River of Lies by R. Morgan

Author:R. Morgan [Morgan, R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Fourth Gorgon

Stepping into Constanza’s felt like stepping out of summer. The stone walls held back the heat and a slight current of cool air teased the hems of Rocío’s trousers and her huiple, although as many times as she had been here she had never spotted the hidden source. Of course, there was usually something else to keep her attention; it was popular for celebrating wedding contracts and charity dinners. Although the hall—there was no other name for the wide expanse of floor and the vaulted ceilings arching three stories above—was reasonably full with diners and waitstaff and tables, it was hushed and restrained. Constanza’s was one of the rare luxury venues that made the transition to lunch service without looking tawdry and overdone.

The maitre d’ noticed her and after a quick word led Rocío to her parents.

From the lack of dishes on the table, it seemed she wasn’t too late after all.

"Rocío, really, how can you stand to be seen in those clothes?" Her father sniffed. He stood, leading with his paunch, projecting a kind of smug certainty. Xavier whuffled through his thick mustache as they exchanged fake kisses. He smelled of old-fashioned cologne, a hint of cloves and cassia.

She glanced down, even though she knew perfectly well what she had chosen to wear, and it was respectable, well-made clothing, just not designer or even tailor-made. “I’m dressed for work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rocío.” Her mother presented her cheek, and Rocío exchanged air kisses with her.

Analicía always seemed sleek and a little brittle to Rocío, as if her tight gestures, the expensive dye hiding the gray in her hair and the designer clothes held her together. The image was deceptive on both levels: the facade didn’t extend over her worst behaviors and Rocío had seen her mother shout and cry for hours without rest. Rocío and her mother had the same square face and height, but inside they were nothing alike. Both Rocío’s parents were in their sixties, though you’d have to look closely to guess.

“Never mind, at least you have something decent to wear for the party,” her mother said. “You received the dress?” She didn’t wait for Rocío’s reply. “Aurelian charged exorbitantly for the lace and it took forever to get the satin ribbons, but it will be worth it because Yara’s daughter tried to get them for her dress but I made that impossible.” She held up a triumphant hand, signaling for the waiter.

Rocío couldn’t remember who Yara and her daughter was and certainly didn’t care about Analicía’s feuds, but that meant the dress wasn’t just a dress to her mother. Not that it ever was. Rocío hid her grimace by unfolding her napkin in her lap. She always meant to be firm, to state her desires clearly and ignore her parents. But that always seemed easier when she wasn’t with them. And Analicía had that sharp look today, like anything would push her over the edge, even in public. It was always easier to avoid her parents than confront them.

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