Page 51 of No Sweeter Poison
“Right, I should’ve knocked. Sorry.” She heads for the door again. “I apologize.”
When she’s gone, Abuelo swings his head. “Invite her back.”
“I’d rather shoot myself in the foot.” I lift my gaze to the others. “Give us the room, please.”
Lettie rolls her eyes but leaves without protest and waits for Dimitrio to open the door for her. Diego hesitates but eventually decides he has better things to do. Before he’s able to make a clean escape, Abuelo says, “Bring the girl back.”
Diego grits his teeth and exchanges a look with me. We’ve both been outmaneuvered by the old man and so my brother does as he’s told, returning a few minutes later with Dahlia in tow. Diego closes the door behind him and it’s the three of us, lingering in this awkward silence as Abuelo conducts his appraisal.
Abuelo gestures towards the seat next to him. “Please, sit. I won’t bite.”
Dahlia looks to me for direction or maybe help. I accept defeat and sit to my grandfather’s left, knowing he won’t be satisfied until he’s subjected Dahlia to the Spanish Inquisition. To her credit, she doesn’t let her trepidation show and she makes her way across the room with confidence and beauty.
She is so, so beautiful.
Even Abuelo notices as he rises to his feet and pulls her chair out. He gives her a onceover, a matter-of-fact flicker of the eyes, taking in her appearance like something factual instead of something to be admired. Her hair is long, full, and deep red, styled in natural, messy waves. Time under the sun this summer has given her skin a natural bronze sheen to match the amber shade of her eyes. She accentuates them with a subtle but purposeful application of smoky makeup. When she sits and crosses her legs, the hem of her wiggle dress creeps upward, but only an inch or two.
We lock gazes across the table and she inhales a shaky breath. She’s caught me looking and now I can’t hide it.
“She’s very beautiful,” Abuelo observes.
There’s no use denying it so I nod in agreement. “I’m aware.”
“And she has ears,” Dahlia says. “Which she can hear you with.”
“Really? This is news to me.”
She blows air between her lips. “You’re an idiot.”
“And she isn’t afraid to insult you.” Abuelo smiles. “It’s very charming.”
Either Abuelo doesn’t notice the tension crackling between us or he disregards it completely. I turn to him. “If a man had insulted me, he’d be dead.”
Abuelo waves this off. “Men aren’t half as nice to look at. Besides, a woman’s insults are a love language. You have to read into them very carefully.”
“Can I leave?” Dahlia looks between the two of us. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“Dahlia, this is my grandfather, Salazar Narvaez. Abuelo, this is—”
“I know who she is.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“Tell me about yourself,” Abuelo says.
Dahlia rubs her hands together and squeezes until her knuckles turn white. “Umm…I’m twenty-two?”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
“I just turned twenty-two,” she repeats, this time with more resolve. “I’m from New York City. I graduated college in May and I’m enrolled in a graduate program for the fall. Architecture—more specifically, historic preservation.” Dahlia rattles off each bit of information as if reading from a list in her head. “My mother’s dead, my father’s gone, and I live alone in a rent stabilized apartment I inherited which is paid for by a series of odd jobs and generous financial aid reimbursements. My cousin is the only person in the world I care about. Every year, we take a trip together. This year, we started in Barcelona.”
Finally, her gaze shifts and meets mine. “I met your grandson at El Aliciente. And then I was with him when his car got shot up halfway between Vallvidrera and Barcelona. It was very inconvenient for me.”
“Indeed, it was.” Abuelo rests his cane against the table and turns to grant her his full attention. “I’d like to ask you something and I expect you to answer honestly.”
After a pause, she nods.
“How much do you know about my family?”
