Chapter 2
Bobby
One of the things that I loved about my fiancé was his absolute commitment to helping others in need. He wasn't quite the type to drop everything to help an old lady cross the street, but it was close. I'd heard the stories, the first time he'd brought me to a Manoso-Santos dinner, of all the times he'd brought home stray animals during school break. An injured bird, a dog with a limp, a cat that looked underfed. It had only served to make me love him more. And while he always went above and beyond to help people, I'd never known him to bring home an actual person in the same way he'd done for those animals.
Until now, that is.
Mama Santos had sent him out to the post-office and he'd returned with a woman. I might have been concerned about the signals that seemed to send if I weren't secure in his love and commitment to me, and if it weren't immediately obvious why he'd brought her home.
Seven-year-old Eduardo, peering through the curtains on the lookout for the moment that his Tio Carlos eventually arrived, had announced the second Lester returned from his errand, and after a quick peek through the gap over his head, Ricardo had made his way out to the front entryway to meet Lester at the door. He took half of my attention with him, and I would have followed as well, if I hadn't promised Eduardo's younger sister Zelia that I'd listen to her read Twas the Night Before Christmas.
I was still sitting on the ottoman with Zelia on my lap when Lester appeared in front of me, an almost sheepish expression on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"I need you to come have a look at something," he informed me.
I rolled my eyes as I shuffled Zelia to the floor and stood, putting myself chest to chest with the love of my life. "Did you manage to injure yourself while you were out?" I asked, sliding my hand under his on his neck and ghosting my thumb over his jaw as I assessed the place he'd been rubbing for signs of trauma. "Or is this a ploy to get me to stand under the mistletoe again?"
"I don't need the mistletoe to kiss you," he defended, pressing his lips to mine briefly to support his claim. "I just like the excuse. And no, I did not manage to injure myself while I was out, but it is an injury that I need you to take a look at."
I narrowed my eyes, puzzled by the statement, but didn't protest as he grabbed my hand and led me from the room and up the stairs. We found Ricardo standing outside the closed door of the guest bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest and feet planted shoulder width apart like a bouncer at a club.
"She's changing," he informed us, probably assuming that Lester would have explained a little more of what was going on before we reached him. "I found some jeans and a sports bra left behind by one of Marco's old girlfriends that Steph assures me will fit her, and grabbed one of Maria's sweaters. It'll be a little big on her, but not as large as your coat was on her when you arrived." The last was directed to Lester only, and together with the other information he'd revealed, I was starting to get a picture of what had happened: he'd brought home one of the local homeless people.
The door behind Ricardo opened before I could ask any questions to clarify her situation, and I braced myself for the dishevelled appearance, and tell-tale odour of a woman who'd been making her home on the streets. What I was faced with, though, was none of the above. Sure, her hair was a little frizzy, but it appeared clean, and the way it had been bundled up into a messy bun disguised even the frizziness to a certain degree. And she smelled fresh, like citrus and the ocean.
It was the dark purple mark on her cheek, though, that immediately seized my attention. My fingers itched to examine her face, but I knew better than to just launch myself at a person, especially one with what could have been a fist shaped bruise on their face. The likelihood that the mark had come from a partner was higher than I wanted to acknowledge right at that moment, and another man suddenly reaching for her face probably wasn't going to be received well.
Lester must have sensed all the emotions coursing through me, because he squeezed the hand he still held, and launched into what he did best: charming everyone he met. "Steph, this is my fiancé, Bobby. He was a medic in the army. I thought he could take a look at the bruise on your cheek, make sure nothing's broken."
"Only if you're comfortable," I assured her.
She bit her lip, looking from me to Lester, to Ricardo and back. "I-," she started, then stopped, brow furrowing as she twisted her hands in the hem of the sweater she wore. "I don't want to go to the hospital."
That sent alarm bells clanging through my brain, but I managed to keep my face pleasantly neutral as I replied, "I'll do my best, but if something is broken it would be best if it's treated at the hospital. There's only so much I can do with a household first aid kit."
"I should get back to the party before people become too curious by my absence," Ricardo stated. Before he took a single step away, though, he rested a reassuring hand on Steph's shoulder, and I noted that she didn't flinch, that was a good sign. "You're in good hands with these two."
"Kit's in the guest bath," Lester reminded me as Ricardo made his way back down the stairs. He pointed to the room in question and I started in that direction, assuming they'd both follow behind.
"You're going to stay with me, aren't you, Lester?" I heard Steph ask, her husky voice punctuated by a cough that sounded on the verge of being phlegmy. I turned back around to find a worried tilt to Steph's eyebrows and Lester mid step in the opposite direction.
"I was just gonna check Tia's ensuite to see if she had any of the magic bruise cream she got after she tripped on the curb a few months ago," he said, eyebrows so high they were practically merging with his hairline. "But I can hold off on that and come with you guys instead if you want?"
Steph nodded. "Please."
