There it was.
Her name in lights.
The glory that had overshadowed me my whole life.
“Mija!”
Speak of the devil.
She swept up the beach, her circle of witches following close behind. Most would have thought them perhaps a sophisticated book club or maybe the board of some charity, but I felt the magic pulsing within each of them. Some of the most powerful witches on the East Coast, my mother at the helm.
“Mija, did you see that? They thanked me personally. Oh, this is going to be wonderful for the town’s tourism.”
She walked up and hugged me, all for show, but my eyes were on the screen.
It had cut to Chase.
And my heart sank, because there he was—El Tiburón. A mic clipped to his RipTide rash guard and the toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like the poster. He looked like everything I’d once accused him of being.
He won’t stay for you, mija.
Some of the older women squealed like schoolgirls.
“So handsome, that one.”
“Wonder if he likes older women.”
“Didn’t you say he came to one of your parties, Marina?”
She beamed.
“Yes, and I’ll say this. He’s a good dancer, that one.”
More squeals, and my fists tightened.
“I think he and I understand each other. We both know how to perform. He understands the game one must play for success.”
She leaned in closer, like we were sharing a secret and not some one-way monologue.
“You should pay attention, mija. None of these people would be here for your little game if we hadn’t brought the cameras. I’m so grateful I was able to make a difference for the marine rescue.”
“Mamá.” I took a breath.
“Yes, mi corazón?”
“For once in your life, would you please shut the fuck up.”
You would have thought I had slapped her with how quickly her face went white.
She might have preferred it.
The ladies around her all tittered, but I honestly didn’t care what they were saying.
All my focus was on Chase.
On-screen, the announcer asked Chase about his comeback—about what this weekend meant for his career.
“It means a lot,” Chase said, and the grin held, and my stomach dropped even lower, because it was the brandvoice. “RipTide took a chance on me when nobody else would. Three years of support. So I owe them?—”
