CHAPTER 12

Blah, blah, blah, very special celebration, blah, blah, blah, rum that’s been sitting in oak casks for the last thirty years, only fifteen hundred bottles produced, blah blah blah, first time it’s being tasted in this country, has notes of baked pear, maple, spice and— Zzzzzzzzzzzz . . . I’m pretty sure that nodding off in the middle of his speech won’t endear me to the party’s host, so I give my head a little shake and command myself to focus.

“El Clásico is significant not just to Sandoval Spirits, but to the Sandoval family. It was barreled on the day our beloved son was born.” The rum-making clan’s patriarch wraps his arm around his wife (side note: she’s very pretty and looks a decade or so younger than him) and they both beam with pride and happiness. “And in conjunction with the release of this one-of-a-kind rum, our son, who’s been working tirelessly for the last four years as managing director of our Latin America and Caribbean division has returned to us from the Dominican Republic. We are overjoyed to have him back, and it gives me great pleasure to announce that he will now be working side-by-side with me here at Sandoval Spirits’ headquarters, where I have no doubt he will lead our company to even greater heights of success. Please join me in congratulating the new chief operating officer of our company, Eduardo Sandoval.”

Huh? Did he just say ‘Eduardo?’ As in the name of the guy I’ve spent the last thirty minutes getting cozy with. It’s probably just a coincidence. Eduardo is a common enough name, especially in a crowd full of Latinos.

But wait, everyone’s applauding and turning toward us and my Eduardo (if I can classify him as such after our short acquaintance) is looking both delighted and a little embarrassed.

“Mijo, come on up and say a few words.” Sandoval Senior is gesturing at the guy who was just moaning about the delights of flan with me, so there is no mistake. My Eduardo is the Eduardo. Heir to the Sandoval fortune—rich, powerful, unattached, and interested in me! This realization almost makes my knees buckle. Keep it together, Izzy. Play it cool.

“Con permiso, mi bonita,” Eduardo murmurs, excusing himself and referring to me as “beauty,” in the same breath. He kisses the back of my hand before dropping it to join his father up on the platform and I’m left feeling a bit swoony, which is a new sensation.

I’m not sure if the lightheadedness is being caused by Eduardo or the thought of how much money he has. Probably fifty-fifty. Okay, forty-sixty because I’m already picturing myself, naked and dripping in diamonds, rolling around on a bed of crisp hundred dollar bills. A handsome, hot-blooded man is nice, but cold, hard cash is the real turn-on.

Taking the microphone from his father, Eduardo addresses the partygoers, “Thank you so much for your support and good wishes. It is an honor for me to take my place on the executive team at Sandoval Spirits and to work alongside this amazing man.” He sweeps a hand toward his father. “He’s been an inspiration and role model my whole life, and I hope to do him proud in my new position with the company. I look forward to the challenges ahead and to continuing the family tradition of hard work and giving back to the Latin community.

And on a personal note, I’d just like to say how thrilled I am to be back home. As much as I enjoyed my time in the Dominican Republic learning the ins and outs of the business, my heart,” he taps his chest, “has always been here in Miami. This is where my friends and family are, and this is where I plan to put down roots and build a life. Hopefully, thirty years from now I’ll be up on a stage just like this one with my wife and children, welcoming the next generation of Sandovals into the company.” The crowd erupts with cheers and more applause, which makes Eduardo smile. He acknowledges their enthusiastic endorsement with a nod of his head before being enveloped in a warm embrace by his parents.

After that, it’s chaos with everyone rushing forward to shake hands and congratulate the newly anointed prince of the rum kingdom. I hang back, figuring I’ll get my chance with Eduardo later when the furor has died down. But it never does and Eduardo continues to be the party’s main attraction for the rest of the night. He’s constantly surrounded by people, and his parents never leave his side.

Someone else who seems to be omnipresent as the evening progresses is a petite redhead who periodically appears at Eduardo’s elbow, whispering who-knows-what in his ear (he has to bend down to hear her every time because she’s such a shrimp). Normally, I’d worry that Strawberry Shortcake was my competition for Eduardo, but I dismiss that concern out of hand as she’s clearly a business associate of some kind, a conclusion I come to based on her body language (she never touches Eduardo when communicating with him, always keeping her hands clasped in front of her) and the conservative way she’s dressed in a navy fit-and-flare-style cocktail dress with a prim bateau neckline that’s partially covered by a princess-length strand of pearls. Pearls—ugh! I’m of the firm belief that pearls should only be worn by brides and grandmothers, but apparently this chick wants to look more mature than she is.

