She probably doesn’t believe me, but I’m not. We’ve been together for six months, and I’ve been to the occasional dinner with her closest relatives, but this is the first time I’m attending a function with the entire sprawling family. Apparently, it’s a big deal since she keeps telling me how not nervous I should be. We just left the Mass, which is traditionally held before the party. It was full-on Bible, rosary, priest, pomp and circumstance—the whole shebang. First time I’ve been to a church of any kind since . . . I literally cannot remember. I’m surprised lightning didn’t strike.

“If my Uncle Javier gets drunk,” Banner says. “Don’t talk to him. Ignore him. He says crazy stuff when he’s drunk.”

“Don’t we all?”

I get out and so does she.

“And you already know not to engage with Mama.” She checks the hair bundled at the back of her head in a loose knot. “I really thought she would have come around by now.”

Mama Morales has proved harder to win over than the public, whose perception of Banner as Zo’s faithful Penelope was hard to banish but not as awkward as we anticipated. Banner definitely got props for taking care of Zo the way she did even when they weren’t romantically linked. As much as I want to tattoo my name on her face so everyone knows, I do appreciate that it’s best to take a more measured approach. When Banner left Bagley and came to Elevation, many assumed our relationship naturally developed there.

“Are you thinking about what Mama said last time?” Banner asks. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”

“What’d she say last time?” I ask with a frown.

“Oh.” She bites her lip. “Nothing. Never mind.”

I roll my eyes and walk around to the passenger side of the car.

“You don’t have to pretend your mother likes me.” I loop my arms behind her lower back. “She doesn’t pretend.”

Banner reaches up to adjust my tie unnecessarily because my tie is always on point. She just needs something to do with her hands. If we didn’t have to attend this reception, I’d give her something to do with her hands. Her mouth, too.

“But I want her to like you,” she says with the slightest pout.

I bend and drop a kiss on her lips and on my freckles.

“Do you like me?” I ask by her ear.

“I more than like you.” She turns her head to kiss my lips quickly. Too quickly for my taste. “I love you.”

“Then you’ll believe me when I say no one else’s opinion really matters, not even your mother’s.”

She nods, but a frown dents between her brows. I smooth it away with my thumb.

“I mean it, Ban. It would be great if your mom liked me the way she loves Zo, but we both know that won’t happen anytime soon.”

“Oh, also.” The frown is back. “Speaking of Zo . . .”

“Do we have to?”

“Jared, stop. He may be feeling well enough to come today.” She glances up at me through long lashes.

“Don’t even bother,” I tell her. “That batting eyelash trick doesn’t work on me.”

“I’m well aware that you are immune to my charms,” she says with a laugh, pulling out of my arms to walk ahead of me.

Her ass, though. That little sway of her rounded hips seduces me every time. The way that dress molds to the curve of her—

“Damn! You’re doing it!” I say, realizing the lashes don’t get me, but I fall for that ass every time.

She’s looking over her shoulder watching me watch her ass, mischief in her grin. I love that the woman who once asked if her ass was square feels confident enough in my love for her body exactly as she is to use that ass against me.

“You’re so easy, Foster, and you think you’re so hard.” She laughs and loops her arm through mine. “Now, like I was saying about Zo, I need you to be nice.”

I hate it when people need me to be nice because that means they know there’s a strong possibility someone will and could set me off. After the way Zo kept us apart for months and then pulled her onstage in front of the whole world with all that te amo shit, knowing about us . . .

“Maybe we’ll just avoid each other,” I offer. “There’s a lot of people here.”

“No, I need you to try.” She stops on the sidewalk leading up to the venue, her expression sobering. “You know what he means to me, and he knows what you mean to me. I want you both, at some point, to be okay with . . . each other.”

“I’ll try.” My voice is curt. I don’t mean to be, but just her saying “what he means to me” sets my teeth on edge.

“Thank you.” She huddles in closer to my side. “This is gonna be fun. It’s a really big deal. I remember my quinceañera. Such a special day for a girl.”

“That ceremony at the church was cool.”

“Yes, and now the real fun begins,” she says. “Lots of drinking. Good food. A delicious cake. Anna will have the first dance with my papa.”

“Sounds more like a wedding than a sweet . . . fifteen party.”

