I was finding it hard to breathe which was good because if I’d been able to breathe, I might have been a lot louder when I answered.

“You think I want the designer clothes and the mansion,” I accused.

“I know what you want… now. I also know that can wear thin when you’re used to havin’ a lot more. You think you’ll start wantin’ that, you think you can use your money to push me into it then we should stop right here.”

I tried to shove away, jump off his lap but his hand left my hair and both his arms went around me tight, holding me in place.

“Let me go,” I hissed.

“Sadie, you gotta answer this now.”

“Oh? Did you ask a question?” I shot back.

“Mamita –”

I kept pushing at him, so angry I was mumbling to myself, “I need to call Jet. Is it too late to call Jet?”

“Jet can’t help you with this one,” Hector told me. “It’s gotta be all you.”

I glared at him.

Then I shared.

“You can’t know this so I’ll explain it to you and, Hector Chavez, you better listen good. I like clothes so I’ll buy what I want. I like pretty things too, so I’ll surround myself with them if I want to. I like to do nice things for people and since you’re people that means I might do nice things for you. If I do, you’re gonna have to deal. But I don’t want ivory towers and fancy cars. I want people in my life who care about me and who’ll let me care about them in return. I want to use the gift my Mom gave me and use it right. She didn’t die for me to live large. She died for me to live happy. Happiness is not money. I’ve had money my whole life and it never made me happy. These last few weeks, I’ve been happy and I’ve barely stepped foot in my fancy car and I certainly haven’t been living in an ivory tower. So, you can just –”

I didn’t finish because Hector moved. One second I was struggling and ranting while sitting in his lap, the next second I was on my back on the couch and he was on top of me.

This knocked the breath out of me so all I could do was stare at his face which had gone that soft, hard possessive, the look in his eyes was uber-warm.

Softly he announced, “All right, mamita, we got that out of the way, one more thing.”

I expelled the breath caught in my lungs and snapped, “What?”

This, for some bizarre reason, made him smile. It also made him touch his lips to mine for a quick kiss.

When he was done kissing me, he said, “Tu padre, mi cielo, it’s unlikely he’s ever gonna welcome me with open arms. What you and I got plays out like I think it will, you gotta know that and be able to deal.”

“You’re wrong,” I told him and watched his eyes narrow. “Totally wrong,” I whispered, the fight and anger left me and I wrapped my arms around him. “He wants me to be happy. It’ll take time but he’ll come around.”

Hector shook his head, I nodded mine.

Then his whole face went warm. “Sadie, you’re settin’ yourself up for disappointment if you think that way.”

“Hector,” I returned quietly, “trust me.”

He bit his lip, looked over my head for a second then back at me. “Just guard your heart, mi amor, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

I lifted my head, touched my mouth to his and then, keeping my mouth against his, I whispered, “Okay.”

His body relaxed into mine.

My hand slid up his back and into his hair while I dropped my head back to the couch and asked, “Now, are you spending the night or what?”

At that, he granted me a glamorous, white smile.

Then he spent the night.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Gardenias

Sadie

Hector and I stood together in the little, gray room.

My body was tense and ramrod straight, I was staring out the bars on the window but seeing nothing.

Hector was standing behind me close, his extraordinary heat beating into my back, his arm around my waist, his chin brushing the hair on the top of my head.

For some bizarre reason, I was worried about what I was wearing.

Daisy, Ralphie, Roxie, Tod and Stevie and I spent five exhausting hours at the mall trying to find the exact right First Visit to Your Incarcerated Father Outfit. Even though they assured me it was absolutely perfect, I was uncertain.

I needed my father to know who I was. The Real Sadie. The one who owned her own gallery. Who moved in with Hector “Oh my God” Chavez the Sunday before last, the day after my ordeal was officially over. Who spent her days hanging at Fortnum’s with the girls and Ralphie, redesigning her burnt out gallery. Who, thanks to Blanca, now knew how to cook tamales from scratch and they were tasty. Who begged her boyfriend to take her out on his motorcycle after dinner which he did but only after making her get creative, earning the ride in a variety of delicious ways. And, who, last weekend, by his side, refinished his living room floor.

But even so, I didn’t want to be too in your face about it.

That would be rude.

I was wearing a new pair of Lucky jeans, a camel-colored, tailored cotton blouse that fit snug up my sides and midriff and showed a hint of cle**age at the opened buttons (this made Hector’s mouth go tight, which was good, since it kept it shut), a chocolate-brown suede belt with a heavy silver buckle, a pair of kickass (Daisy’s words) dark brown boots that were both stylish but also rock ‘n’ roll and a chocolate brown suede, two button, blazer. My hair was down and wild, falling on my shoulders, down my back and sometimes in my face (my father hated my hair down, said a lady wore her hair back or up, anything else was common). I was wearing long, wide, gold hoop earrings (a surprise present from Hector that he gave me the night I moved in with him, how he managed to shop, I don’t know, but he did) and my mother’s initial necklace was at my throat.

The outfit looked casual but cost a blooming fortune.

I loved it, it was me but I knew my father would hate it.

“I’m scared to death,” I whispered to the window.

Hector’s arm got tight, his chin left my hair and I felt his mouth go to my neck. He was kissing me there when the door opened.

I jumped and turned.

Hector didn’t jump nor did he drop his arm but his head came out of my neck and he moved with my turn.

My father stood there, wearing prison blues but, other than that, looking surprisingly just like my father. Face tan, hair well-groomed, body fit, he made prison blues look like the next big thing in men’s fashion.