He raised his glass to me and I followed suit. The room turned warmer. He was one of those men who grew more attractive the longer you knew him. To me, he seemed the most striking in the group—not because of his looks, but by the way he carried himself. He moved across the room with a self-assurance that demanded attention. I took a long sip of champagne as he approached me.
But before he could reach me, I sensed a change in the atmosphere. The room became quieter, all laughter ceased. There was a tension I couldn’t quite pinpoint. My first thought was that Don Fernando del Río had arrived, but I didn’t see him anywhere.
At the center of all the glances were Angélica, who’d turned quiet and pale, and another woman, whom I’d never seen before. The first thing I noticed about the other woman was her eyes, the color of honey. She was just as fashionable as my sister in a silver silk frock embroidered with beads and rhinestone and a hat adorned with two feathers. But there were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.
With a serious demeanor, she walked toward Angélica and extended her hand toward my sister. Without removing her eyes from the strange woman, Angélica accepted the handshake, though it looked like their hands barely touched. Instead of a shake, it was more like a polite squeeze done through their gloves. How different were the handshakes I’d received from men in my Cristóbal persona. They had been firmer and had transmitted a genuine openness that I’d never perceived in women, even in my closest relationships. But first, there had been challenge in the men’s gazes, an assessment of sorts that seemed to end with the truce of the handshake.
After the forced handshake between Angélica and the newcomer, the conversations slowly renewed. Catalina’s comment in the sewing room came to mind. She’d mentioned something about a woman coming back to town. And Angélica hadn’t looked pleased. What was the woman’s name? This was probably her.
Martin greeted me with a low “hello.” His attitude had definitely changed since he’d found out I was a woman. He was no longer relaxed and uninhibited around me. Now he seemed to plan every gesture and every word before opening his mouth. I missed our old camaraderie.
“Who was that woman?” I asked him, ignoring my racing pulse as his sleeve brushed against mine.
He avoided my eyes, looking around the parlor without saying a word.
“Martin?”
“I heard you.”
“Well, who is she?”
“A friend of Angélica’s, I think,” he added, as an afterthought.
“They didn’t seem too friendly.”
He didn’t comment.
“What’s her name?”
“Silvia.”
Yes, that was the name.
“So, what’s wrong with them? Why was everybody staring when they greeted each other?”
“You should ask Angélica.”
He didn’t say he didn’t know. In fact, he gave me a feeling of knowing more than he let on. Since he’d reached me, he hadn’t looked at my face once and he seemed as uncomfortable as a freemason in ballet class.
“So, what are you doing here anyway?” I said. “I thought you didn’t like social engagements.”
He loosened his tie a notch. “I don’t, but this is a good business opportunity that only comes once a year. During the festivities, new buyers come. It’s the perfect time to make new connections.”
How odd that being business partners of sorts, Angélica and Martin never seemed to spend time together or work as a team （except when they fought with Don Fernando）。 It was the opposite—they appeared to repel each other, to make separate decisions. Another thing that was strange was that Laurent had no involvement whatsoever in any of the business decisions.
“Are things different now that my father is gone?” I asked Martin in a low voice.
“Like night and day.”
“You don’t see eye to eye with Angélica.”
“It’s that obvious?”
Martin was tense and distracted with the people parading behind me.
“Do you want to go?” he said, out of the blue.
“But what about your potential customers?”
“We have a whole week ahead of us. There will be other opportunities. I don’t like the atmosphere here today.”
I glanced at my sisters, each one immersed in separate conversations with their friends and acquaintances—although Catalina kept looking at me with eyes that screamed of boredom and discomfort. Angélica, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten the uneasy encounter with her former friend and had returned to her charming self. But I didn’t believe those forced smiles and her phony laughter. It was a good thing that Fernando del Río had not shown up, or he would’ve shattered Angélica’s calm fa?ade.