As the night wears on and the party starts to wind down, I begin to lose hope that I’ll get anymore face time with Eduardo. Why didn’t I give him my phone number when I had the chance? I didn’t even tell him my last name. ARGH

My phone dings, and I pull it out of my purse to check the incoming text, which is from Z.

‘I’m wrapping things up here. Will be ready to go in ten. Want to meet me out front?’

I’ve been here for hours and I am officially bored, but I can’t give up on Eduardo just yet.

‘Go on without me. I’ve got other plans. Don’t forget my bag in the powder room!!!!!!!’

‘Yes, your highness.’ <eye roll emoji>

<blowing raspberry emoji>

I do a quick scan of the outdoor area and see that the number of guests has dwindled considerably and the caterers are breaking down the food tables. There’s no sign of any of the Sandovals, or Hermione. (That’s the name of Harry Potter’s carrot-top girlfriend, right? Maybe it’s Ginny. I don’t know. I only watched one of those dorky movies because my nephews made me.)

I follow the flow of departing partygoers back inside the house and marvel once again at how ridiculously grand everything is. There’s a chandelier in the living room that looks like something out of Phantom of the Opera, and the walls are covered with multiple oversized paintings, some with colorful, abstract designs and others with curvaceous, half-naked women cavorting with sinewy, bare-assed men. They’re all probably famous works of art, but damned if I know whose creations they are, or even what period they’re from. Yeah, I know—my father wasted his money on that art studies degree he sent me to school for.

When I step into the foyer, I see that the Sandovals are positioned by the front doors so that they can bid farewell to each guest with a handshake or a hug on the way out. While I wait my turn in line, a plan starts to formulate in my head . . .

“Isidora.” Eduardo’s mouth stretches into a grin when he sees me. He takes the hand I offer, sandwiching it between both of his. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad we met and got to enjoy some of that delicious flan together. I wish I’d been able to spend more time with you, but . . .”

“Duty called. I understand. The busy life of a corporate tycoon.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know about the tycoon part just yet. Hopefully, one day.”

The line’s starting to get backed up, and the woman behind me is practically vibrating with impatience.

I toss her a ‘Keep your Spanx on, beeyatch!’ look, then say pleasantly to Eduardo, “I should move along; I don’t want to keep you from your other guests. Could you tell me what the street number of this house is?” I raise my cell phone and act like I’m about to type in his answer.

He frowns. “Why do you need the address here?”

“I’m ordering an Uber.”

The frown deepens, creating a deep furrow between his brows. “What about the friends you came with? Aren’t they giving you a ride home?”

“No, they left a while ago. Victor’s wife wasn’t feeling well.” I’m not even sure Victor is currently married. Last I heard he was working on divorce number three.

“Well, this is unacceptable,” Eduardo declares. “What kind of host would I be if I let a female guest leave my party with a driver she doesn’t know? Please, give me a moment.” He releases my hand and quickly pulls his parents into a huddle.

God love Latin men. They are wonderfully predictable. The machismo that’s embedded in their DNA makes it impossible for them to resist an opportunity to play the hero when they see a woman in need of assistance.

Taking a step back so that the line can move forward without me, I wait for Eduardo. While he’s speaking with his parents, I notice them glancing over at me a couple of times and I do my best to appear sweet and guileless. They must buy it because Eduardo returns with a pleased expression a short time later.

“My parents said they will take care of the remaining goodbyes, so I am free to escort you home.”

“How gallant! But I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” he assures me. “I’m staying at a corporate suite at The Mondrian, so I have to drive back into the city anyway.”

He’s living at one of the swankiest hotels in South Beach? I immediately start fantasizing about ordering every meal from room service and getting an in-room Swedish massage from a buff guy named Thor.

“Then, let’s go!”

I smile as he places a hand on the small of my back and leads me out the front doors of the Sandoval estate to what will hopefully be the next, exciting phase of my life.

* * *

“Hello,” a groggy voice answers the phone.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” I command in a singsong voice.

Topaz must look at the clock on her phone because she groans and says, “Seven-thirty? What the hell, Iz? You never get up before noon on Sundays, and there’s no time of day when you ever sound this perky.”

“I’m up because I never made it to bed last night,” I tease.

“So, things went well at the party?”

“You bet they did. I hit the mother lode there!”

“What’s the guy’s name?” she wonders.

“Eduardo Sandoval.”

“Holy smokes!” she squeaks. “Are you kidding me? He’s old, isn’t he? And I thought he was married.”

“That’s the father, dummy. My Eduardo is the son. The handsome, charming, deliciously sexy thirty-year-old, being-groomed-to-take-over-the-lucrative-family-empire son.”

“He’s your Eduardo already?”

“Well, we did spend the night together. No sex, though.”

