Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 30

30

GABY

All five of us oversleep.

Of course we do. Dad opened a third bottle of wine, then after scoffing at least two sandwiches each, we moved to the living room for brandy, Christmas cookies, and several rowdy rounds of Jenga. Carb overload + alcohol + rigorous smack talk + exhaustion = none of us getting out of bed before 8.30a.m.

And we’re due at Aunt Christine and Uncle Marv’s at 10a.m.

That scene in Home Alone the morning the family is flying to Paris – that has nothing on the Rivera household this morning. Somehow, amid panicked cries of ‘Have you seen my [insert object here]?’ and ‘I know we put that wedding present somewhere!’ and ‘Argh! I forgot my shapewear in San Francisco!’ we have all showered and are in various stages of getting ready.

While Issy and I put on our makeup – i.e. fight for space in front of the bathroom mirror like we did when we were teenagers – Raff is in the kitchen, hurriedly frosting the cake, and Dad is hunting for doweling in the garage, cursing himself for not doing it last night. I’m pretty sure I heard his bandsaw a few minutes ago .

Mom pokes her head into the bathroom. ‘Hi, girls. Can one of you zip me up, please?’

‘You look pretty, Mom,’ I say, pausing my mascara application while Issy zips her up.

‘Thanks, hun. You girls do as well.’

‘Well, Gaby does. I look fat,’ says Issy, scowling at herself in the mirror.

‘Isabel Lee Rivera,’ says Mom, noticeably leaving off Issy’s married name, ‘you are absolutely beautiful and I will not have you talking about yourself like that.’

Issy’s lips disappear between her teeth, but she doesn’t argue. While I’ve taken after Mom and Aunt Christine, Issy is a Rivera woman through and through. I’ve always envied her curvy hips and big boobs, but the grass is always greener, right?

Mom squeezes in between me and Issy, who’s dusting on some setting powder.

‘Can I borrow some lipstick?’ she asks. ‘Nothing too dark.’

Issy and I both freeze, our eyes meeting in the mirror. Our mom is an attractive woman, but she almost never wears lipstick – even for special occasions. I’ve seen her in blush a few times, maybe mascara, but never with colour on her lips.

‘Do you want me to do your makeup, Mom?’ asks Issy, turning to her. ‘I’m nearly finished with mine.’

Mom steps back and waves her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, never mind. It’s silly. And we don’t really have time, anyway.’

‘Sure, we do, Mom – it won’t take long. Besides, we can be a little late. The wedding doesn’t start till two.’

‘Yes, but I promised Chrissy we’d be there to help set up and?—’

‘Mom,’ says Issy, taking her gently by the shoulders. ‘Sit.’

‘You want me to sit on the toilet ?’ she asks, her eyes wide with horror.

‘On the lid , Mom,’ I say. ‘Geez. ’

Mom starts laughing, clearly pleased with herself that she got me.

‘Oh – hilarious ,’ I say dryly.

‘So, how are things with you?’ she asks me. ‘Are you going to tell Raff how you feel?’

‘Shh,’ I hiss.

I stick my head through the door to Issy’s room where Raff is now staying, but it’s empty. I listen out and hear movement in the kitchen, meaning the coast is clear. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about Raff.

I turn around and Mom and Issy are watching me, twin frowns of concern etching their faces.

‘What?’ I look away and take out a small brush to shape my full brows.

‘Things seemed a little tense when you got back from the store yesterday,’ says Mom. ‘Everything all right between you two?’

‘Close,’ says Issy, and Mom closes her eyes, then Issy starts smoothing taupe eyeshadow over her lids.

This gives me time to decide if I should tell Mom about seeing Eric. It might shift her focus away from me and Raff.

‘We ran into Eric at Trader Joe’s.’

Mom’s eyes fly open and Issy looks at me over her shoulder, her mouth open.

‘With Donna and their three-year-old, Tyler .’

‘Oh, hun, why didn’t you say anything?’ Mom asks.

‘Because when we got home, we were straight into cake making. Besides, I didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘Was Raff with you?’ asks Issy. ‘Like, right there with you?’

