Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,28

down in retaliation for all the bad energy she was putting out in the world thanks to the whopping lies she planned to feed her loved ones.

Self-confidence personified, Luis eased over the awkwardness by leaning toward her mother to mock-whisper near her ear, “Our super-secret plan is to pamper you, Ruth. Make sure that when you leave Key West next Friday, you’ll feel rejuvenated, already planning a return trip.”

“I like the way that sounds,” she said, a rich chuckle Sara couldn’t remember hearing before underlining her words.

Sara shook her head, feeling like somehow her mother had morphed into the mom she had always longed for. Warm, accepting. Ready to greet her with open arms. Only, now it was Sara whose actions might force a rift between them.

“This week is shaping up rather nicely.” Her mom leaned into Luis as if they were old friends.

“That’s our master plan.” He winked, and Sara swore her mother sighed like a schoolgirl. Not that she blamed her.

Damn, he was good. From the sexy little half smile that gentled his strong features and chiseled jaw to the enticing mix of sincerity and strength in his deep voice. It all had Sara wishing he’d lean over and whisper something in her ear. Or maybe nibble on it.

“Shall we?” Gesturing toward the front door, her mom continued her Martha Stewart impersonation, ushering Luis arm in arm into their home.

“Ruth, Sara tells me you’ve been busy researching the island and planning your itinerary.” Luis continued laying on the charm. “What do you say we go over everything together, see how I can best serve as your guide?”

“We’ll be along in a minute,” her dad said to them.

Her mom nodded over her shoulder; then the door slid closed behind her and Luis.

Once they were alone, Sara’s dad stepped to the edge of the verandah, where he rested a hip against the wooden railing. Behind him, the same couple who’d been walking their puppy earlier strolled by again, hand in hand. By now the puppy had slowed, having lost some of his stamina after their long walk.

Staring down at his open palm, Sara’s father rubbed his thumb over his gold wedding band. “Your mother seems quite taken with your young man,” he mused.

“Luis tends to have that effect on most people.”

Herself included.

“That’s good to hear. Sara, I know this week away, rearranging your schedule, is a lot to ask—”

“No, it’s not,” Sara rushed to assure him. “Having us all here, supporting mom, is important.” Though stressful.

Moving to join him, she pressed her stomach against the railing and leaned over the edge. The hard wood bit into her hip bones, the sharp pain grounding her in the reality of the turbulent outcome if this ruse she’d set in motion was exposed.

Out on the street, a beat-up sedan rumbled past at a leisurely island-life pace. Salsa music played through the open windows, carrying on the humid breeze. The rapid beat matched the pounding in her chest. The desperation over her desire to be seen as an equal and connect with her siblings and parents. A desire Luis had easily pinpointed.

“I’m glad we’re here,” she said. “We haven’t done something like this in . . .”

She trailed off, realizing they had actually never taken more than a long weekend away all together. Usually Robin or Jonathan or one of her parents were unable to break away from the hospital for longer. Or didn’t want to. Once, everyone else had attended a medical conference in Mexico, but Sara had signed a contract with a sponsor and the shoot date hadn’t been flexible.

Even their family holidays were a mash-up with someone on call or covering for a colleague. Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner often became lunch or brunch, sometimes a day early or late.

This week . . . everyone under one roof . . . it set a precedence that could prove monumental for them all. She’d do anything to ensure it did so in a positive way.

“We’ve missed quite a bit,” her father mused, melancholy weighing his words.

Regret pinched his wide brow and broad cheekbones when he angled his head to gaze down at her. He’d aged over the course of her mother’s illness. The grooves along either side of his generous mouth were more pronounced, his hair now more salt than pepper.

Sara’s gut clenched with an answering sadness.

“Focusing on our careers. Not enough on each other, or you kids. When we found out about your disorder”—his gaze slid back to his palm, where his