“That’s the most unbelievable thing you’ve said so far,” Topaz snarks.

“Very funny. Things did get a little hot and heavy on my front porch this morning when he dropped me off, but that’s as far as it went. I’m playing the long game with this relationship, so I have to pace myself.”

Oh, that reminds me, I’d better text Pilar and let her know she might be getting a complaint about her “loose sister” from Mrs. Gilchrist across the street. The old busybody was outside watering her lawn (in a hideous floral muumuu natch) at the crack of dawn and bore witness to my steamy makeout sesh with Eduardo, which included a fair amount of boob and butt-grabbing.

“Oooooo, you used the R-word. That’s a first.”

“I see long-term potential in Eduardo. He’s everything I’ve been looking for in a man, and you know how they say timing is everything? Well, I think I met him at just the right time because he’s been out of the country for the last few years and hasn’t had a chance to hook up with any women here yet. And he seems to be at a place in his life where he’s interested in settling down. He mentioned wanting to have a balance between his work and personal life several times last night.”

“Sounds promising. So, tell me everything that happened between you two, starting with how you met.”

I fill Topaz in on my meet-cute with Eduardo over the world’s biggest flan, then impress her with the story of how I masterfully manipulated him into giving me a ride home.

“I should note that his car is a fire engine red Ferrari that is crazy hot, like seriously, you can feel the engine’s speed and power vibrating through your entire body while the car’s in motion and it’s almost orgasm-inducing. As soon as we left his parents’ place, Eduardo asked if I’d be up for going to a club and listening to some music. I suggested La Fiebre in Little Havana, so that’s where we went. The joint was jumpin’, and we had a blast drinking mojitos and salsa dancing the night away (he’s got great rhythm, by the way, which bodes well for his skills in the bedroom). We closed the place down at three a.m., then he took me back to South Beach. We grabbed some fish tacos at Bodega and just hung out and talked for a few hours. By the time they kicked us out, the sun was coming up, so we went for a walk on the beach.”

“A walk on the beach at sunrise?” Topaz sighs moonily. “Were you holding hands? And did he whisper sweet, Spanish nothings in your ear?”

“I don’t know. I guess. It wasn’t all sappy and gross like you’re making it sound, though.”

“It’s not sappy; it’s romantic!”

“Same difference,” I say dismissively.

“Ugh, you’re hopeless!”

“No, I’m pragmatic. You should try it some time, then maybe you wouldn’t keep falling for every loser who tells you your eyes look like puddles of chocolate.”

“Puddles? That’s not what Kai said in that beautiful poem he wrote for me! He said my eyes were like pools of melted dark chocolate and he wanted to submerge himself in their sweetness.” She sighs again.

“Was that before or after he forged your name on a check from a client, then cashed it and spent all the money on a month’s supply of Platinum Kush, which you came home to find him smoking with a couple of stoner skanks who were blowing him?”

“Okay, so maybe our relationship didn’t end well . . .”

“You cried for two weeks straight! Nacho and I had to pulverize a handful of Lexapro and mix it in with your herbal tea to get you out of bed. And the minute we left you alone, you shaved your head!”

“Kai was really into my ‘fro, so getting rid of it made sense at the time.”

“No, it didn’t. You were just doing stupid shit because you were in pain. And why was that?”

“Because I was in love,” she offers weakly.

“And what do I always say about love?”

“It gets you nowhere, but that’s not entirely true. Love can take you to Happy Town when you find the right person.”

“I can get to Happy Town just as easily by riding the F-train, and I don’t need ‘the right person’ for that, any guy with a working fun-stick will do.”

“You can’t just leave emotions out of the equation forever, Izzy. I think love’s going to sneak up on you one day and knock you flat.”

I snort with amusement at the thought. “Yeah, right, me getting all googly-eyed over a guy. That’ll be the day.”

There’s a knock at my door, which gives me pause because I’m not expecting anybody. I hope it’s not Mrs. Gilchrist with a pamphlet on that singles group at her church she’s always trying to get me to join because its members are “wholesome, young people with good values.” I’m pretty sure she thinks those dweebs can cure me of my sinful ways, but it’s more likely that I’d corrupt the lot of them.

“Can you hold on a sec?” I ask Topaz. “There’s someone at my door.”

“No prob.”

I pad over to the door on bare feet, kicking some discarded pieces of clothing out of the way as I go. I really need to straight up around here . . . one of these days. When I unlock the front door and fling it open, I find a gangly teenaged boy with a bad case of pizza face on my stoop.

“What can I do you for?”

