Marry the Spare, Not the Heir

Chapter 7

Two days after the gala, Rosa Alvarado called Camila directly, her voice tight with an emotion Camila couldn't quite place.

"There's a small gathering tomorrow evening," Rosa said. "Just close family and a few old friends of ours. Richard insists we smooth things over publicly after Friday. I'd like you there, Camila. Please."

Camila hesitated only a moment. "Of course. I'll come."

She hung up the phone slowly, turning the request over in her mind. Smoothing things over meant, almost certainly, that Diego would be there too, likely without Valentina this time, likely with another rehearsed apology waiting.

She was almost right.

The gathering was smaller than the gala, an intimate dinner in the estate's private garden room, string lights strung along the wooden beams, a long table set with more warmth than the ballroom had offered. Camila arrived early, at Rosa's request, to help with small details before the other guests arrived.

She didn't expect to find Valentina already there, arranging place cards along the table with the practiced ease of someone who had done this before.

"You're early," Valentina said, not looking up.

"Rosa asked me to help."

"How thoughtful of her." Valentina set down the last card, straightening it with two fingers. "I'm actually glad you're here. I wanted to apologize. For the gala."

Camila studied her carefully. "That's unexpected."

"I overstepped," Valentina said, a soft, convincing wobble entering her voice. "Diego explained things to me afterward. I understand now how difficult this must be for you. I never meant to make it worse."

It was, Camila thought, a remarkably good performance. If she hadn't heard the sharper version of Valentina outside the estate steps days earlier, she might have believed every word.

"I appreciate that," Camila said carefully, giving nothing away.

Valentina smiled, pleased, and gestured toward a tray of wine glasses set along the side table. "Would you help me carry these out? I don't want to drop anything before the guests arrive."

Camila hesitated, some quiet instinct prickling at the back of her neck, though she couldn't name exactly why. She picked up the tray anyway, not wanting to seem paranoid over something so small.

They walked together toward the long table, Valentina a half step behind her.

It happened fast.

A sudden, sharp gasp from Valentina, a stumble against Camila's shoulder, deliberate in a way Camila only understood a half second too late to stop it. The tray tipped. Glasses shattered against the stone floor, wine splashing dark and wide across the pale tablecloth Rosa had spent all afternoon choosing.

"Oh," Valentina said, hand flying to her mouth, voice pitched perfectly to carry. "Camila, are you alright?"

Footsteps approached fast from the doorway. Rosa appeared first, then Richard, then, a moment later, Diego.

"What happened?" Rosa's eyes went wide at the mess spreading across the table linen.

"I'm so sorry," Valentina said quickly, before Camila could speak. "Camila was carrying the tray and she just, she lost her balance. I tried to catch her but"

"That's not what happened," Camila said evenly.

"I saw her stumble," Valentina said, turning wide, apologetic eyes toward Rosa. "I didn't want to embarrass her by saying so in front of everyone."

Rosa's gaze flickered toward Camila, uncertain, caught between the woman she'd known for five years and the plausible, gentle explanation Valentina had offered so smoothly.

"Camila," Rosa said carefully, "are you alright? Perhaps you're still not fully recovered, dear. No one would blame you."

Camila felt the trap close neatly around her, understanding in that instant exactly how deliberate this had been. Not the shattered glasses. The story built to explain them.

"I'm fine," Camila said. "And Valentina bumped into me. Deliberately."

"That's a strange thing to accuse someone of," Valentina said softly, wounded, glancing toward Diego for support.

Diego stepped forward, his expression torn, and for a moment Camila watched him actually weigh the two versions in front of him.

"Camila," he said carefully, "maybe it was an accident. No one's blaming you."

"I'm not asking to be blamed," Camila said, her voice steady despite the anger building beneath it. "I'm telling you what happened."

Richard's expression had settled into something unreadable, watching the exchange with the same careful, cold attention Camila had noticed in Rafael. "Enough," he said finally. "It's broken glass, not a tragedy. Clean it up before the guests arrive."

The moment dissolved into motion, staff rushing in with towels and dustpans, Rosa fretting over the ruined tablecloth, Diego hovering uselessly at the edge of it all. Valentina caught Camila's eye once, briefly, across the chaos, and the softness dropped from her face just long enough to let Camila see the satisfaction underneath.

She'd wanted exactly this. Not the broken glass. The seed of doubt now sitting quietly in Rosa's expression, the flicker of hesitation Camila had seen cross even Diego's face.

Camila said nothing further. She simply picked up a towel and began helping clean the mess, her hands steady, her mind working quickly through what she now understood clearly for the first time.

This wasn't only about winning Diego.

Valentina intended to make sure that if Camila ever tried to tell anyone the truth about any of it, no one would believe her.