“It is a lot like a wedding.” She shoots me a knowing grin. “But it’s not, so don’t worry. I know how nervous weddings make single guys.”

“Weddings don’t make me nervous.” I capture her hand and bring it to my lips just as we reach the entrance. “And I’m not single.”

We share a long look, half questions, half unspoken answers, before her sister, Camilla, walks up to greet us.

“Everything is beautiful, Bannini,” Camilla says, accompanying us to the foyer. She drops her eyes to the floor and then looks at Banner directly. “Thank you for this place. Anna feels like a princess here.”

“She is a princess,” Banner replies, hugging her sister. “We’ll make sure she has all the things we never had and learns all the things we did.”

“Yeah. Still.” She gestures to the quaint villa where Anna’s reception is being held. “You didn’t have to.”

“Somos familia,” Banner says, kissing her cheek.

“And thank you for bringing this one,” Camilla says, turning a frankly admiring look my way. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that he is something else.”

“Look, Milla,” Banner says with a stiff smile. “You have one more time to look at my boyfriend like that. ¿Entiendes?”

Camilla and I glance at each other for a few seconds before her laughter sputters past her lips. She pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it over to me.

“You win.” She shakes her head and grins. “Jared called it.”

“Wait.” Banner swings disbelieving eyes between her sister and me. “You set me up?”

She turns narrowed eyes on me.

“You set me up?”

“Just a friendly wager to see how jealous you’d get,” I admit, pocketing the twenty. “It’s pretty bad.”

“And I suppose that twenty is for Anna’s stash, yes?” Banner asks with arms akimbo.

“Of course,” I mumble. “Most of it.”

The three of us laugh at my joke and I hand the twenty back. We make our way over to the table where there is more food than I have ever seen. A catered spread of tacos, enchiladas, barbacoa, salsa, guac, and so many dishes I’ve never seen but can’t wait to taste. I grab a couple of the biscohos, a type of wedding cookie, and even spot some buñuelos like the ones Banner made for me in St. John.

As we eat, I absorb this new experience and relish seeing Banner with her family. She is louder and her hands are in constant motion, painting pictures in the air while she speaks with her cousins and aunts and childhood friends, more expressive than in the settings where I’ve seen her before. I love seeing this side of her that would only unfold here, with them. I can pick out a few words here and there when they lapse into a torrent of Spanish, but mostly I just enjoy the sound of their voices and the warmth of all the laugher interspersed with the lively music of the mariachi band. We have a good time when our family gets together, but this is chaos, and I’m glad I get to be a part of it.

A blonde woman with a clipboard and glasses dangling at the tip of her nose walks up as we’re finishing our food.

“Ms. Morales, I had a question about the contract,” she says. “And wanted to ask you about the setup for the first dance.”

“Oh, of course.” Banner takes in the brightly colored palette of dresses and food, her rambunctious uncles laughing and drinking in one corner, her aunts boisterous and cackling in another, before turning her attention back to me. “You’ll be okay for a few minutes?”

“I’m fine.” I shake my glass. “I have punch and I’m pretty sure it’s spiked.”

She nods and blows out a breathy laugh before following the coordinator.

I don’t know many, and the few who know who I am to Banner aren’t around right now. I refill my punch and am perfectly content to hold up a wall and people watch, especially with so many new foods and traditions taking place around me. Anna is surrounded by the fourteen girls attending her today, or damas as Banner called them. They’re giggling and adjusting her tiara and formal dress. Their dresses are a rainbow of colors and a flurry of satin and chiffon. Banner wants at least four kids? What if they’re all girls? I think of Sarai and her billion questions and constant little diva demands. God, what if they’re as much work as my niece?

I’m still shuddering at that thought, when Mama Morales invades my corner. We assess one another for a few silent seconds. We didn’t have the most auspicious beginning, with me almost banging her daughter in the handicapped stall.

“Hola, Senora Morales,” I venture when the quiet turns awkward.

“You don’t speak Spanish,” she replies, not bothering to answer in her native tongue to see for sure.

“I speak enough to know you called Banner a whore.” That still grates and she doesn’t like me? I reserve judgment until she makes that right. Even though Banner shook it off, I know her mother’s persistent disapproval bothers her.