“Sorry.” She lowers her hand, and I see the mischievous grin on her face. “I just wanted to look cute for our first date.”

“You look great,” I say, taking her hand in mine.

She steps forward and stretches onto her tiptoes to kiss me again.

“Sara,” I say when she settles back onto her feet. I trace circles on the back of her hand with my thumb. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh no.” She takes another step back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, my voice high. “Or—I mean—I don’t know.” I run my free hand through my hair. “Let’s sit down.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” She nods and leads me to the couch. She sits down and pulls her feet onto the seat. Her socks are fuzzy and have little hearts and computers on them. I kind of want to ask her where the heck she even bought something like that, but it’s not the right time.

“Listen.” I take a deep breath. “I need to tell you something.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sara

“He tried to buy me?” I yell. White-hot rage flashes in front of my eyes. I stand up on the couch, because I can’t just stay sitting down. I try to take a deep breath, but I can feel my heart beating, racing. Hear the blood rushing past my ears, making it sound like there’s static in the air.

I look at my feet, sinking into the couch cushions, and step down onto the rug.

Just because I’m the most insulted I’ve been in my entire life doesn’t mean civility and consideration for the wear on fabric has to go to hell.

Plus, on the floor there is more room to pace.

And that’s exactly what I do, circling the coffee table, stepping over the edge of the rug, passing the window, then the TV. One foot crossing in front of the other as I make my way past the kitchen, and then picking up speed as I move past the couch again, beginning my second lap. All the while making little noises of frustration. Unstrung syllables that don’t form words.

Roberto’s voice quietly emerges. “Um, that’s not exactly what I said...”

“Oh, I heard what you said.” I spin in one swift movement to face him, brandishing my finger to point right at his heart. “He offered you two hundred thousand dollars to stop dating me.” I say each word with a punch. I know the gravity of my sentiment is probably undercut by how bright red my face is and by the cuteness of my socks, but I want to be heard. “What? What does he expect? That I will just...go back to him after he blackmails you away?”