It wasn't unusual for a person to cling to the first person to show them kindness after a traumatic event, so I didn't take offence to the fact that she wanted my fiance to chaperone our trip to the bathroom for a medical check up. And Lester took it in his stride too, slinging an arm over her shoulder and steering her forward. "Sure thing, Beautiful," he assured her, causing something in my gut to tighten a little.
Lester only gave nicknames to girls he liked. If he was calling her Beautiful, it meant he'd grown attached and was planning on keeping her. I wasn't so insecure in our relationship that I thought he was going to dump me to be with her, but I couldn't deny I was apprehensive for what her presence and this nickname could mean for our future. Lester had been a ladies' man for years before I'd managed to admit to him that I liked him as more than my best friend, and he confessed that he had deeper feelings for me as well.
That was fourteen months ago, and Lester hadn't looked at a woman in that way in that time. As far as I knew he hadn't looked at Steph like that, but the nickname gave me pause. Did Les miss the supple embrace of a woman?
I stood to the side and let them enter before me while I tried to get my thoughts under control. The last thing I wanted was an argument on Christmas Eve in front of his family and a perfect stranger he might be thinking about sleeping with. Whatever this nickname thing was, we could wait until we got home to talk about it.
By the time I entered the bathroom, Lester had lifted Steph onto the counter, pulled the first aid kit out from under the sink and set it beside her, and was seated on the lid of the toilet telling her a story about one of the times he'd brought a stray cat home and tried to give it a bath.
"I still have a scar on my arm from where it scratched me trying to get away," he said while she laughed, a light, tinkling sound.
I wasn't sure if the flip in my stomach was because it was an inherently attractive sound, or because of what I thought it could do to Lester's feelings for her, but I tried to shove it down. "You told me that scar was from a knife fight you got into in your teens," I pointed out, slipping on a pair of gloves.
He smirked. "And you believed me?"
"No," I said. "But it's good to finally hear you admit you lied."
"I was trying to impress you," Lester said with a shrug. "You were always more impressed by wounds that came from combat than wounds that came from idiocy."
I smiled despite myself. "The fact that you don't class fighting an animal that is capable of leaving you a scar as combat proves how much of an idiot you are," I told him. "Besides, Mama told me about the cat the first time you brought me to family dinner. It wasn't hard to put two and two together."
Lester's spine straightened, his head tilting indignantly. "I may be an idiot," he said, "But I'm your idiot."
I don't know if he'd picked up on my mood shift, but those were the exact words I needed to hear to reassure me that he wasn't going to leave me for the woman on the counter. Keeping my gloved hands out of the way, I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I love you," I murmured as he circled his arms around my hips.
"I love you, too," he replied just as quietly, tipping his head back to make eye contact. "You're my everything, Bobby." So, he had picked up on my mood, and likely interpreted it correctly.
I nodded and kissed him again, on the lips this time. "Okay," I said, turning swiftly back to face Steph, a weight lifted from my shoulders. "Let's take a look at that cheek. I'm going to press a little on the area, you tell me if it hurts."
Her expression was gooey, having been blatantly watching our intimate moment, and it took her a few seconds to revert her attention to me. I stood with my hands aloft in front of her, waiting for her permission to examine her face. "Sorry, what?"
I smiled. "I'm going to press on your cheek around the bruise," I repeated. "I need you to tell me if it hurts." She nodded, and I used my thumbs to examine the bruise, pressing as lightly as I could while still exerting enough pressure to tell if she'd broken anything.
"How long have you two been together?" she asked, hissing when I pressed the highest point of her cheekbone.
"A little over a year," I replied efficiently, circling around the tender spot to see how big it was. "How did you get this bruise?"
"I ran into the end of a roll of wrapping paper someone was carrying on their shoulder," she explained. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
I dropped my hands from her face, glancing at Lester who was sitting up straighter, his head tilted to the side, like a dog trying to understand human language. We seemed to be on the same wavelength about believing her story, because as I removed my gloves and turned on the faucet to wash my hands, he said, "Beautiful, you don't have to lie to us. If your husband hit you, you can tell us. We'll help you file charges."
The surprise that transformed her face, was short lived as her gasp prompted a coughing fit. Drying my hands on a towel, I filled the glass Maria and Ricardo kept ready on the sink-side for guests to use, setting it beside her hand. She sipped it when she'd calmed enough, glancing from Lester to me and back.
"I'm telling the truth," she said with so much conviction I almost believed her. "Dickie may be a dirty cheating bastard, but I would never let him get close enough to lay a finger on me like that. I literally ran into a roll of wrapping paper while wandering the streets in my pyjamas."
Now it was my turn to be surprised. I knew she was wearing borrowed clothes that Ricardo had found for her, but I assumed she'd just slipped in the snow, soaking her own clothes or something. "Um, what?" I said, stepping back until the back of my calves hit the bathtub and sat down on the edge of it. "I'm going to need you to start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened."
