“Your sister?” I asked. “Mariana? The one who just separated?”
“She needs a fresh start,” he said, not even looking at me. “And my parents are getting older. There’s more than enough space here.”
“You didn’t ask me.”
That’s when he looked up.
And I saw him—really saw him.
Not the charming man everyone admired.
Not the easygoing husband.
Something colder.
Something stripped of pretense.
“Don’t start your drama, Valeria.”
“I’m not causing drama. I’m asking why you made decisions about my house without me.”
He laughed—short, sharp, unpleasant.
“Your house?”
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