The three days before the wedding are so full of things to prepare that Lorena and I have been spending time with each other constantly.

We've also been surrounded by everybody else.

I'm working really hard to convince myself the chaperones are a good thing, but I can't stop wishing we'd had time to just be us. That night will live in my head for the rest of my life. Waking and sleep. Happy and sad. It's constant.

Today is my last chance to soak up Lorena's laugh and revel in her touch. And I plan to spend every possible second memorizing everything. In case I'm right and I'll never meet someone quite like her.

I'm doing my best to hold it together for my brother. His wedding is this afternoon, but all I want to do is go find Lorena and ask her to give me a chance.

Maybe I could be what she needs. Maybe...

A knock rings through my room. Then it comes again. I'm not fit for company.

"Open the door, primo," Marcia calls from the other side. "We have a catastrophe."

The least welcome of interruptions.

But Marcia does not use the word catastrophe for nothing, so I don't worry about my unkempt status, racing across the room and dragging the door open.

There stands Marcia, looking even more dishevelled than me, hair all askew, standing in her pyjamas in the hallway.

"What happened?" I ask, letting her step into my room.

"Remember how Abel was going to get Sergio to come back just for our tour?"

I nod, but a rock settles in my stomach.

"Well, apparently Sergio didn't want to return to work for you and will be retaining his position with Abel's company and not taking the leave of absence we were promised."

"So Abel didn't manage to get him to come down?" I ask. "I can't fault him for that."

She grits her teeth together and slams herself down into the chair, the coffee she holds sloshing around in her cup. "I called Sergio this morning to discuss details, and it's way worse than that. Abel didn't even ask him to come."

"He what?" Now it's my turn to fall down to the bed, knees no longer wanting to hold me up.

"You heard me. He never even asked Sergio to come down. He just wanted to..."

"I know," I say, not wanting to finish her sentence any more than she does. He just wanted to control her and pull one over on me. He wanted control.

"Well, now that I know, of course Abel is leaving. I called security. He won't be at the wedding."

"You—"

But she cuts me off. "I know I need to leave him. My sister's friend is going to our place this afternoon to help the moving crew get all of my things out of the apartment and into storage. I'll deal with everything else when I get back."

"You doing okay?" I ask when she's done her interruption. "I knew what you'd done the minute you told me Abel screwed you over. No way you'd be wearing that if you weren't eager to escape your room."

She pretends to throw her coffee at me and then brings it up to her lips and takes a long sip. "I'll be okay," she sighs without opening her eyes.

"You will," I agree. I don't know how to respond right now. My mind is reeling with all the problems and what ifs. I cannot cancel on Porfirio, but I can't do this without Sergio and Marcia. But there's no way I'm telling her that and sending her right back into the arms of a man I'm trying very hard to not give a piece of my mind.

The news station plays on a loop on the television in the corner and my coffee drips through the cheap machine in the corner.

"I'll be okay, Óscar. I'll pick up his slack and we can—"

"I can't do this right now, Marcia. It's my last day here. It's my brother's wedding. We'll brainstorm solutions later. I'll call Porfirio and see if he has anyone who can help us. Let's just try to enjoy the day, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Silence stretches between us. She sips her coffee and I run my hands through my hair, trying to stop myself from thinking about everything after today. I really want to be present for my last day here in Roatan.

"So, you told her yet?" Marcia asks, eventually.

"Told who what?"

"Told Lorena you've never met anyone who makes you feel like she does and maybe she wants to marry you and have your babies?"

"Shut up," I caution, pouring the now lukewarm cheap coffee into my mug and starting another little pot.

"I'm guessing you haven't told her, then. You know, you could have spared us a lot of time by just telling me the truth about why you're wound tighter than a brand new clock."

This conversation stops here. "Why don't you go call the Real Barcelona office and see if Domingo can spare anyone for us. Just as a backup plan."

"Okay," she says, hesitation evident in her refusal to stand up from the chair. "If you're sure you don't need me for anything else."

"I'll figure it out," I insist. "Now go get ready for the fanciest third wedding any one couple has ever had."

She laughs. "You're never going to let him live that down, are you?"

"Never ever, prima."

She shakes her head and stands to refill her coffee with the pot I'd just made. "See you later, Óscar. Don't do anything that contravenes your contract, okay?"

I wonder if she means generally or if she's picked up on the fact that I'm completely powerless to resist what Lorena needs, even if it's to my own damn detriment.

She pauses at the door and turns around to face me. "Óscar, if you aren't willing to tell her, or if somehow I'm way off bace, you'd better leave that girl alone. She's been through enough with you and we'll be leaving in the morning."

"I know," I call, but it's futile. Because the door is already closing.

It's also futile because I'm starting to realize I'm powerless to resist anything when it comes to Lorena. So there's no way I'm listening to Marcia. I'm going to make every minute count.

Once I figure out what I'm going to do about Sergio's absence.

I can't believe I ever let Abel trick us into thinking he'd do something nice just for Marcia.

Another knock at the door has my heart beating quickly. Is it possible Lorena has the same idea I do? A part of me that's slowly overtaking every waking thought really gets my hopes up.

I smooth out my hair in the bathroom mirror and seriously consider taking my shirt off to remind her what I'm working with, but the knocking is persistent and hurried now, so I rush to the door and pull it open.

"Hola, hijo," Mamá says, hair and makeup already perfectly done even though it's before eight in the morning. "I need to speak with you."

This can't be good.

