FABIANA JAMMED HER hands into her pockets and avoided Warwicke’s gaze. She felt self-conscious about the poorness of the neighborhood she’d grown up in. And she felt like she was being disloyal for feeling that way.
Her family hadn’t had much money. It was true. But her parents had raised her and Alvaro with plenty of love.
It had almost made up for the violence and insecurity they’d encountered on the streets later, when they’d done the usual teenage thing and pushed their parents away in favor of hanging with friends.
“Nice place.” Warwicke said.
Fabiana’s gaze flashed in his direction, looking for sarcasm. When she didn’t find any evidence of it she forced herself to relax. “My parents bought this house when they got married. It was quite a coup for a young, Cuban couple to come to
