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Zarina waves her off. “Of course, you were invited, you’re the guest of honor. And thank god. I refuse to let this event be anything other than a queer celebration.”
Rita takes her hand and squeezes, voice genuine. “And that’s exactly what you’ve done. Even if the guests are anything but.”
“Thank you.” Zarina blushes with the compliment.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and land a peck on her temple. “She’s right, princess. You did amazing.”
She squints up at me. “Even if you hate the costumes?”
“Even then.” And I mean it. Because despite not wanting a theme and not seeing Zarina all week, she pulled off an eventsteeped in queerness and attended by the most toxically straight group of people in Louredo. And they absolutely don’t know it, which makes it all the sweeter.
“Speaking of the guests…” Rita trails off, brow raised. “Don’t play me for a fool, Tamayo.”
“Never would.” I lean closer, speaking so only she and Zarina can hear me. “Take their money and don’t look at it too hard.”
“Fine,” Rita sighs. “Can you have someone make sure Jaime and Mais are taken home before there’s any trouble?”
“Gemma’s already on it.” I aim my chin at the trio, Jaime and Mais posing wildly in the photo booth while Gemma giggles and encourages their antics. Rita shakes her head, muttering to herself. I think I catch the word embarrassment. “She’ll take ’em home in an hour.”
“I’d love to meet them.” Zarina cranes her neck, trying to find them in the crowd but failing. “Jaime and Mais and the other kids.”
Rita beams. “They’d love that, if only so they can tease Tamayo relentlessly. Bring her next time you visit, hm?”
“How often is that?” Zarina asks.
I don’t know if I want Zarina to know too much about Rita and Alphabet House. Especially not what it means to me. “Not oft?—”
“A couple times a month,” Rita cuts me off.
Zarina covers her mouth as she snort-laughs. “Wow, tried to play it cool and failed.”
“That’s kind of her whole thing.” Rita grins, obviously teasing.
“Zarina, dear!” Alessandra effectively crashes through our small circle to embrace her daughter. It’s been more than a decade since I stood this close to her, and then, she was looming over me, painted in reflected neon lights coloring her face red. I shake the memory and focus on Riccardo behind her, standinglike an unattended toddler waiting for their parent. Alessandra kisses Zarina’s cheek, stepping back to look her up and down. “Where did you get this dress? It’s stunning. Did Portia pull it together for you?”
Zarina’s smile is plastered on her face like a painting. “No, Mother, it’s a new designer.”
Alessandra’s hand trails down Zarina’s arm to wrap around her bicep, her claw-like nails threatening to dig into her daughter’s skin. “You must share their information.”
“I doubt you’ll employ them,” Zarina mumbles.
“And Andrea.” Alessandra turns, ignoring Zarina and boxing Rita out of the conversation. She cuts an icy scowl at me. “You look quite acceptable.”
I snort. “A glowing compliment, thank you.”
She twirls back to her daughter, using her body and wide skirts to separate them from the rest of us. “Zarina, dear, when will you return home?” she asks, as if the loss of her daughter is causing her great pain. “It’s unbecoming for a woman to live with her fiancée before the wedding.”
“We’re a modern couple, Mother.” Zarina continues to speak through her forced smile. “It’s not like we haven’t fucked already.”
“Zarina!” Riccardo snaps from behind his wife.
She clears her throat. “I’ll make you both a deal. You be honest with me, and I’ll come home.”
“Zarina, dear, we’ve always been honest with you. We miss you at home,” Alessandra says through gritted teeth, her long, manicured nails digging into the space between Zarina’s muscles. I step around Zarina’s skirts to stand at her shoulder and erase the distance Alessandra put between us. She cocks her head, condescension dripping off her like the pearls sewn into her dress. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll have a real wedding, hm? It won’t take place in a church, ordained by a priest, will it?”
Rita freezes. And it’s not like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. No, it’s the quiet arrest of the woods before lightning strikes. And though Alessandra doesn’t know it, she’s a copper wire at the top of a skyscraper.
“Then our living in sin hardly matters, does it?” Zarina surmises, her voice dripping with sweet poison.