She did as I asked, explaining how she'd been napping and then discovered her husband having sex with another woman on their dining room table and how she'd left the apartment post haste. Through my follow up questions and Lester's helpful googling I determined that she'd been out in the weather without outerwear for about 20 minutes, and given the temperature and wind speed, she wasn't likely to have succumbed to frostbite or hypothermia, but I checked her over anyway.
And while I was doing that, Lester had stepped out into the hall to make a call to the office, requesting they check the feeds for properties we provided security for on the route Steph was pretty sure she'd taken. I wasn't sure Steph heard his end of the conversation because she was really letting loose on the lamentation about her life. Apparently she'd only agreed to marry the Dick because her mother insisted. Steph professed to having a hard time recognising her feelings for him, and that when he proposed she wasn't sure about it. It wasn't until her mother pointed out all the benefits to marrying the lawyer that she eventually said yes.
"Really regretting listening to her now," she spat, waving a hand. "I mean, what was I thinking? She hasn't really ever thought about what I might like in the past. Why would she start now?"
Lester slipped back into the room at that point, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I hate to interrupt the rant," he said, interrupting the rant. "But if we don't make an appearance downstairs soon, people are going to come looking for us."
Her mouth snapped shut, watery blue eyes going wide as she looked between us. "I'm so sorry," she moaned. "Here I am moaning about my life, when you should be downstairs celebrating with your family. I'll just-" she slipped off the counter and straightened the sweater she wore. "I don't have my cell phone, so could one of you call me a cab? I'll be out of your hair before you know it."
"No," Lester said firmly. "You're coming down with us. No one will question why you're here. After the day you've had, I'm sure a little family time will do you good."
"Especially if it's not your own family, by the sounds of it," I added, getting to my feet. "Just take a couple hours to forget about the Dick, and Joyce, and your mother, and whatever else is playing on your mind."
"But, won't it be weird?"
I shook my head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Not at all," I said. "Last year, one of Lester's cousins brought a live goat to dinner and no one batted an eye."
That must have convinced her, because I felt a little of the tension leave her body as I pulled her toward the door. "I'm pretty sure I can manage to be a better dinner guest than a goat," she muttered under her breath.
"I dunno," Les responded, following us out into the hall. "The goat was pretty well behaved." The blush that crossed her cheeks made me think she hadn't meant to say that out loud, but Lester covered for her well. "I'm kidding, of course," he laughed. "It headbutted me in the crotch."
"I have a feeling she trained it to do that on purpose," I said. And knowing Fi, it wouldn't surprise me, she was always looking for new ways to take a swing at him ever since he exposed her secret relationship with the kid that lived down the block when they were thirteen.
We made it all the way to the living room without being called out, and I made sure Steph was tucked between us both as every eye in the room turned to stare. We might have overstated the not-batting-an-eye thing. The Manoso-Santos clan were inherently curious beings, they would be wondering about the newcomer, questions would be inevitable, and since I'd just suggested she try to forget what was going on in her life for a while, that might be problematic.
Luckily, Lester knew just what to do to ensure she was safe from scrutiny. "Everyone, this is Steph," he announced loudly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "She's joining us for dinner, and I've granted her sanctuary, so no probing questions. If I hear any of you giving her the third degree, I'll spit in one of the desserts and I won't tell you which one."
"You'll do nothing of the sort, Lester Evan Santos!" Mama exclaimed, standing abruptly from the couch and marching over to confront her only son. "You're not too big to bend over my knee," she reminded him in that scary tone she got when she meant business. "Now, did you mail your present to Abuela?"
Lester had that deer-in-the-headlights look he always got when his mother was giving him a dressing down, and shook his head no. "I left the line to help Steph," he explained. "I figured it would be okay, since Abuela wouldn't get the package for a couple days anyway. I needed to make sure Steph was okay and-"
Liliana cut her attention from her son to Steph, and must have noticed the bruise on her cheek for the first time. "Oh, my dear," she cooed. "Look at you! Does it hurt? Did Bobby already give you some pain medicine? I think my sister-in-law has some of that magic bruise-erasing cream, let me get some for you- Maria!"
And just like that Steph was stolen from our protective custody, suddenly surrounded by all the women as they discussed if any of them might have a concealer of foundation pale enough to cover the bruise so she wouldn't be so self conscious about it.
I was pretty sure my jaw was hanging open a bit as I watched the whole family rally around her and make her feel welcome. For a group that was constantly three words from an argument, they sure knew how to take care of people, and it never ceased to amaze me how caring Lester's family could be. It really drove home how lucky I was to have him.
Sliding closer to my fiancé, I wrapped my arms around his waist just as his phone chimed and he pulled it from his pocket. A moment passed before he let out a quiet 'huh' and turned the screen toward me. "She was telling the truth," he said simply as I took in the security screen capture of a woman in pyjamas colliding with what appeared to be an industrial sized tube of wrapping paper.
"I'll be damned."
