The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

Spanish word slipped out. “You don’t have to be so bossy. Not everyone has super speed like you, Mr. Kent.”

His eyebrows rose, and he looked unimpressed. “Quite the contrary. Some even have the opposite superpower.”

“Ha.” I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

His gaze shifted back to his screen. “Blank template. And make it today, if that’s not too much to ask.”

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Four

“Mamá,” I said for the hundredth time. “Mamá, escúchame, por favor.”

It wouldn’t really matter if I asked her to please listen to me a thousand more times. That wasn’t something my mother excelled at, much less ever practiced. Listening was reserved for those whose vocal cords took breaks.

A long and loud sigh left my lips as my mother’s voice traveled from my phone to my ear in heavy spurts of Spanish.

“Madre,” I repeated.

“… so if you decide to go with that other dress—you know which one I’m talking about?” my mother asked in Spanish, not really giving me a window to answer. “The one that is all flimsy and silky and falls to your ankles. Well, as your mother, I need to tell you that it’s not flattering. I’m sorry, Lina, but you are short, and the cut of the dress makes you look even shorter. And green is not your color either. I don’t think that’s a color the madrina of the wedding should wear.”

“I know, Mamá. But I already told you—”

“You’ll look like a … frog but in heels.”

Gee, thanks, Mother.

I chuckled and shook my head. “It doesn’t matter because I’m wearing the red dress.”

A gasp came through the line. “Ay. Why didn’t you tell me this before? You let me talk for half an hour about all your other options.”

“I told you as soon as it came up. You just—”

“Well, I must have let myself get carried away, cariño.”

I opened my mouth to confirm that, but she didn’t give me the chance.

“Perfect,” she cut in. “That is such a beautiful dress, Lina. It’s classy and flirty.”

Flirty? What was that supposed to mean?

“Your boobs will be entering the banquet before you.”

Oh … oh. So, that was what she meant.

“But the color does really flatter your skin, body shape, and face. Not like the frog dress.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “I don’t think I’ll ever wear green again.”

“Good,” she said far too quickly for taking it as a good-hearted comment. “So, what’s this boyfriend of yours going to wear? Are you going to match? Papá got a tie in the same shade of baby blue I’ll be wearing.”

A tiny groan slipped out of my mouth. “Mamá, you know that Isa hates that. She specifically told us not to match.”

My sister had been very insistent—no matching couples. I even had to fight her over not adding that instruction on the invites. It’d cost me a lot of energy and patience to convince her that she didn’t want to be that kind of bride.

“Well, given that I gave birth to the bride and that I already bought that tie for Papá, I think your sister is going to have to make an exception.”

Leave it to her to be stubborn. I certainly was, my sister probably even more, but our mother? The woman had created the term bullheaded as she opened her eyes to the world the day she was born.

“I think she’ll have to,” I admitted under my breath.

Reaching for my planner, I scribbled on my to-do list to call Isa to warn her.

“I have an online voucher you can use, I think,” Mamá commented while I unlocked my laptop and absently checked my inbox. “Although maybe it does not work outside Spain. But it should, shouldn’t it? You are my daughter, and you should be able to use my vouchers, no matter where you are in the world. Isn’t that what the internet is supposed to be for?”

I clicked on an email notification for a new series meeting I had received. “Yeah, sure.” A quick scan of the contents of the description told me I should have probably waited for my mother to hang up before opening it.

“Yeah, sure, the internet is for that? Or yeah, sure, you’ll use my voucher?”

I leaned back on my seat, reading through the information attached.

“Lina?”

What are we even talking about? “Yes, Mamá.”

“Well, you’ll have to check the voucher yourself; you know I am not good with this internet thing.”

“Of course,” I said, still not knowing what I was agreeing to.

“Unless he has a tie already?”

He.

All my attention returned to the conversation.

“Does he?” she insisted when I didn’t answer. “Your new boyfriend.”

Small beads of sweat formed on my forehead at the prospect of discussing this.

Him.

The boyfriend I didn’t have but my family believed I did.

Because I had told them.

Lied to them.

All of a sudden, my lips were magically sewn together. I waited for my mother to conveniently change the topic in that chaotic and speedy way she always did while my mind went on a panicky frenzy.

What am I supposed to say anyway? No, Mamá. He can’t have a tie because he doesn’t even exist. I made him up, you see. All in an attempt to look a little less pathetic and lonely.

Perhaps I could hang up. Or pretend to be busy and terminate the call. But that would fill me with remorse, and frankly, I didn’t think I was able to take on any more of that. Also, my mother wasn’t stupid.

She’d know something was up.

This was the woman whose womb I had come out of.

More seconds ticked away as nothing came out of my mouth, and I couldn’t believe that for the first time in probably ever, the Martín matriarch was waiting for my answer in silence.

Shit.

A few more seconds ticked away.

Shit, shit, shit.

Confess, a little voice in my head said. But I shook my head, focusing on one of the little droplets of sweat trailing down my clammy back.

“Lina?” she finally said, her voice unsure. Worried. “Did something happen?”

I was a horrible, lying human being who