Page 22 of Careless Whisper

Mama scowled. “Well, it is so cold.”

“How about we do it in San Miguel de Allende?” I suggested.

“I’d like that.” Mama patted my hand. “And I know Carlos and Genie would prefer the weather.”

My parents then got talking about who wouldconvince my grandparents not to hold Christmas in New York as they always did.

After I brokered yet anotherdiscussionbetween them, my father grinned. “You know, you should’ve been a diplomat. You’re good at defusing situations.”

“I think Carlos inherited the diplomacy gene; I have Mama’s sense of…ah… subtlety.”

“No kidding.” Papa wrapped an arm around Mama. “Remember that time, Anna, when you almost caused an international incident over a stolen Modigliani.”

“Allegedlycaused, Ignacio.” She raised her glass for a toast.

I let myself soak it in.

I loved my family and felt safe with them. I knew they were proud of me, even G’Mum, who sometimes bemoaned that I wore scrubs instead of a white coat.

Papa had paid the bill, and we were finishing up the wine when hecasuallysaid, “You know the clinic’s up and running again. We’ve added new equipment and hired a local team. But we’re still looking for someone withyourexperience to manage the surgical referrals, train the nurses, and coordinate with the hospital in León.”

Here we go.

“I’m happy in Seattle,” I replied gently. “You know that.”

My mother tilted her head. “He knows! Ignacio, stop pestering the girl.”

“I just think?—”

“Stop it.” Mama glared at him.

He raised both his hands, palms out in defeat. “Fine. But if you ever change your mind,mija, you know?—”

“Yes, Papa.”

I knew my father. He’d keep pushing even though Mama didn’t. But I saw it in their eyes—the hope and the longing to have me closer.

They left with hugs and promises to visit again. I waved to them as they drove off in their Uber and handed my valet slip to the attendant.

I was looking through my phone, waiting, when I heardhisvoice. I looked up and saw the two people who had ruined my career in Boston. They were walking up the street. I backed away into the shadows, not wanting to be seen.

Maybe whatshername’s cousin from Boston was right, Dr. Elias Graham was indeed off the market, engaged to Dr. Maren “The Bitch” Loring.

She looked good, dressed in that effortless, East Coast elite way—camel coat, sleek heels, hair like a shampoo commercial. She melted into him, smiling, and he smiled back.

My stomach twisted, and suddenly, I was back in Boston in a cold hallway.

“Stay away from Elias, Reggie. He and I’ve been together for years,” Maren threatened me.

I gave her an incredulous look. “Ah…look, Dr. Loring, Dr. Graham and I?—”

No one knew about us, and I wanted to keep it that way. There were no non-fraternization rules at Stratford, but I didn’t want the rumor mill to go into overdrive, not when I was just starting out as a nurse.

“Stay away from him,” she repeated. “I promise you, if you don’t walk away, I will burn your career down.”

I’d stared at her, stunned. Speechless.

“He’s just fucking you,” she continued. “You’re easy pussy, you are not the plan.”

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