‘Yeah… I’m pretty sure he gave Eric the impression we’re a couple. And that he did it on purpose – to protect me.’

Issy faces me, pressing both hands to her heart, one of them still holding the eyeshadow brush. ‘I heart Raff so much. What a man to do that for you.’

‘Issy’s right – that is a stand-up guy, right there.’

My throat closes, just like it did yesterday, and all I can do is nod. Because what is there to say? It’s yet another reason why Raff’s the perfect man for me – he literally stood by me as I faced my past.

No, he didn’t just stand by me; he held me up.

I exhale slowly and direct my eyes back to the mirror. I grab a tube of lip gloss and run the wand over my lips, smacking them together. Then I squeeze out a dollop of hair product, rub my palms together, then run my hands over the loose curls I barrel-tonged earlier.

When I look back at Mom and Issy, they’re still watching me, empathy practically oozing from their pores.

‘ Stop , I’m fine,’ I say emphatically. ‘Let’s just get over there, do Aunt Christine’s bidding, wish the bride and groom a happy life, then get drunk at the reception. Okay?’

I leave before they can answer. In my old room, I pop the lip gloss into my clutch, step into my heels, and head downstairs to see if Raff needs my help.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’

‘Everything okay?’ I ask, eyeing Raff sympathetically. It’s not that he never swears, but he’s almost always unflappable. This is not him being unflappable.

‘Fine,’ he replies curtly, frowning at a petal-thin fondant snowflake. He places it on the cake and it falls off. ‘Fuck.’ He tuts at himself, then sighs.

‘Any reason you’re channelling Hugh Grant in Four Weddings ?’

‘I don’t have the equipment I’m used to and unless I make another batch of sugar syrup, I can’t get this final snowflake to stick. ’

‘Give it.’

I hold out my hand and he places the delicate snowflake in my palm. Then I walk over to the trash can and throw it out.

‘Gaby!’

‘What? You already have dozens of snowflakes – that are attached . Fuck the one that wouldn’t play ball.’

‘But now I have to smooth out the icing where I’ve made a mess.’

He frowns intently at the cake, then picks up a palette knife. I walk back to him and take it out of his hand.

‘Raff,’ I say softly. ‘The cake is gorgeous . And it’ll be even more so when we add the flowers, including the one that will go right here.’ I point to the spot where the snowflake was supposed to go. ‘You weren’t this flustered when you were baking on national TV. What’s going on?’

He looks into my eyes, his gaze intense.

‘I want it to be perfect. It’s one thing making a cake that only the crew is going to eat – and honestly, they’ll eat practically anything – but this is my first cake for a real occasion. And your family has been so wonderful. This is already the best Christmas I’ve ever had.’

‘But what about your Christmases with CiCi and Devin?’

‘They’re lovely, of course, and they’ve always gone above and beyond to make me feel wanted – included . But they’ve put so much of their life together on hold for me – it’s their time now.’

‘I get that,’ I say – not from personal experience, but from what I know of Raff and his relationship with CiCi and Devin.

‘But your family, Gabs… It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.’

‘You’ve always dreamed of complete chaos?’ I ask, giving him my best I-don’t-buy-it look.

‘Are you joking? I love the chaos and the noise and the banter. How you all came together yesterday to solve a crisis. And last night was the most fun. I don’t even care that I’m slightly hungover. Yours is exactly the type of family I wished for when I was a boy. And that’s not to disparage CiCi and Devin – not at all – but especially yesterday, with everyone here, I felt like I was part of something… I don’t know… vibrant and real and messy and…’ He holds up his hands as if he’s trying to materialise whatever it is from thin air. ‘ Wonderful . I’m like the little English waif in a Christmas story, taken in by the boisterous American family and ensconced in familial love.’

‘That’s… that’s how you see us?’

‘Absolutely. Even before we came here and you were telling me about them. There’s clearly a lot of love between you all – even with your Aunt Christine.’

‘Yeah, she’s a lot, but she’s ours,’ I joke, and he sniggers softly.

He turns serious again. ‘And you , Gabs… seeing you in your element, taking charge like that – how you got everyone on task and handled your aunt and assured Monica and Brian that everything was going to be all right. I seriously doubt this wedding would be going ahead if it weren’t for you. You were the glue. You brought everyone together, then led them to victory.’

