“Absolutely not,” Nena growled.
“Just a quick chat. It’s the perfect pick-me-up for Mum with Dad out of commission and all.”
“No.” Nena’s eyes slid back to the mirror.
Elin produced her phone, pointing the camera at her sister despite her protests. Both knew if Nena had been serious, it wouldn’t be happening.
“How’d you get her in that?” Delphine asked in awe. They could see their mum in the hospital room beside their father as he slept.
“An act of God, Mum, truly.”
Nena turned her body this way and that, appreciating the way the dress, white with black splotches resembling a Rorschach test, fit her form and fell in soft folds at her calves. The plunging neckline emphasized her cleavage. Her silver gladiator sandals finished the look and matched the silver ropes woven into the front tiara braid of her head. The rest of her hair flowed magnificently past her shoulders.
“I know Nena wasn’t difficult,” Delphine said knowingly.
“Thank you, Mum,” Nena said, shooting her sister a death glare, which was returned with a sweet smile.
“I wish your dad was awake to see you, but they just gave him medication to sleep, and it will be too hard to wake him. I’ve taken a screenshot, though.”
“Shit,” Elin breathed. “Mum knows how to do screenshots.”
“Okay,” Nena called out, turning around. “I should go.” She snatched the oversize straw clutch her sister handed her. One with a secret compartment perfect for the small gun she’d carry. She headed toward the stairs.
“Nena!” Elin called behind her. “Do not take the bike.”
Nena gritted her teeth. She wasn’t entirely inept when it came to men.
“And remember to let him lead,” their mother’s disembodied voice added, propelling Nena out the door faster.
She arrived early to meet Cort at a Cuban restaurant owned by a well-known Cuban singer. Cort was already waiting for her at the valet, which she really liked.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said when she was close enough to hear him.
She looked down, trying not to show how pleased she was at his compliment. “You are too.” Then her hand touched her lips. How stupid of her. That wasn’t how women complimented men.
He smiled. “Thank you.”
She felt heat flush her cheeks.
He perked up. “I didn’t know you were into cigars.”
“Come again?”
“Cigars.” Cort fished a plastic baggie out of his inner jacket pocket and handed it to her.
Confused, she held it up with her fingers to take a better look.
“Found it under the coffee table in the den. Please tell me it’s yours, because that’s who Peach said must have dropped it. If it’s not, it means either Mack’s taken up smoking or Peach lied to me and I need to rethink my parenting.” He cracked a wry smile with only the slightest dash of trepidation.
It only took a second for Nena to understand what was going on. “Yes, I must have dropped it. I was trying to find the type of cigars my dad likes, so I had one. Sorry if I caused trouble for you or Georgia.”
When she opened the bag, she recognized the scent immediately, and a rush of anger jolted through her. She hadn’t left a cigar. But she knew who smoked ones that smelled exactly like this one. Clearly the cigar was another message, just like her dad’s sudden illness was a message. But when had Paul dropped this message off?
Recalibrate. She was on a date and needed to focus on it, if only just for the night.
Cort’s eyes widened apprehensively. “No problem at all. Just had to make sure, you know?” He reached out as if he wanted to touch her but thought better of it and returned his hand to his side. “Ready to go in?”
She nodded.
The restaurant was busy but beautiful and the perfect place for them to talk and dine. Gradually, she cleared her mind of other worries, and the conversation flowed easily. Nena answered all his questions about England and her travels.
“Your favorite place to vacation?”
“Bay of Naples,” she said immediately. “And Bukhansan National Park. It’s a forty-five-minute tube ride from Seoul.”
“Korea?”
“Yes.”
“Tube?”
“Subways.”
They shared their entrées, dining on crispy whole fish, palomilla, and chino cubano. They sipped on mojitos while watching the other patrons dance on the floor.
“And your dad’s doing better?”