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Dr. Navarro’s lips thinned. “At least that’s something. I don’t want any of my daughters to have to worry about that. Money isn’t everything. Don’t you want to be respectable?”

“It’s honest work that brings joy to others,” Abuela countered.

“Joy?” Dr. Navarro stood, her posture rigid with anger. “Is that what we’re calling it now? These books are nothing more than female wish fulfillment and sexual fantasy.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Tempest challenged, rising to face her mother.

“What’s wrong with women having fantasies?

With seeing themselves as desirable? With imagining a world where they get to be the heroine?

Seeing themselves being with partners who treat them with respect, kindness, and honestly, the way Papá treats you. ”

The room fell silent. Even Dr. Navarro seemed taken aback by Tempest’s fiery defense, and at the same time, showing how her parents have the love story many others were looking for.

I was fucking loving getting to watch Tempest standing tall, her face flushed with emotion but her voice steady.

This was a side of her I’d glimpsed only in moments, like when she negotiated with her agent on the phone.

Seeing her in full force now, defending her work and her passion, made my heart go all wobbly and warm with pride and something deeper, more profound.

“I think,” the professor finally spoke, in a measured way that teachers used when explaining something that should be obvious, “that we shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgment.”

All eyes turned to him, the patriarch who had remained largely silent until now.

“Diego,” Dr. Navarro began, but he held up a hand.

“I’ve read Tempest’s—Miranda’s—books,” he repeated. “All of them.”

Tempest looked stunned. “Papá? You have? Mamá said something about the first one, but she said you thought it was...silly.”

“When a colleague mentioned a new adaptation of Taming of the Shrew set at an American university, I was naturally curious. It was quite good, actually. Clever modernization, maintained the thematic core while addressing the problematic, and frankly misogynistic elements of the original.”

I felt Tempest trembling beside me, but this time I didn’t think it was from fear.

“As a Shakespeare scholar,” her father continued, “I recognize that he was essentially writing the popular entertainment of his day. His plays were not considered ‘high art’ at the time. They were meant to engage and entertain the masses, including plenty of ribald humor and, yes, sexual content.”

“Diego.” Dr. Navarro looked genuinely scandalized.

“It’s true, Luz,” he said calmly. “The idea that Shakespeare is somehow above the fray of popular entertainment is a relatively recent academic construction. In reality, he was writing for a broad audience, and his humor was often quite bawdy.”

“Are you honestly comparing Shakespeare to—to—” his wife sputtered.

“To our daughter’s work? In some ways, yes,” the professor said.

“Her adaptations show a real understanding of his themes and characters, reimagined for a modern audience. I found them quite insightful.” He looked directly at Tempest. “You have a gift for storytelling, mija. I may not be that familiar with your choice of genre, but I cannot deny your talent.”

Tempest looked like she might cry. “Papá...”

Dr. Navarro stood abruptly. “This is absurd. I expected better from you, Diego. Our daughter has embarrassed this family with her...her pornography, and you’re encouraging her?”

“It’s not pornography, Luz,” Abuela said sharply. “It’s romance. There’s a difference.”

“A meaningless distinction,” Dr. Navarro snapped. “The point is that our daughter has chosen to sully our family name with this... trash. And I expect her to put an end to it. Immediately.”

Outside, Burrito brayed, clearly sensing the sudden fucking drop in temperature. Tempest went rigid beside me.

“What?” she whispered.

“You will cease this Miranda Milan nonsense,” Dr. Navarro said firmly. “You will issue a statement denying the rumors, complete your degree properly, and pursue a respectable graduate program as we’d planned. ”

“I will not do that,” Tempest said, her voice quiet but firm.

“You most certainly will,” her mother insisted. “I am still your Mamá, and I know what’s best for you.”

“No.” The single word hung in the air between them. “I won’t hide who I am anymore, Mamá. I won’t pretend to be ashamed of work I’m proud of.”

Dr. Navarro’s expression hardened. “Then you leave me no choice but to?—”

“Enough!” Abuela’s voice cracked like a whip. “Enough, Luz!”

