Page 74 of On The Edge

“There’s always risk with a reward and, I hate to break it to you, sis, but Cruz Navarro is one hell of a reward,” she says boldly. And I know for a fact she has me all riled up and believing in this theory, but that the minute our connection ends, I’ll be at a loss about what to do next. And as if we share the same brain, she asks, “When does he come back from his trip?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay. So here’s what you need to do. Go buy the hottest bikini you can find. Wear it around the house. See his reaction to it.”

“This isn’t high school.”

“No. It’s most definitely not high school and thank fuck for that.” She laughs. “Beat the man at his own game. What do you have to lose? He’s a player. You’re newly single. Girl, enjoy the ride while you can. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? He sees you and walks right past? If so, you have your answer. But what if he does a double take and Mr. Smooth struggles to find words? Then . . . you have a different answer.”

“I think you’ve lost your marbles.”

“And yet you’re considering it.”

I don’t respond. Can’t. Because I am considering it. Every bone in my body is wanting it, wanting him. Hasn’t it always wanted him even when I questioned if I liked him?

This is so wrong in so many ways and yet why does the fantasy of being with him feel so right?

“You said this was a temporary situation, Maddix. Well, so is lust.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cruz

“Oh, look, the prized son has arrived.”

I roll my eyes at my sister, Sofia, as she lifts the sangria to her lips. “Prized? If that were the case then Papá wouldn’t have looked like he was going to lose his shit when he saw me walk in here.”

“You sure know how to make an entrance. I’ll give you that.”

My father told me I wasn’t welcome to the monthly family dinner. That mi patriarca still didn’t want to see me. That there wouldn’t be a place setting for me when there always has been.

I definitely poked the bear in Amsterdam but fuck that and fuck him.

And by the look on mi patriarca’s face when he saw me walk into the villa, I made the right decision to come.

Now to try and get some alone time with him without my father hovering and trying to manage our relationship without him as intermediary.

I shrug and glance at my sister. “Last I checked, this is my family too. Since when do I care if he approves of me?”

Her eyes soften and her smile is sad. “I’m sorry, Cruz.”

“Don’t be.” My voice is gruff. I hate the pressure in my chest that this kind of shit brings up. “Is it no wonder Mamá lives a different life away from here?”

“Maybe that’s why his grip on this family is so tight.”

And maybe you’re making excuses because you don’t get the brunt of it.

But I don’t voice the words. Can’t. She’s the only person in this family I have to hold on to other than our grandfather who has zero expectations of me. Our mother is good for showing up, taking some pictures, and leaving some lipstick marks on our cheeks before heading back to her fantasyland that my father affords her. If he pays for her abandonment, it saves him and the Navarro name from something it has never had stain it before—divorce.

“Mmm,” I murmur, my lack of response my dissent.

“He does love you, you know. He talks about you to everyone like you are the second coming of Christ, while I’m just the spare over here.” Her words sound like mine most days—truthful tinged with a little hurt.

But isn’t her observation the whole of it? So long as he can put me on a pedestal and show my shine off to everyone else, then he’s happy. Then it makes him look good to have sired the heir who will restore the nostalgia of mi patriarca’s era. It’s his way of staying relevant. Of being relevant to a hard man who loves him but he fell short of living up to.

But when, God forbid, I step out of the Navarro line, one that’s about as fine as a knife’s edge, then I’m a disgrace.

I’m shaming him and his quest for approval. And with that comes an underlying animosity that I’ve never quite been able to understand.