The Spanish Love Deception

Aaron had talked to my sister. He had mentioned meat. Roasted lamb. Which was on the menu for the wedding.

The connotations of that twirled in my weary head.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked as I silently panicked.

“Yes,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Super-duper okay.”

Aaron’s brow arched. Maybe that had been a giveaway to how not super-duper okay I was.

“I told her you were fine, just asleep. But I think you should call her back tomorrow.” He pointed at my phone. “Judging by the five-minute monologue in Spanish before I could even tell her it wasn’t you on the line, I’d say she’ll feel better when you do.” Aaron’s lips twitched in what was the beginning of a smile.

“Yeah,” I murmured, a little too absorbed by his mouth when I should have been trying to manage a crisis. “Okay.”

That smirk stretched into a lopsided smile.

Ah, man. Why did it look so good on him? He didn’t smile nearly enough.

Which was not important.

What mattered was that Aaron had talked to my sister, and she never minced her words. Ever.

“So, Aaron,” I started, the words rushing out, “when you talked to my sister, you told her your name. Right?”

He cocked a brow. “Yes, that’s what people do when they introduce themselves.”

“Okay.” I nodded my head very slowly. “And how did you say that exactly? As in, Hey, I’m Aaron.” I dropped my voice, imitating his. “Or like, I’m just Aaron. I’m no one. Hello.”

He tilted his head. “I’m not sure I understand the question, but I’m going to go on a whim and go with option one. Although my voice sounds nothing like that.”

I exhaled through my nose, bringing the pads of my fingers to my temples. “Oh, Aaron. This is not good. I’m …” I blinked, feeling myself pale. “Oh God.”

Aaron frowned. “Catalina”—his blue eyes assessed me, concerned—“maybe I should take you to a hospital, get you checked out. You must have hit your head when you fell.”

He angled his body away, placing one hand on the steering wheel and lifting the other one to the ignition.

“Wait, wait.” I stopped him right before he started the car. “It’s not that. I’m okay. Seriously.”

He cut me a glance.

“I’m fine.”

He looked like he didn’t believe me.

“I promise.”

His hands dropped, falling on his lap.

“But I need something from you.” I watched him nod. Whoa, okay. That was easy. “I need you to tell me exactly what you told Isabel.”

“We talked about this. About a minute ago.” He brought one of his hands to the back of his neck.

“Just do it for me. Humor me.” I gave him a weak smile. “I need to know what you said.”

The man looked at me as if I were asking him to take his clothes off and perform a choreographed dance in the middle of Times Square.

Which I’d be totally down for—but again, not important.

“Please.” I tried my luck with the magic word.