I shook my head.
“It’s champagne with orange juice. Don’t worry. I won’t let you get drunk. This is not one of your cousin’s parties,” she added, and I smiled.
“I’m glad of that.”
She laughed, handed me a glass of mimosa, took my hand, and began to introduce me to people, simply calling me a girlfriend from school. I met presidents of banks, mayors and councilmen, very rich businessmen, builders and owners of chain stores, before she introduced me to her parents. Her father was a tall, slim, elegant man with a closely cropped goatee. It was from him that Fani inherited her dazzling ebony eyes, but it was clear that her mother, a strikingly beautiful woman with light brown hair and dainty features, had passed on the aristocratic demeanor and royal beauty that enabled Fani to stand out no matter where she was or how she was dressed.
Finally, I was introduced to Señor Bovio, the candidate, and his son, Adan, a young man about Edward’s age. I had taken only three sips of my mimosa, but the moment Adan looked at me and I at him, I felt my head spin. His father looked senatorial, firm, wise, and wittily charming, but Adan was one of the most handsome young men I had ever seen. Unlike Christian Taylor, however, he didn’t radiate any arrogance. Maybe because he was standing in his father’s shadow, he was quiet, polite, and even a bit shy.
If a group of girls my age were told to conjure a rock star or a movie star, they would create a duplicate of Adan Bovio, I thought. He had very sexy dark green eyes, which glittered like rich jade in the light cast by one of the electric simulated torches nearby. The lines of his face weren’t as mal
e-model perfect as Christian Taylor’s, but Adan’s face, perhaps because of its small imperfections, was more manly, stronger. He was at least six foot one or two, with firm-looking shoulders under his tailored tuxedo jacket. I thought he had the sort of complexion that was just dark enough to look as if he had a permanent suntan.
I learned later that his mother had been an Italian movie star who was killed in a tragic car accident just outside Amalfi, Italy, only four years ago. She had been on location. Fani would tell me that the rag entertainment magazines made it seem like she had been having an affair with the director, who was seriously injured in the accident but not killed.
Adan was an only child, now working with his father in their oil and gas company, which had customers throughout the state.
“So, you are the famous Latina Cinderella,” he said when Fani introduced us. He held on to my hand as he spoke to me.
I looked immediately at Fani. I had never told anyone that I often felt like Cinderella, but she obviously had come up with it, too.
“Yes, I do feel that way sometimes,” I said, smiling. “Especially now.”
He stared at me, holding my hand. “Fani has told me how you have moved like a comet through the school, mastering English, becoming an honor student.”
Before I could reply, he leaned toward me and in a lower voice added, “Despite living with a cruel cousin.”
“I have had some help,” I said.
“I have been only to the fanciest places in Mexico, resorts in Acapulco, Ixtapa, Puerta Vallarta, but I have seen some of the poverty and hardship. I understand why Fani might think you a Cinderella. You must tell me about your life in Mexico. My father,” he said, eyeing him, “is always telling me to appreciate my heritage, especially now, since we’re trying to get the Latino vote,” he said a little louder.
His father shifted his eyes toward us but then looked away quickly to continue his conversation with some prospective donors to his political campaign.
“C’mon,” Fani said. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before we go to dinner. I’ll show you the grounds.”
“Am I invited?” Adan said.
“Of course,” she said, winking at me. “We always need a bodyguard.”
We walked through the grand lobby of the hacienda. It had a dome ceiling that reminded me of a grand church. We exited again through a side door and walked to where there were a half-dozen golf carts.
“You two sit in the rear,” Fani said. “I’ll drive.”
Adan helped me in and sat beside me. Fani started us off down a path toward the golf course and then wound around a garden and small pond to the tennis courts and the pool, but the most amazing thing to me was to see a helicopter on a helicopter pad.
“My father bought that a year ago. He hates being caught in traffic.”
“He flies it himself?” I asked.
“No. We have a pilot for that and for our plane.”
“Plane? Where’s the plane?” I asked, looking around.
Both Adan and she laughed.
“It has to be kept at the airport, silly. We have a lot of land but not enough for that, and besides, we couldn’t have an airport because of some zoning laws or something.”
I was speechless. Was there any end to the wealth of these people? No wonder she moved like someone walking on a cloud. To have all this money and be beautiful as well—it made me wonder what wonderful things her ancestors had done for them to inherit such happiness. Or was it all a matter of luck?