“What is that dress? Or is it not a dress, but a circus tent?” I widen my eyes in shock and pain, shaking my head. Could this really be happening?
“Wha… what are you talking about?” His crooked smile, which I always found charming, now looks cruel, dripping with mockery.
“Did you really think I was going to marry you?” He lets out a harsh laugh. “Let me tell you something, Agustina. You were just a bet.” I shake my head as tears spill down my cheeks. He, my fiancé—or rather, my fake fiancé—claps his hands mockingly. “That’s right. Ivete, the beautiful, the real woman, challenged me. She said I couldn’t win over the ‘Palacios Pig.’” I squeeze my eyes shut, the cruel nickname Ivete gave me back in school cutting deep. No one ever called it out as mean. No one stood up for me. To everyone, I was someone who deserved to be insulted. “Look at you in that hideous wedding dress. You look like a tacky piñata.” He laughs again. “If you want, we can grab a stick and take a swing at breaking the piñata.”
I turn and bolt out of the bridal shop.
“If it was just a bet, why did he wait until the day I tried on my wedding dress to tell me the truth?”
I run until I reach the river, my body trembling with sobs. How could I have believed that a handsome man like him had fallen for me? I thought I was living a fairy tale. I was happy for these past two months… yes, just two months of dating, and Paul had proposed. I was over the moon, believing in my own little fairy tale.
I collapse onto the ground, not caring about the mud, kick off my high heels, and toss them into the water.
“Sweetpea,” I hear, as I cover my face with my hands, not caring if the makeup smears. I rub my eyes and hear the crunch of branches under Dad’s feet. “The seamstress called me. Was there a problem with the dress?”
“No, Dad,” I mumble, lowering my gaze to my thick ankles. “There won’t be a wedding.” I feel his hands on my shoulders.
“What happened, my sweetpea?” His concerned voice tugs at my heart, and I know right then that I can’t tell him the whole truth. It would break him. In our small town of Las Flores, Ivete Montes’ family holds all the power and influence. If I told him everything, our little hardware store would suffer. The Montes would label us as unfit, and the town, eager to stay on their good side, would follow suit.
“Paul and I realized we rushed into this engagement. I…” I sigh, remembering that letter tucked away at the bottom of my drawer. “I want to avoid the town gossip.”
“What do you mean?” He turns my face toward him, and I see his weathered features, lined with wrinkles, but a face I love with all my heart. “Sweetpea?”
Dad is an incredible man. He never had much schooling, but that didn’t stop him from fighting for us. He refused to be just another laborer on some big estate like most men in town. He and Mom built the hardware store from the ground up, earning a loyal customer base, even from neighboring towns. I’m not about to destroy that. If he knew the truth, he’d stand up to Ivete, and that would mean the end of his store.
“I want to go to the city, Dad,” I say, avoiding his eyes. I don’t want to see his pain. I’m his only daughter. “Just for a little while. Aunt Maruca invited me to stay with her for a few days.”
Dad doesn’t respond right away. His gaze drifts to the landscape, to the river, then to the leaves swaying in the breeze.
“Alright,” he finally says, clutching the worn-out cap I gave him years ago, the one he never takes off. He squeezes it in his hands. “When you’re ready, you’ll tell me what really happened.” His calloused hand lifts my chin so I meet his eyes. “I know you, my little sweetpea. You’re terrified of the city. For you to decide to leave, something big must have happened.”
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to swallow my tears.
“I love you, Dad.”
Alejandro.
“What?” His pacing back and forth in the room is making me dizzy. “Are you out of your mind, Alejo?”
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my legs while my lawyer continues his restless march.
“You don’t need to work in a place like that,” I say with a shrug.
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said. I told you I need space, time, whatever you want to call it. I’m fed up with feeling so empty.”
“But you could go to some exotic beach or something, I don’t know. Why go back to the kind of neighborhood where you used to take street photos?” I raise a hand, annoyed, and Oscar finally shuts up.
“I’m sick to death of this life I’m living. I have everything money can buy, but it’s not enough. There’s a huge void inside me. I don’t have a purpose, not like before when my dream was to be a famous photographer. Now, I’ve got nothing.”
Oscar clears his throat but doesn’t reply. No one really gets what I’m feeling. I feel like an empty shell.
To everyone else, I, Alejandro Blanco, am a man who must be incredibly happy with my fat bank account. But no one knows another person’s struggles until they’ve walked a mile in their shoes.
“Do whatever you want, Alejo,” Oscar finally says. I let out a dry, mocking chuckle.
“I’m not asking for your permission, Oscar. I’m telling you what I’m going to do.” In response, he grabs his briefcase.
“Fine,” he mutters, pulling out a silk handkerchief to wipe his face. “I’ll call you in three days to sign the paperwork for the property.”
Once he’s gone, my expression shifts. I can only hope this trip will do me some good.