. Like that’ll make him invisible.
Because of course,of fucking course, Paloma’s older son isthatJavier.
CHAPTER SIX
JAVIER
You knowwhat word never made much sense?Thunderstruck. Because thunder isn’t what strikes you, unless it’s very loud and there’s a shockwave or something, but that’s pretty unlikely and it’s not really a strike anyway. And I guess it could damage your hearing, but could it really knock you over? There was that one incident in Cuba, maybe.
Anyway, it should clearly belightningstruckbecause that’s what would make you feel brain-fried and electrified and like every hair on your body is standing on end and your blood has suddenly reversed direction. Like you can’t breathe or maybe you’re breathing too much, reality is tilting, and yes, right?—
When I walk through the doorway of Gerald’s house, Madeline’s standing there.
Her hair’s different now, an electric turquoise that’s got blue highlights and green undertones like she’s the sea in an advertisement for the Caribbean. She’s wearing a knee-length dark dress with a leaves-and-mushrooms pattern and a V-neck that doesn’t show any cleavage but does show a gold necklace of a molecule. I think it’s a molecule. Maybe it’s a beehive or something—fuck, I’m not a scientist, and it’s not like I’m focusing on the necklace because Madeline isright thereandshe’s still as captivating as she was when I saw her from across that dive bar.
Maybe more. I swear she’s even hotter than I remember. I’m staring. Her face is bright red. People are talking. To me. They’re talking to me.Fuck.
“—my older son, Javier,” my mom is saying, and for once social graces take over and I smile and shake Susan’s hand. She says something pleasant, and hopefully I say something back.
And then I’m shaking Madeline’s hand and smiling a totally normal smile and very, very carefully making my brain blank. I’ve thought about this a hundred times. None of them were like this.
“Hi. I don’t think we’ve met—ever,” she says, looking up at me. Her eyes are oddly wide, like she’s trying to beam something into my brain. “Right?”
I smile a little bigger and squeeze her hand a little more.
“No, never,” I confirm. “It’s really nice to finally meet you for the very first time.”
This is a perfect deception.
“Madeline, you said?” I ask. We are still shaking hands. It’s a normal amount of time to be shaking hands.
“Yes.”
“Javier,” I say, and she nods, and at the same time we both realize that we arestill shaking handsand release each other. I shove my hands into my pockets, and she twists her fingers together in front of herself. We look at each other some more. I’m desperately trying to remember how human beings stand when they’re acting casual and also frantically trying not to think about how the last time I saw her, I told her I was on vacation from New York City. Thankfully no one is paying us any attention besides my brother, Bastien, and he can be dealt with.
“Come on in,” Susan is saying. “Gerald’s putting out the last fire in the kitchen, you all can sit down and have some nibbles while he…”
They walk off, and I turn to Madeline. She turns to me.
We stare at each other. I feel like a complicated Lego structure that’s been knocked to the floor. I’m trying to find all the pieces and reassemble them at light speed, and it’s going about as well as you’d think.
Not to mention that at this point I’ve spent a few hours with her and a hundred hours fantasizing about her, and that ratio suddenly feels very, very awkward.
“You’re Gerald’s daughter,” I finally say.
