Thirty-Two

The living room is packed and my father is by the fireplace, deep in conversation with the Embassy's Head of Mission, Alberto. When Lander and I approach them, my father doesn't end his conversation, but motions for us to come closer. The gesture looks inviting to an outside eye, but I study his hand as if it's a scorpion stinger. No good is going to come of this.

"You remember my lovely daughter," he says to Alberto, gesturing at me like I'm a show pony. "And this is her boyfriend, Lander. He went to Harvard Law and works at Cavendish Waits."

I have no clue how my father knows anything about Lander, but I'm not surprised. I'm sure someone pulled together a file on him, and even though he likely plans to force Lander out of my life tonight, he still won't pass on an opportunity to brag about him.

It's sickening.

"Alberto, can you excuse us for a moment?" I interject, right as Alberto extends his hand to Lander, who dutifully ignores the greeting.

My father's eyes lock on mine, vitriol brewing behind them. "That was rude, Valeria," he chastises when Alberto is gone, doing that thing where he smiles because he knows people are watching, but criticizes me through his teeth. "You're so needlessly headstrong."

"I'll apologize to him later," I lie. "I can only hope Alberto will recover."

My response is passable, but only because my father learned English too late in life to develop a sarcasm radar. He faces Lander and I know the next question out of his mouth before he utters the words, "How serious is this?"

"Very," Lander snaps. He's in full lawyer-mode: terse and quick. "I worship your daughter."

My father lets out a chuckle. "Interesting," he replies, his lip curling. "I thought you'd be smarter, given your pedigree. You know she's using you, don't you?"

"She's not." Lander doesn't even have to consider his response.

Lifting his eyebrows in faux surprise, my father releases another chuckle. "Oh? Trust me, this whore is using you."

I catch Lander by the arm before the word can sink in. "Don't," I warn.

My father, looking amused, opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Lander grits, "Call her that again. I fucking dare you."

The anger settles over my father like a flush. His eyes shrink to slits before he hisses, "Who do you think you are—"

"Don't talk to him like that," I snap.

"Shut up, you ungrateful slut," he hisses back—in Spanish, of course, because he's a coward and knows Lander can't understand. "A waste of time and money," he mutters, speaking English now as he glares at me. "You were a waste. Disgusting." He looks at Lander. "You haven't figured out what she wants from you? Tell me you at least know how she makes her money."

Lander's response is slow and drawn out. There's an elaborate charcuterie board resting on the fireplace mantle, sporting jamón ibérico roses, queso manchego, and Shine Muscat grapes. Pensive, he considers it, reaches over, and picks up an oyster-handle cheese knife. Deftly, he spins it on the mantle, rotating it on the point, observing my father in silence.

Then, Lander raises the knife and slams it into the wall, startling everyone in the room.

The knife bobs, vibrating until it stills into its new position above the wainscot. All the while, Lander watches with his head canted to the side, admiring his handiwork.

"I did know," he finally answers, facing my father once more. "In fact, Vicente, I've spent many thousands of dollars to watch her. Tens of thousands. I've loved every minute. So, if you ever say another word to her about camming, I'll personally cut off Sebastian's tongue and shove it up your ass, which you may or may not notice, since he's constantly rimming you for approval as it is."

I've never seen my father speechless before. Sebastian, on the other hand, is growing red with rage. He crosses the room, drawing eyes. "How dare you speak to him that way. You have no right, you—"

"Fucking try me, Sebastian," Lander warns, wrenching the cheese knife out of the wall and holding it up. "You think I won't hurt you? Come test that theory out."

Sebastian's eyes tighten and his nostrils flare, but he doesn't respond. Instead, he faces my father and says to him in Spanish, "Are you going to let him disrespect you?"

Before my father can speak, Lander tosses the knife onto a coffee table, where it lands with a clatter. "This is the part where you kick me out, right?" He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. "Save your breath. We're going."

"Valeria," my father protests.

I ignore him and stay close to Lander, crossing the quiet living room.

"Valeria," my father warns, following us. "If you go with that boy, you know what happens. I'll do it this time. I will."

I whirl around, stopping in the archway. "Then do it," I challenge, shrugging. I don't wait for his response.

Lander and I make it through the foyer and out of the house before the sound of someone calling my name breaks through the night.

"Wait," Sebastian calls out, stepping outside. "Don't walk away from me."

I ignore him.

"Valeria, stop!"

"What, Sebastian?" I whirl around, fed up.

He has the nerve to be confused. "Why the hell are you being like this? Why are you with him?" he demands. "You could have it all back. You, me—your father—I'm right here, Valeria."

My eyes widen and I'm not convinced Sebastian and I exist in the same reality. Is he really doing this now? Now? "Are you serious?" I demand. "Is this another love confession?"

"Another?" Lander snaps, his grip tightening on my hand. His expression darkens considerably. "What do you mean ‘another?'"

One thing at a time. I pat Lander's hand and motion for him to give me space before I take a step towards Sebastian, arms crossed. "Sebastian, I've never loved you. I'm never going to love you. Haven't you ruined my life enough?"

Sebastian scowls, and for once, his expression looks hurt. "Ruined—"

"Yes, ruined. You're the one who sent my father all those screenshots of me," I blurt out. "Haven't you done enough?"

Immediately, Lander's eyes flick over to me and the glint in them is dangerous. "He did what?" he hisses.

"Valeria," Sebastian implores, holding up his hands and eyeing Lander carefully. "Come talk to me. I—" He reaches out to take my hand.

"Stop," I order, snatching it away. "Don't ever touch me again."

It's the wrong thing to say. Oh fuck, is it the wrong thing to say. Lander's glare is now pitch black and the look crossing his face is nothing short of homicidal. "He touched you? When did he touch you?" he asks so slowly, so quietly, I know the next thing I say will be critically important.

"It was years ago. Let's go home, Lander," I urge, putting my hands on his arms and facing him towards me—and away from Sebastian.

His hands are fists—tight, rigid fists that quiver while he glares. "How did he touch you, Valeria?" he demands.

At that precise moment, Sebastian runs. He quite literally spins on the heels of his dress shoes and darts through the front door, not daring to look over his shoulder.

"He grabbed my arm once on the night he found out I was camming—but nothing happened."

"But he touched you," Lander practically snarls, taking a step closer. "Let me be clear, Valeria. Nobody fucking touches you. Ever."

"And if I ask you to let this go?" I question, although I know the answer already.

"Can't," Lander replies, shaking his head before he strides back into the house.