She pushes past me and perches on the edge of the bed, staring at me until I take a seat across from her. "What would you like, Mamá?"

"Your sister-in-law has chosen a completely inappropriate gown," she says, as though I'm supposed to care.

"How is it inappropriate, Mamá?" This is going to be good.

"The woman has selected a long sleeve. For a beach wedding. And her hem is uneven. What will people think?"

"I suspect they will think 'why are there only four bridesmaids?' or 'her dress looks a little formal for a beach' and probably 'I wonder what they'll be serving at dinner.'"

I can't help myself. The woman cares about every social custom of dress and nothing else. "And even if her dress is 'completely inappropriate' as you say it is, what did you think I was going to be able to do about it?"

"I've ordered a new one," she says. "All you have to do is go pick it up and pay for it."

Of course she has. I push out a breath and try to calm myself but this is the last thing I need right now. There are too many things to worry about and this is wasting time I could be spending staring at Lorena while she does her makeup or something.

That sounds like something I would have made fun of Enrique for not even a month ago.

I need to get a grip.

As soon as today is over.

"Well?" she asks, gripping her purse tighter in her lap. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for an indication from the bride that she would in any way appreciate me purchasing her a new dress."

"You don't want to buy her the gown?"

"It's not that I don't want to buy her a gown. It's just that I'm not going to jump and go buy her a new one just because you barged in here at the beginning of what is going to be a very busy morning. I have things to do setting up the vendors and shepherding the photographers around. I don't have time to go get a new gown that Bianca doesn't even want."

"She would want it if she understood what she was saying with it!" Mamá is beside herself.

"I know this is a big deal to you, Mamá, and I would never dream of making you wear something you felt was inappropriate. Remember how long we spent finding new shoes when we discovered the slippers you were wearing weren't appropriate for the season?"

"Now you're being ridiculous. That was nothing like this. That wasn't my wedding day."

Ah, there it is.

"Mamá," I get up and sit beside her on the bed, holding both of her hands in mine and waiting until she looks in my eyes. "I know you didn't get the dress you should have had. Or the party. Or the house. But that's different now. Bianca isn't wearing this dress because she can't afford something else, or because her father has disowned her. She's wearing it because she hand selected it and had her fashion designer friend help create it. It means a lot to her, and we even had to pay for its own seat on the plane to get it here. She's not giving anything up. She's getting everything she wants."

Mamá sniffles and pulls up her shoulder to meet her ear, dropping it dramatically with a sigh.

"My baby is married," she says. "And today I have to let him go for good."

"He's been living in Canada forever, Mamá."

"I know," she says, accepting the tissue I offer her and dabbing at her eyes without even complaining it wasn't a proper handkerchief. I'm sure she isn't far off feeling better enough to point out my hair is too disheveled for a wedding.

"We'll all be okay, Mamá. We're grown up now. You don't need to worry about us having enough clothes."

"I always worry about you," she says, the tears finally drying. "But you're right."

"I like that you worry about us," I admit. "Means you care. But I'm okay. Enrique's okay. He and Bianca love each other and they're doing so great. We're all grown. Your job is done and you did it well."

"But what about you, Óscarcito?"

"What about me?" I shrug. "I'm doing just fine. I love my life and Marcia is there to keep me in line."

"Bless that woman for her patience," she says, crossing herself with a small prayer.

"En serio?" I protest. "I'm perfectly fine on my own."

"I don't want you to be fine on your own," she says quietly. "Alone is not a fun place to be."

And now I'm left to wonder if she's talking about me or her.

"I'm sorry, Mamá. I know it isn't easy for you now that all of us kids have moved out."

"Oh, that's enough about me," she says, waving me off. "I've done enough treating you like the adult in this relationship over the years. It isn't your job to take care of me."

"It is," I insist. "Because we love you."

She is silent for a moment. "I know you do," she says finally. "But I want you to live your life. I'm just having a moment because my baby is getting married. I want the best for you. I hope you find it."

"I'm sure I will," I say. I think I already have, but how I'm going to keep it? That's the real question.

"How is she doing?" Mamá asks, dragging me back from my thoughts.

"How is...?"

"Lorena," she says.

I think my jaw falls open. My mind is whirring with a nice little high-pitched emptiness. What is happening? Am I really that obvious?

"I'm not blind, mijo. I've seen you two looking at each other this past week."

This is aggressively uncomfortable to discuss with my mother.

"You look at her just the way your brother looks at Bianca. The way your father used to look at me." She pauses, looking out the window. "You don't need to keep her out, you know. You are allowed to let people in."

"I know, Mamá."

"I don't think you do." She stands and straightens her skirt. "But I really hope you will soon."

"Oh my goodness," I hear through the door. "Which one of these blasted doors is Enrique's?"

Mother pushes her head out into the hallway. "Oh, hello Carla, dear. What do you need Enrique for?"

"Is he in there?" Carla pushes inside and scans the room until her eyes settle on me. "Oh. It's you."

"Not Enrique," I say, pointing to my chest like a five-year-old kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah, whatever. You'll do." She grabs my wrist and pulls me through the door. "You don't mind me borrowing him, do you Sra. Calderón?"

"I mind," I protest.

"I didn't ask you," she says, and my mother waves us off telling Carla she was done chatting with me anyway.

I don't know what to expect as Carla drags me down the hallway, but I have a feeling that if I can find a way to keep Lorena in my life, I'm going to be dealing with a lot more of this.