I wrapped my hands around his taut stomach and pulled myself to him. He smiled down at me and gave me a soft kiss.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

He nodded at the others who were still dancing. “You’re a good dancer.”

“Not as good as you. Remember? At Las Palabras, you said you danced like Justin Timberlake.”

He chuckled. “I was only trying to impress you.”

“Well, you know that it worked.”

His face fell slightly. “But will it continue to work?”

I felt like a tiny hole was being drilled into my core, making me wince inwardly. The tiniest bit of pain trickled through. “Of course,” I told him adamantly. I gripped the sides of his shirt, afraid that if I didn’t, I’d lose us to the undertow of reality.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Lucia said, grabbing her cardigan and brushing past us. She gave Mateo a withering look. “Since my brother doesn’t let us smoke in here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Claudia said, and the two of them left the room.

I wanted to hang on to Mateo, to keep us in this private little world but eventually Jerry came over and started chatting with him about football. It was amazing that no one at the party had mentioned the magazine, which gave me hope that perhaps it wasn’t going to be as bad of an outcome as we had been anticipating. I mean, maybe no one over thirty really paid attention to that shit.

Then my phone rang. I was really starting to regret answering it.

I went over to the counter and picked it up. It was Claudia. What the hell? She’d just left.

“Yeah?” I answered, figuring maybe they were too drunk to figure out the buzzer. “What?”

“Vera,” she whispered harshly into the phone. I could hear Spanish yelling in the background. “Get Mateo on the phone!”

I automatically put my hand to my chest. “Why? What’s going on?”

“She’s here,” Claudia said frantically. “Isabel is outside your apartment. And she’s angry. She’s very, very angry.”

My hand gripped the phone tight. I swallowed painfully. “What?” I whispered, barely able to speak or breathe. The yelling continued and now I could make out Lucia’s voice, yelling back at someone. No, not someone.

At Isabel.

At Mrs. Casalles.

Oh, fuck.

I looked over at Mateo and waved him over. He was already halfway to me, having observed the phone call from across the room.

“What is it?” he said, his eyes searching mine.

“Isabel,” I managed to choke out. “She is downstairs fighting with your sister.”

His eyes widened. He nodded. “Stay here.”

Then he left the apartment.

I felt frozen in place, just staring at the door as it closed behind him. I picked up the phone. “He’s coming.” I hung up and looked behind me at the party. They were having a blast, dancing up a storm, totally oblivious to what was happening outside. And as much as I wanted to kick everyone out and tell them the party was most definitely over, I couldn’t because I would be kicking them right into the dirty little reality of my life.

My stomach churned. I was going to be sick.

With my hand to my mouth I ran over to the bathroom and promptly threw up all the red wine and half-digested flatbreads. I stood over the toilet, trying to catch my breath, to make the sickness go away.

Isabel was here.

She knew.

I threw up again until I heard a knock at the door and Claudia’s voice. “Vera?”

I flushed the toilet, rinsed out my mouth, and sprinkled cold water on my face while taking in the deepest breath possible. I held it until I was nearly blue then let it out.

I was going to have to get through this.

I opened the door and peered at her. “Wasn’t feeling well,” I tried to explain, in case anyone was within earshot.

She immediately hugged me. “Well, it is not going well,” she whispered into my ear.

I bit lip my lip. Hard. “What’s going on?”

Her big brown eyes creased with sympathy. “She won’t leave. She’s in the lobby now because she was making a scene on the street. Lucia is still down there. She’s making things worse. His sister is really…feisty.”

“She knows about the magazine…”

“Yes, she knows.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck.”

“How is Mateo…handling it?”

“Barely. That man has a lot of restraint.”

I nodded, knowing all too well. “I should go down there.”

Claudia eyed me like I’d gone batshit insane. Maybe I had.

“No, you should not,” she said sternly. “Stay here and Mateo will handle it.”

“But it’s not his problem alone.”

She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly. “Vera, you were not married to her, okay? You do not owe this woman anything. Oh, and in case you didn’t understand my English, she is crazy.”

“You’d be insane too if you were in her shoes.”

She wagged her finger at me. “No, no, no, no, no. No, don’t start feeling guilty now. Your heart has no regard for right or wrong.”

“Claudia,” I snapped at her. “I have always felt guilty. Every day, all the time.” I ripped myself out of her grasp. “And my heart should have known better.”

I stalked off down the hall while she yelled after me, “This won’t make your guilt go away!” It was loud enough that I knew the partygoers heard it. But I didn’t care. This was my mess too. She was not my wife, but I had a part in it, and I had to face her. I owed her that.

I went out into the hall and took the stairs down, my adrenaline running too high for me to stand and wait for an elevator. I let that same adrenaline surge power my legs, keeping me putting one foot in front of the other, my brain on autopilot, until I pushed open the door to the lobby.

It was empty except for Lucia, Mateo, and Isabel. My eyes immediately went to Isabel, to the novelty of seeing her in the flesh for once. She was angry, that was for sure. Red face, red nose, face streaked with tears, a look that broke my heart. She still had this air of elegance about her, a royal blue shift dress, fancy Louboutin pumps, a Chanel purse. She was everything I wasn’t, though I knew deep down both our hearts had the same capacity to hurt.

But it was hard to hold on to that thought when she was beating Mateo’s chest with her fists and he was doing what he could to just stand there and take it. That didn’t last long though, for the moment the door shut behind me, she lifted her dark eyes over to see who the intruder was.

It was me. Me in my cleavage-baring, retro dress, hair curled with red-coated lips.

The jezebel, the harlot, the whore.

There I was, standing face to face with the wife of the man I loved.

She wasted no time. She pulled away from Mateo, her eyes lit up like firecrackers, sizzling with the madness of the moment.

“Puta coñio!” she screamed, coming toward me. “You’re the stupid slut!”

And then I remembered that she spoke English very well. I was going to understand all of her insults.

“Vera!” Mateo yelled at me, upset that I didn’t listen, but I couldn’t even look at him. I had to watch for her because she was coming at me and coming fast.

I backed up until I was against the stairwell door and she stopped less than a foot away, smelling like booze and expensive perfume. She thrust a well-manicured finger in my face, jabbing it dangerously close. “You little beast, you fucking whore. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here and fucking my husband? Huh?!”

I’d never been so terrified. I couldn’t even breathe or think or speak. What could I even say? What could I ever say other than that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, that I thought our love would make up for everything else.

“Talk to me!” she screamed, the veins in her forehead throbbing. “Tell me what you have to say for yourself! You’ve ruined my marriage! You’ve ruined my poor daughter’s life. You’re a homewrecker! You should be ashamed of yourself.”