CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Bonjour, monsieur Morales. It’s such an honor to be here.”

Upstairs, Lola watched quietly from the window of her room as Santiago greeted a man just outside the front door with a firm handshake. She studied the stranger, noting his black, straight hair, caramel-toned skin, and an abundant dark beard. He had a red flannel shirt on, with a white T-shirt underneath, and plain, beige pants matched with a spotless pair of white sneakers. Large, black-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, looking more like a fashion statement than a medical aid. Though his French accent was clear and authentic, he looked anything but. He appeared more Indian, or South American. Lola assumed he must have roots from either continent, or even both.

As the men entered through the front door, Lola threw on a royal-blue robe and slipped out of her room. She stopped at the summit of the staircase, continuing to observe the pair from behind polished wooden railings. Thankfully, they were audible enough to be heard from the extensive vestibule below.

“You wouldn’t believe how surprised I was when my boss told me I was needed at Santiago Morales’s residence,” the man stated, clearly excited. “Though, for an official magazine shoot, I was expecting to be here with a setup crew, at least.”

“Yeah,” Santiago started, scratching the back of his neck. “The thing is, as your boss already knows, I’m trying to keep this location on a low profile. I don’t fancy all the buzz and unwanted attention from your colleagues in the paparazzi. That’s why I told Miguel to send in a single photographer, one whom he can trust to keep a secret, and here you are. Your name’s Pierre, right?”

“Oui,” he answers briskly. “As for keeping a secret—it’s not like I can’t, mind you—but there isn’t much to say. I was blindfolded all the way here.”

Santiago smiled as he patted Pierre’s shoulder. “Excellent. Now, I assume you have all you need in the van.”

“Oui.”

“Perfect. Then start setting up at the pool area outside. We’ll be with you as soon as the young lady stops eavesdropping on this conversation.”

Lola frowned in surprise, and Pierre did in confusion. Then his eyes angled upwards and he sighted her for the first time since his arrival.

“Oh,” he said with a step backward, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Bonjour, mademoiselle. I didn’t see you there.”

“I kinda was hoping to be unseen,” Lola replied with a nervous laugh, despite glaring briefly at Santiago. “My apologies, I simply wanted to know who was visiting today. Bonjour, Pierre.”

“Huh,” the photographer squinted. “That was a perfect intonation. Do you speak French?”

“Oui,” she replied more confidently. “It was an elective course back in school, and I loved it enough to follow it to the end.”

“Ah.” Pierre nodded. “That is interesting. It’s a valid addition to your skill set.”

“Also,” Lola added, completely in French. “It means in situations like this, I can confuse and leave the odd ones out of the equation.” She gestured toward Santiago, who just stood there with a blank expression.

Pierre pushed his glasses back and shuffled his feet, also replying in French. “As fun as that usually is, I don’t think it’d do any good this time.”

Lola leaned on the railing. “And why’s that, Pierre?”

“Because I’m not as dumb as I look,” Santiago replied in clear, precise French. He turned away from Lola—who’s wide-eyed with shock—and faced Pierre, who didn't seem baffled at all. “The sooner we begin, my friend.”

“Certainly.” He rotated on his heels and exited through the front door.

Lola stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching Pierre head outside. When she turned to Santiago, she found him observing her with a steady gaze. Still skeptical of what she heard, she decides to ask a question, but in French.

“How’d you know I was standing here?”

“Your perfume,” Santiago promptly replied, again in the same language, with impeccable intonation and pronunciation. “I bought you that fragrance. And it’s a slight variation with the one I use, so I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“Okay, I have a few issues here that have to be addressed,” Lola said, switching to English. She stood straight, folded her arms, and stared down at Santiago like a spouse demanding answers. Because, in truth, she kind of was.

“Firstly,” she began, “you speak French. Fluently. How come you never mentioned this before?”

“Maybe because the opportunity never presented itself?” Santiago answered with an innocent shrug.

“Heh. Yet I told you about my skills and my range of languages. That could’ve been your cue to fill me up on the gaps.”

“Yeah, I suppose. But I was too busy thinking about filling you up with something else.”

Lola stared blankly at him, ignoring his joke and smile. “Secondly, you have to start telling me about these little arrangements before they happen. It’s almost as if you’re not considering my own schedule, and I hate impromptu engagements.”

Santiago raised an eyebrow. “Such as…?”

“Your friend’s dinner party three days ago,” she reminded him. “You only told me after you made purchases for the event, mere hours before the party itself.”

Santiago wagged his finger. “Correction: he’s not my friend. Business partner is a more accurate term. And you looked as established as the rest of the guests, even with a short time to prepare. So I don’t see the issue here.”

“The issue is not informing me beforehand. Like now. What the hell am I supposed to get ready for?”

Santiago paused for a moment. “Okay, I think I see your point.”

Lola raised an eyebrow so high it vanished in the tuft of hair hanging over her forehead. “You think?”

Santiago was only apologetic for a very brief moment. “Anyway, Vague magazine reached out about a week ago, asking to do an exclusive shoot for the cover page of their new edition. I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to cement our ‘relationship’ in the eyes of any remaining doubters, so I agreed to it.”

Lola blinked at him repeatedly, then she gripped the rails so hard they creaked.

“You agreed to a photo shoot with Vague and you’re telling me now?!”

Santiago shrugged again. “Better late than never. I already picked out your swimwear and sent it to your room. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

Realization crossed Lola’s face as she stuttered. “So that’s why… I mean, I did see it, but I… I thought…”

“That’s great,” Santiago cut in with a smile. “Get ready and meet us at the poolside in twenty minutes.”

As he turned around and headed out, Lola closed her eyes and silently wished for the strength not to strangle her best friend’s brother. And also for the strength to survive whatever he’d planned in the coming weeks or even months.