I chuckle, giving him a half-smile and narrowed eyes. ‘Victory?’

He shrugs, smirking self-deprecatingly at his own effusive outburst. ‘You know what I mean. That’s why I want this cake to be the best one I’ve ever made. For your family. For you .’

The way he’s looking at me right now, with so much tenderness, I want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.

I settle for a hug, which he returns in a brotherly way. ‘It’s already the best cake you’ve ever made, Raff, because you made it with love,’ I say, my cheek pressed against his chest. I release him and peer up through my lashes. ‘Okay, that was so cheesy, Mom could make a sandwich out of it. ’

‘Don’t remind me. They were so delicious, I had four.’

‘ Four? What are you, a teenage boy home from football practice?’

‘I’m not sure I understand that one.’

‘Yeah, me neither. Never mind. Good thing I have other skills, right?’

‘Yes. I doubt you’ll be offered a comedy special any time soon,’ he quips.

‘Yeah, yeah – now who’s not funny?’

I survey the cake, which really is gorgeous, but is still in two parts. ‘So, I’m guessing you’re waiting on Dad with the pieces of doweling? Then what?’

‘Then I clean them off, insert them in here’ – he points to the bottom tier – ‘lay this disc of card down, and place the second tier on top. Without messing up the icing or losing any decorations.’

‘Right, so just the most stressful part to go?’

‘Mmm.’ He frowns, regarding his not-quite-done-masterpiece.

‘Here, here,’ says Dad, rushing in from the garage. You’d think he was carrying the holy grail with how much reverence he places those little round bits of wood onto the countertop.

‘Precisely what I needed. Thank you, Roland.’

‘You’re welcome, son. Now I’d better get dressed for the wedding, or I’ll be in the doghouse.’ He leaves the kitchen and jogs up the stairs.

I’m not sure why he said that. Mom and Dad don’t have the kind of marriage where he ‘gets into trouble’ with Mom. She isn’t the boss of him the way Aunt Christine is with Uncle Marv. I’m also not loving this new thing where he calls Raff ‘son’. Too close to home.

‘ And done.’

‘What?’ I’ve been in my head again and I missed it.

Sitting on the counter in front of a beaming Raff is an absolutely gorgeous, two-tiered, Christmas-themed wedding cake decorated in white and silver. And when we get to Aunt Christine and Uncle Marv’s, Raff will add two dozen white miniature roses, completing the design.

‘Seriously, how did you do that so quickly? I thought you’d need help.’

‘Not to be rude, Gabs, but having you help with something like this…?’ He shakes his head. ‘Besides, it’s the most stressful part but it’s quick.’

‘One of those if-you-overthink-it-you’ll-mess-it-up things?’

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, bravo, and Monica and Brian are going to love it.’

He beams at me.

‘But please go and get into that sexy new suit of yours, or we’ll be late.’

Shit, did I just say ‘sexy’?

Raff’s brows lift and so do the corners of his mouth. ‘Why, Ms Rivera, I didn’t know you felt that way,’ he teases.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

‘It’s a nice suit,’ I reply, my chin lifted. ‘Kudos to your stylist.’

Something flickers across his face, but I can’t discern what it means. ‘Well, my suit thanks you.’ Our eyes lock. ‘And you look beautiful, by the way. I should have told you when you first came in, but I was too far up my arse fretting about finishing a certain cake.’

There’s that self-deprecation again, but that’s not what’s making my jaw hang loose. Raff told me I look beautiful. He’s never said that before – nice, lovely, pretty… But never beautiful.

I remain speechless, rooted to the spot, but Raff either doesn’t notice or decides not to make anything of it.

‘And on the subject of the cake…’ he says, going to the pantry and taking out the plastic wrap. I watch, amazed, as he makes a pl astic dome around the cake, the sort of baker’s trick you might see on an Instagram reel. Then he flashes me a grin and says, ‘Back down in a jiffy wearing my sexy suit.’

Fucking fuckety fuck.

I think Raff and I were just flirting.