He doesn’t respond; he just stares at me, bug-eyed, with his mouth hanging open, which clues me in to the fact that my teal kimono is gaping open in the front and I’m not wearing anything underneath so there’s a lot of boobage on display, probably more than this kid’s ever seen outside of a contraband issue of Playboy.

I pull the edges of the satiny fabric together so that the girls are better covered, then snap my fingers in front of the boy’s face, saying, “Hello?”

Startled out of his breast-triggered fugue state, he stutters, “S-s-s-sorry. Are you Isidora Alvarez?”

“The one and only.”

“A customer paid me a hundred bucks to deliver this to you.” He proffers a hot pink gift bag with some haphazardly arranged orange tissue paper sticking out of its top.

“You work at Publix?” I query as I take the bag. That’s the grocery store a few blocks from my house, and I recognize the green polo shirt/black pants combo he’s wearing as being the uniform of the bag boys there.

“That’s right. I’ve seen you there. You always buy margarita mix and tortilla chips.”

“Uh huh . . .” I’m peeking in the bag, trying to determine what it contains other than tissue paper, but the contents must be buried at the bottom because I can’t see a thing. I need to get inside and rip this puppy apart. “Well, thanks for this.” I raise the bag in the air. “Since you already got a hundred bucks and a peep show out of the deal, I’m not going to tip you. See you ‘round the produce aisle.” Taking a few steps back into the foyer, I push the door closed.

Bringing the phone back up to my ear, I inquire, “Did you hear that?”

“Yep. Your rich, new boyfriend sent you a gift.”

“I have to give him points for resourcefulness since a grocery store is one of the few places that’s open this early on a Sunday morning.” I set the bag down on the coffee table in the living room.

“So, what’s in the bag? I’m dying here!”

“Relax, woman. All will be revealed in good time. I’m going to put you on speakerphone so that I can use both hands.”

“Okay . . .” I reach down into the bag and my fingers touch something cold and a little wet. “ . . . the first item is some Häagen-Dazs passion fruit ice cream. The mojitos we drank at the club last night were passion fruit, so I guess this is a reference to that.”

“Love it! What else?”

I stick my hand back in the bag and extract . . . “A CD by Los Amantes Latinos. That was the band playing at La Fiebre. I really liked their music! I don’t know when Eduardo had a chance to buy this for me. He must have done it when I went to the bathroom because my bladder was about to explode from all the mojitos.”

“Very thoughtful of him!”

“Let me see what else . . .” I return to the bag once again, and my fingers land on something glass. “Huh, it’s a candle in a jar,” I report after pulling the object out.

“What’s the scent?”

I turn the candle around so that I can read the label. “Beach Walk.” I remove its lid, which makes a loud, suction-releasing pop, and take a whiff. “Smells wonderful, like the ocean and something citrus-y.”

I root around in the bag some more. “I think that’s it,” I declare when I don’t feel any other items.

“There’s no card?”

Turning the bag upside down, I give it a good shake and a business card with some writing on the back falls down onto the table. “There’s a note.” I pick it up and read aloud, ‘Isidora, looking forward to making more memories with you tonight. Besos, Eduardo.’”

“I know you’re not going to do it, so I will.” Topaz warns me before she lets out a high-pitched squeal. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! This guy is too much—so thoughtful, so generous, so romantic—”

“Do you want to date him?” I deadpan.

“I would if he weren’t already totally smitten with you. Aren’t you just a little bit flattered that he went to so much trouble to let you know he had an amazing time last night and was thinking about you?”

“I do appreciate the gesture, because it tells me that I’ve got Eduardo firmly on the hook and now I just need to reel him in sloooowly, which is what you do with a big fish.” I know this because my father is an aficionado of marlin-fishing, and he can wax rhapsodic about the process of catching them for hours on end.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just compare this incredible guy who ticks all your boxes to a large, scaly sea creature.”

“Hey, if the dorsal fin fits . . .,” I trail off, smirking.

“Like I said, you’re hopeless. Eduardo mentioned seeing you again tonight. What’s on tap?”

“Dinner at Artisan at seven. He has to make an early night of it because tomorrow is his first day as COO of Sandoval Spirits.”

“Artisan—wow! I heard that the entrées start at forty dollars there.”

“I know. It’s very posh and exclusive. I don’t know how Eduardo’s going to get us a reservation on the day of, but he told me that he knew somebody who knew somebody and not to worry about it.”

“This man just gets dreamier by the minute!”

“Speaking of dreams, I need to hit the hay and get my ten hours of beauty sleep so that I’ll look my best for my date tonight. So, I’ll say, ‘Adiós.’”

“Later. And just so you know, I’m positively emerald with envy.”

“As you should be,” I say with a chortle, then disconnect the call.