Page 158

“Marco,” she repeated, like she was testing out the name. “And how long have you been seeing him?”

“Why are you asking likethat?”

“Likewhat? I just want to meet him.”

I groaned. “That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is,” she said easily. “He’s important enough for you to introduce him to Lucia, but not me?”

“I didn’tintroducethem,” I argued. “It was circumstantial.”

Isabel wasn’t buying it. “Right. Well, circumstantial or not, I want to meet him.”

This was happening toofast. Marco and I had barely figured out how tocoexistwithout me pushing every button he had just to see what would happen. And now I had to throw him into afamily dinner?

This was a bad idea.

No. Worse. It was aterribleidea.

“I don’t know ...” I started, trying to find an excuse.

“Dinner. Tonight,” she said. “I’ll cook.”

I paused.

“Vale,” Isabel said gently, “it’s just dinner. You don’t have to be weird about it.”

I hesitated.

She wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t prying. She just ... wanted to meet him.

Somehow that made it worse.

I swallowed. “Okay.”

“Seven?”

I exhaled slowly. “Seven.”

“Great,” she said, sounding pleased. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I wasn’t. Was this really happening?

Oh gosh. Thiswashappening.

Tonight.

Not in a week. Not in some distant, hypothetical future where I had time to prepare Marco forIsabel-levelscrutiny. No—in just a few hours, I had to sit across from my sister and pretend like my marriage wasn’t held together withfine print and mutual exhaustion.

This was a mistake.

A massive,irreversiblemistake.

I mean, what was I even supposed to say?Hey Isa, meet Marco. Yes, he’s my husband, but don’t worry—it’s not what you think. It’s just an arrangement, nothing more. Oh, and did I mention he’s involved in some shady things I can’t exactly talk about? But don’t worry! Lucia loves him, and he feeds ducks, so he can’t be that bad, right?

I stared at my phone for a long time, debating whether to call him. Texting felt safer. I could control my words, think through my responses, avoid any awkward pauses where my panic mightactuallyslip through. But Marco wasn’t a texting person—not really.

If I texted him, he’d brush it off. He’d act like this was nothing.