Chương 9
“The hospital director was disappointed,” she said.
“I’m sure.”
“I told her you may contact her later.”
“Thank you.”
Elena nodded, then looked at Valeria’s bare head.
“You were beautiful today.”
Valeria’s body tensed.
Her mother saw it.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said. “I don’t know how to say anything anymore.”
“You could say you’re glad I married Santiago.”
“I am.”
“You could say the cake was good.”
“It was too sweet.”
“There. Perfectly normal.”
Elena’s mouth moved, almost a smile.
Then she glanced toward Camila.
“Your sister says she is going home alone.”
“That may be wise.”
“Tomás left angry.”
“He should be allowed.”
“Do you want me to speak to him?”
“No.”
Elena absorbed the answer.
“All right.”
It was the first time that day she accepted a limit without negotiating.
At one in the morning, Valeria and Santiago entered the bridal suite to collect their belongings before leaving the hotel.
The room looked smaller after the wedding.
Used tissues filled a silver bowl. Makeup brushes lay scattered across the dressing table. The deep-red lipstick remained uncapped. Valeria closed it and heard the familiar click.
The ivory wig box sat on a chair.
Camila stood beside it.
She had removed her jewelry except for the engagement ring. Without the earrings and practiced smile, she looked younger than thirty and older than grief.
“I was waiting,” she said.
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
Santiago remained near the door.
Camila looked at him. “I owe you an apology.”
“You owe Valeria more than that.”
“I know.”
His expression hardened.
Valeria touched his wrist. “Let her speak.”
Camila took a breath.
“I tried to make her feel unworthy of you. It was cruel and deliberate. I’m sorry.”
Santiago did not answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was controlled.
“If you ever put your hands on her again, you will not be part of our lives.”
Camila’s jaw tightened. “That should be her decision.”
“It is,” Valeria said. “But he is allowed to have boundaries too.”
Camila nodded.
“I told Tomás everything,” she said.
“What happened?” Valeria asked.
“He asked for the ring back.”
Valeria looked at her hand.
“You’re wearing it.”
“I refused.”
“Camila.”
“He said he needed time. He didn’t end the engagement.”
“He asked for the ring.”
“He was angry.”
“You don’t get to reinterpret his boundary because it hurts.”
Camila stared at her.
Then she began twisting the ring off. It caught at her knuckle. She pulled harder, face tightening, until it came free.
She placed it on the dressing table.
“What will you do with it?” Valeria asked.
“Return it.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Not send it with Mother.”
“No.”
A long pause followed.
Camila touched the ivory box.
“What should I do with this?”
Valeria opened it.
The dark-brown waves lay inside exactly as she had arranged them. Under the warm suite lights, the wig looked neither shameful nor beautiful. It was an object made by skilled hands for a woman who had needed choices.
Valeria lifted it.
Santiago watched her.
Camila did too.
“I may wear it again,” Valeria said.
Camila blinked.
“That doesn’t mean today was a mistake. It means you don’t get to decide what it means if I wear it.”
“I understand.”
“You might eventually.”
Valeria placed the wig back in the box.
She took the antique tiara from its mahogany case, wrapped it carefully in the old tissue, and closed the lid.
Camila’s gaze followed her hands.
“Grandmother would have liked it on you,” she said.
“She would have complained about the veil.”
“She hated veils.”
“She said they made women look like furniture.”
For the first time, they both smiled.
The memory did not repair anything. It simply existed between them.
Camila picked up the ring.
“I’ll go.”
Valeria did not stop her.
At the doorway, Camila turned.
“Do you want me to call you tomorrow?”
“No.”
Camila nodded.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
Another nod.
She left.
Santiago closed the door.
Valeria sat at the dressing table and began removing the pins that held the veil base. Her fingers were tired. Santiago came behind her and helped, setting each pin beside the lipstick.
In the mirror, she watched him work.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“I mean, not good. Honest.”
“That was almost a very bad answer.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“So am I.”
The last pin came loose.
He lifted the veil away and folded it with less skill than Camila would have used. One edge dragged on the floor. Valeria let it.
“What happens tomorrow?” he asked.
“We wake up married.”
“After that?”
“I may turn off my phone.”
“I already turned off mine.”
“You own a company.”
“They will survive a morning.”
“Will the marriage survive you being irresponsible?”
“We’ll test it.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
Valeria closed her eyes.
A knock came at the door.
They both froze.
The wedding coordinator called through the wood. “I’m sorry. There are reporters blocking the main exit. Security can take you through the service corridor.”
Santiago rested his forehead against Valeria’s.
“The life we actually have,” he said.
She laughed tiredly.
They left through the hotel kitchen.
Cooks paused over stainless-steel counters as the bride and groom passed between racks of dishes and bins of folded napkins. One dishwasher applauded before another worker elbowed him. He lowered his hands, embarrassed.
Valeria smiled at him anyway.
The service exit opened into an alley where their car waited beside stacks of empty crates. No chandeliers. No roses. No cameras.
Santiago held the door.
Valeria climbed in, carrying the mahogany tiara box on her lap. The wig traveled in the trunk with the luggage.
During the drive home, she fell asleep against Santiago’s shoulder.
May you like
The next morning, the world had opinions.
Valeria woke shortly after ten to find thirty-seven missed calls, hundreds of messages, and a headache centered where the tiara had rested. Santiago stood in the kitchen wearing tuxedo trousers and a hotel robe, attempting to make coffee with the concentration of a surgeon.
