Chương 7
She looked at Santiago.
He nodded.
“And now,” Valeria said, “I would like to have my first dance before someone else designs it for me.”
This time, laughter moved through the room.
Not triumph. Relief.
Valeria returned the microphone to its stand.
Applause began, but she raised one hand.
It stopped awkwardly.
“Thank you,” she said. “But please don’t.”
A few people laughed again. Others looked embarrassed.
The bandleader asked what song she wanted.
Valeria had chosen a sweeping orchestral arrangement months earlier. It suddenly felt like something selected by a committee.
“What do you know that’s simple?” she asked.
The bandleader considered. “Bolero?”
“Which one?”
He named an old song her father used to hum while repairing things badly around the house.
Valeria looked at her mother.
Elena stared back, surprised.
“That one,” Valeria said.
Santiago met her at the center of the dance floor.
He placed one hand at her waist.
“You warned me not to make declarations,” he murmured.
“I contain contradictions.”
“I noticed.”
They began to move.
The first steps were clumsy because the train of her gown caught beneath his shoe.
He stopped.
“Sorry.”
“You’re standing on me.”
“I’m aware.”
A server hurried forward, but Valeria bent and freed the lace herself. The small mishap loosened something in the room. Guests smiled without reverence. The band restarted the phrase.
Santiago guided her more carefully.
“You told a ballroom full of people that I snore,” he said.
“You told a church.”
“That was intimate.”
“There were four hundred people.”
“Close family.”
She rested her cheek near his shoulder.
The music moved gently around them.
After a while, other couples joined the floor.
Santiago’s parents danced with surprising seriousness. The wedding coordinator stood near a column, answering messages with one hand and drinking water with the other. A waiter replaced the broken glass.
Elena remained seated.
Camila approached the edge of the dance floor but did not step onto it.
When the song ended, Valeria did not return to the family table. She went to the ladies’ room and locked herself in a stall.
Her hands began shaking only after she sat down.
The reaction came hard and without elegance. Her shoulders trembled. Her breath turned shallow. She pressed both palms against her knees and stared at the ivory lace spread over the tile.
Someone entered.
Heels clicked near the sinks.
“Valeria?”
Camila.
Valeria closed her eyes.
“I know you’re in here.”
“Very impressive investigation.”
Camila leaned against the outside of the stall. “Your dress is visible.”
“That too.”
Water ran briefly at the sink, then stopped.
“I didn’t know you were going to say it publicly.”
“Neither did I.”
“Mother is furious.”
“I assumed.”
“She says you humiliated the family.”
Valeria let out a breath. “Did you correct her?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
“I told her she helped cause it.”
“That’s not the same.”
“I know.”
Silence settled between them.
From the ballroom, the bass line of a dance song reached the restroom walls.
Camila spoke again. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
But her footsteps did not move.
Valeria waited.
“I hated you,” Camila said.
The words came without polish.
“During treatment. Not every day. Some days I thought you were going to die, and I couldn’t breathe. Then the doctor would say something hopeful, and I would hate you for making me afraid. I would go home and find your hair on my dress. Once I found a strand in my shoe in the middle of a meeting.”
Valeria stared at the stall door.
Camila continued. “Everyone asked how you were. No one asked how I was unless they wanted information about you. And then I hated myself because you were sick and I wanted attention.”
“That explains resentment.”
“I know.”
“It does not explain today.”
“No.”
Valeria heard Camila inhale.
“Today, Mother showed me the foundation speech. It was all about you. Your courage, your beauty, your influence. She told me not to mention my own engagement because it would look competitive.”
Valeria frowned. “Your engagement?”
Camila laughed softly. “Exactly.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Tomás proposed last week.”
The news arrived strangely, too ordinary and too important for the restroom stall.
Valeria unlocked the door.
Camila stood near the sinks. Her champagne dress was creased at the waist now. One strand of dark hair had come loose near her cheek.
“You’re engaged?”
Camila held up her left hand.
There was no ring.
“He gave me one. Mother told me not to wear it today.”
“Why?”
“She said the press would turn it into a comparison.”
Valeria stepped out of the stall. “And you agreed?”
“At first. Then I watched everyone prepare your grand entrance. The dress, the church, the articles. I saw the wig box and thought—”
“What?”
Camila looked at her reflection.
“I thought if you felt ugly for five minutes, maybe the world would become fair.”
Valeria’s stomach turned.
“That is one of the worst things you’ve ever said.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Camila gripped the edge of the sink.
“I took the wig. I waited for you. I planned the words.”
Valeria looked at her sister’s hands.
No accident. No impulsive insult. A decision.
“Why did you tell me?”
“Because you said I acted like a monster. You were right, and I keep trying to find a smaller word.”
Valeria washed her hands though they were not dirty. The water ran cool across her fingers.
Camila watched.
“Where is the ring?” Valeria asked.
“In my bag.”
“And Tomás?”
“He’s here.”
“Does he know what you did?”
“No.”
“Does he know your mother asked you to hide the engagement?”
“Yes.”
“And he came anyway?”
“He said I should tell you before the wedding. I told him he was making everything about himself.”
“That sounds familiar.”
Camila flinched but nodded.
Valeria dried her hands slowly.
“You need to tell him what you did.”
“I will.”
“Not because confession cleans you.”
“I know.”
May you like
“You keep saying that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
