ISABELLA
I didn’t expect to like Bianca.
I expected her to be spoiled, dramatic, maybe a little bratty — the kind of girl who ran away with a boy her family hated just to prove a point. And yes, she was dramatic and stubborn. But she was also warm, bright, and disarmingly genuine.
And she adored her brother, which made the entire situation even more complicated.
The rooftop bar glowed under strings of warm lights, the ocean breeze brushing against my skin as I sipped the last of my margarita. The tacos dorados Bianca ordered were crispy, golden, and addictive — rolled tortillas stuffed with chicken and cheese, fried to perfection, and served with a creamy salsa that made me want to lick the plate.
Bianca had insisted I try them. Actually, she had insisted on a lot of things.
Includin
