Page 81 of That Last Summer

“Fine.” But I still steal a piece of toast from the hand of a very, very sleepy Jaime.

We leave home and head to the port on foot, a peaceful morning walk. It’s barely eight on an average sunny day in this town; the sun is rising over the horizon like the great ball of fire it is. I’m only wearing a tank top, but I don’t need anything over it—it’s already hot. Not sizzling, not yet; indeed, it’s quite pleasant.

I walk happily for twenty minutes until we reach the meeting point and I see a group waiting for us. Even from this far—I swear I’d recognize him from three hundred feet away—I can distinguish Alex among the rest. There’s River, with Hugo, Alicia, Catalina and... him.

“What is he doing here?” I ask, stopping abruptly in the middle of the road.

“You mean your husband?”

“Dad!” I reprimand him. “He is not my husband.”

“The St. Claires have been coming with us to celebrate your father’s birthday for several years now,” Mom explains.

What? Seriously? I cast a reproachful look at Adrián. He should have warned me!

“I thought you knew!” my brother defends himself.

“Do you think I’d be here if I’d known? It’s Alex!”

“Of course you’d be here. It’s your father’s birthday!” my mother yells, ending my tirade.

“Priscila, don’t provoke me,” Adrián whispers in my ear. “Don’t make me talk about what I saw when I passed by Alex’s house eleven days ago. I’ll give you a hint: you two were walking inside, making out desperately.”

I turn away from him, scandalized. I can’t believe he saw us and didn’t say anything.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was waiting for you to tell me.”

“Oh my God, this is a disaster...” I say, shaking my head, a hand on my forehead.

“First thing tomorrow morning we’ll meet in your room for a chat. I have to tell you something too.”

I’d already noticed that Adrián’s been acting weird for the past few weeks. He’s avoiding me, barely talking; that’s not normal. I didn’t want to pressure him. He’s like me in that way; sometimes we just need time. And I didn’t want to tell him about Alex because I was afraid that he wouldn’t understand. I was afraid he’d judge me, say out loud what I’ve been trying to silence myself: that this is mad. The kind of madness that can destroy everything in its path.

And talking about weird, Jaime is acting strange too. But he’s not sharing either. I need to have a serious chat with him.

Adrián and I exchange “we’ll talk later” looks and resume our way, drawing closer to where the others are waiting. Jaime and I fall behind, due to my oh-so-slow snail pace, but to no avail; in three minutes we find ourselves in a huge circle, greeting everyone with kisses or a handshake, depending on the recipient.

I give Alex’s parents a kiss to each cheek and ask about John, who is apparently on a business trip. Then I greet my brothers and Alicia with hugs and Catalina with a plain “hello” and a forced smile. And lastly...

“Priscila,” Alex says with a lift of his chin.

“Alejandro,” I answer in the same way, then turn to avoid seeing how he takes it.

I don’t really know why I said it; it just slipped out on its own. His name is actually Alexander, not Alejandro, but in the past, it was my way to fight back against all his “Queen of the Desert.” I called him Alejandro the day I went to his house to drop off Dark, the day that... that happened. He hated it. He told me not to do it anymore. I guess that’s why I’ve done it again. Insubordination? God, I’m impossible to understand.

I head straight to the yacht; despite the years, I know the way. I get on the ship first and move to one side to let the others follow. I wait for the last of them. Alex. As soon he’s on board, I place myself in front of him, blocking his way and preventing him from moving forward. Today is my dad’s birthday; I don’t want to ruin it with my marital problems, not for the world. Not for anything in the world.

“How about you and I call a truce?” I ask as I offer my hand for him to shake. “Just for today?”

Alex doesn’t answer. He looks at me closely, his gaze scrutinizing, his mind working. “What do you mean by truce?” he says finally. “Define it.”

“I mean, behave like... like...”

Okay. Like what exactly?

“Like husband and wife?” he suggests.