She walked toward him calmly, unhurriedly, like someone arriving punctually for a pre-arranged meeting.
“I own this hotel,” she replied. “Since Monday morning. Didn’t I tell you I was making some investments?”
Nadia’s hand loosened on his arm. She looked at him, then at Jimena, her horror growing.
“Is she your wife?” “—she whispered.
“Yes,” Jimena answered, before Tomás could open his mouth. “I’m Mrs. Briones. And you must be Nadia Pérez, right? The marketing coordinator at Tomás’s company.”
Nadia turned white.
“How… how does she know my name?”
“I know a lot of things,” Jimena said, with a polite smile and hard eyes. “For example, I know this isn’t the first time you’ve come to a hotel with my husband. The Mesón del Río last month, the Continental two months ago. Should I go on?”
Tomás felt the lobby tilt beneath his feet.
“Jimena, this isn’t what it looks like…”
