All Chapters of My Sister's Fiance: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

I nodded once.What little color his face had left drained away. “How?”I gave a small shrug. “I’d love to ask the universe too, but she doesn’t take complaints in Spanish.”“Ara.”“I went to the party. Fiona was happy. Everyone was drinking champagne and taking pictures of the ring. Then Papá introduced his future son-in-law. Zachary de Sanctis. Surprise, my life officially became a premium telenovela.”Karl rubbed his face, then stopped halfway because he touched a bruise. “Jesus.”“He’s probably watching too. Eating popcorn.”“Does Fiona know?”“No.”“That you two—”“No.”“That the kids—”“No.”Karl stared at me.I stared back.That was one terrible thing about old best friends. They knew the difference between silence because you didn’t want to talk and silence because you didn’t know how to stay standing if you did.“Ah, yes. Second plot twist. Suddenly, the big mysterious client from Washington I had just signed belongs to Casa de Sanctis. Zach is the principal. I met him again

I went to the office in Theo’s car.Not my finest aesthetic choice, because Theo’s car smelled like expensive coffee, new leather, and the decisions of a man who bought things too often just because “the engine is interesting.” But my car was still God knew where, and I had two small children to drop off at preschool, one nanny going into class like a member of a royal delegation, and one twin brother still asleep on the second floor like the casualty of a diplomatic war.Bianna sat in the front seat, her hair neat in a clear claw clip, oversized sunglasses perched on her head even though the Oregon sky was still gray as an expensive mop rag. In the back seat, Max and Issa wore their preschool uniforms in the most Max-and-Issa way possible: Max with his hair half-combed, cheeks flushed, shoes already dirty even though we had not yet left the driveway; Issa with a lavender cardigan she said “helped her reputation,” a new glitter clip, and the expression of a four-year-old who believed

Oregon rain made every car look slightly guilty.The windshield wipers moved left and right in front of me, sweeping water off the glass with a soft sound far too patient for a morning like this. The road to Lake Oswego was wet, the pine trees on the left standing dark like spectators who had no interest in getting involved.Good.At least someone understood boundaries.Villa Rosa appeared after the bend, a small red-brick building with dark green awnings, warm yellow light glowing behind the windows, and a wooden sign bearing the restaurant’s name that made the place look like somewhere people ordered pasta while discussing family inheritance.I pressed the brake in the parking lot.One, two, three cars.One black SUV, too expensive and too low for a human being with any concept of humility.Naturally.I parked my car beside it with a precision that might have been a little too aggressive. My new tires gripped the wet asphalt.Thank you very much, Zachary. May your own tires one day r

I drove with both hands on the wheel and one bad intention sitting sweetly behind my teeth.In the rearview mirror, Zach’s black SUV followed like an expensive shadow with no shame. The distance was perfect. Not too close. Not too far. Polite enough for someone who had kidnapped my children an hour ago with gelato and protein.Good.At least he could follow simple instructions when the threat was clear enough and I was wearing shoes that could be used for stabbing.The rain fell lightly. Not real rain, just that Oregon drizzle that liked to behave like someone’s passive-aggressive feelings. The road toward my neighborhood was quiet, wet, and far too green. Pine trees stood close together along the private road, the low stone wall appeared after the final bend, then the gates to my mansion opened automatically once the system read my license plate.I slowed down.Behind me, Zach’s SUV slowed too.“Good,” I muttered. “See? You can obey. Tiny miracle.”I pulled into the long driveway of

Some things, apparently, did not die just because five years had passed, two children had been born, and my life had turned into a combination of preschool schedules, board meetings, and glitter appearing in places no human being should ever find glitter.Some memories did not live in the head.They lived in the skin.In the way my breath stopped when Zach’s hands pressed into my waist. In the way my fingers crushed the lapels of his jacket the way they used to crush his jersey in the tiny kitchen of that Boston apartment, back when we were too young, too free, too stupid to know the world never let anything beautiful stay whole without demanding payment.Zach used to always be attached to me.In campus hallways, in the corners of parties, in front of the vending machine that sold disgusting coffee at two in the morning. His hand on my waist. His chin on my shoulder. His fingers hooked through the belt loop of my jeans as if I might disappear if he let go for more than five seconds.I