Elena sat on the couch in Miranda’s living room, trying her best to look cool and composed even though her limbs felt like jelly. It was an imposing space, large and with heavy Spanish Colonial–style furnishings softened a bit by the sheer linen drapes at the window and the vase of exuberant sunflowers that sat on the mantel. Probably those were the current prima’s touches; even though Elena had never actually met Genoveva Castillo, had only seen her at a distance, she hadn’t looked like the sort of person who would go in for filmy curtains or flower arrangements that hadn’t been carefully constructed by an actual florist.
A tray laden with light snacks — a bowl of mixed nuts, grapes, small cubes of cheese — rested on the oversized coffee table, along with a green blown-glass pitcher of w