Everyone froze as Abuela rose to her feet, her eyes flashing with anger I hadn’t seen before. Without another word, she stormed from the room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floors.

The silence that followed was deafening. Tempest’s hand found mine, gripping tightly.

A moment later, Abuela returned, clutching a stack of worn paperbacks. She marched directly to Tempest’s mother and dropped the books onto the table in front of Dr. Navarro.

“Tell me, Luz Ximena Ramirez Navarro. Are you ashamed of these too? Are you ashamed of your papá’s books? His writing career?”

“It’s not the same. Papá doesn’t write... filth.”

“Perhaps,” Abuela said, her voice dangerously quiet, “you should remind yourself of your own past before judging your daughter so harshly.”

Her mother’s expression shuttered. “I grew up and chose a responsible path.” Her spine straightened. “As I expect you to do. ”

Tempest shook her head slowly. “I’m not giving up my writing. It’s who I am, Mamá. Whether you approve or not.”

“Then I have nothing more to say to you,” her mother declared, rising to her feet. “When you’re ready to be a Navarro again, to live up to the standards of this family?—”

“You mean, your standards,” Abuela corrected sharply.

“—then we can discuss your future,” Dr. Navarro finished, ignoring her mother. “Until then, I suggest you consider very carefully the consequences of your choices.” She turned to her husband, and when he didn’t immediately back her up, she stomped away.

The professor looked torn, glancing between his retreating wife and his daughter. Then, surprising everyone, he bent to press a kiss to Tempest’s forehead. “I’m proud of your talent, mija,” he said quietly. “It takes your mother a while to adjust to changes to her expectations. I’ll work on her.”

With that, he followed his wife from the room, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.

Catalina and Rosalind exchanged glances, then rose in unison to follow their parents. Neither looked at Tempest as they left. But Freddie immediately bounded over to take their place on the couch.

“That was EPIC,” she said, eyes wide with excitement. “Abuela bringing out Abuelo’s spy novels and throwing them in Mamá’s face? I did not see that coming.”

“Freddie,” Ophelia admonished, though she too had moved closer, perching on the arm of the loveseat next to Tempest. “Maybe not the time.”

“Sorry,” Freddie said, not looking sorry at all. “But seriously, Tempest, it took Mamá a while to accept that I wasn’t ever going to be the sweet daughter she wanted. You saw how she stumbled with my name today. But she’s come around, and she will with this too.”

“I don’t know how you managed.” Tempest grabbed her sister in a hug.

“Being true to yourself is hard sometimes. But I would have been your cheerleader, just like you were mine, if you’d told me.

I still can’t believe you’re Miranda Milan.

Can I get signed copies? Will you tell me what happens in the next one?

Is it about the hockey player’s brother? Because I have thoughts?—”

“Freddie,” Tempest cut her off, but she was smiling now, a small, surprised smile. “You really read my books?”

“Duh,” Freddie rolled her eyes. “They’re amazing. The scene in book three where the baseball player finally admits he’s in love with the ice princess? I literally threw my Kindle across the room and then had to buy a new one.”

“I’ve read them too,” Ophelia admitted with a small shrug. “They’re good, T. Really good.”

I watched emotion well up in Tempest’s eyes. She’d been prepared for unanimous condemnation from her family—this support, however small, seemed to hit her harder than the criticism had.

“I—thank you,” she managed.

Abuela approached, gently taking Tempest’s face in her hands. “You stood tall, mi corazón. I am so proud of you.”

Tempest nodded, leaning into her grandmother’s touch for a moment before turning to me. “Can we go? I need to... process.”

“Of course,” I said immediately, standing and offering her my hand. “Whatever you need.”

As we headed for the door, Freddie called after us, “Does he know about the scene in book two chapter seventeen? Because if he hasn’t tried that move yet?—”

“FREDDIE!” Tempest and Ophelia shouted in unison.

“What?” Freddie asked innocently. “I’m just saying, art should inspire life, you know?”

Oh, we were getting a copy of book two on the way home. That was for sure.