The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(3)

“She?” I finally asked, ignoring the “Miss Graham?” coming from my phone’s speaker.

“Yeah,” Intruder said simply. “My very funny and highly creative little cousin.”

A breath got stuck somewhere between my rib cage and mouth.

Little cousin.

She.

The intruder’s thick accent that is so terribly familiar.

The only possible explanation took shape in my head.

Had I—

No. I couldn’t be that big of a dumbass.

“Miss Graham?” came from the line again. “If this is not an emergency—”

“Sorry, I—” I closed my eyes. “I’ll call back if I… need to. Thank you.”

Little cousin.

Oh God. Oh no. If this was one of Lina’s cousins I’d messed up. Big time.

I terminated the call, pushed the phone into the back pocket of my jeans, and forced myself to take a deep breath in the hopes that oxygen would reach my clearly faulty brain cells. “Who exactly is your cousin?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

“Catalina.”

It was official. I had messed up. Yep. And yet, because this was New York and I had dealt with my fair share of strange people and stranger situations, I still added, “I’m going to need more information than that. You could have checked the name on the mailbox.”

A long and loud sigh was released on the other side of the wooden border that separated us, making the already souring sensation in my stomach swirl.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, unable to stop the two words from coming out. Because I was sorry. “I’m just making sure that—”

“That I’m not a deranged person,” Intruder answered before I could get through with the rest of my apology. “Catalina Martín, born the twenty-second of November. Brown hair, brown eyes, loud laugh.” My eyes shut again, the swirling in my belly climbing up to my throat. “She’s tiny but if she kicks you in the nuts, she’ll knock the air right out of you all the same. I know that from firsthand experience.” A short pause. “What else? Let’s see… Oh, she hates snakes or anything that looks remotely like one. Even if that’s a few socks sewn together and filled with toilet paper. Clever, huh? Well, that was what led to the nuts kicking. So the joke was really on me.”

Yup.

I’d screwed up. Big time.

Big, big, big time.

And I felt horrible. Awful.

So much that I couldn’t even bring myself to stop him when he went on, “She’s away for the next few weeks. Enjoying her honeymoon in… Peru, was it?” He waited for my confirmation, but none came. I was speechless. Mortified. “Aaron’s the lucky guy. A tall and intimidating-looking dude from the photos I’ve seen.”

Hold on. That meant—

“I haven’t met him in person. Not yet.”

He hadn’t met Aaron in person yet?

I—

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

But then, he said, “I didn’t have the pleasure of attending the wedding.”

Confirming that this could, indeed, be happening. And just like that, none of my earlier shock or embarrassment measured to what I started feeling right that moment.

Because this man was not a random intruder, or a deranged individual that had stumbled upon my best friend’s apartment.

This man I’d called the cops on was Lina’s relative.

And it didn’t stop there. No. He had to be the one cousin that hadn’t met Aaron.

The one person out of the long list of Lina’s Spanish relatives that had missed the wedding.

He had to be him.

“I heard it was a great party,” he said. And it felt like a physical blow to my chest. “Too bad I missed it.”

Without really knowing how, I realized I was now clutching the handle of the entrance door. As if his words—the realization that it was him—had somehow brought me there and compelled the fingers of my free hand to wrap tightly around it.

It can’t be him, a voice chanted in my head. I can’t be so unlucky.

But it was. I knew it was. And kismet, destiny, luck, or whatever force in charge of deciding my fate, had packed its bags and left me to fend for myself.

Because this man was the one cousin I had secretly hoped would be at the wedding. The only one who had made my stomach flutter with anticipation at the simple thought of meeting him. Of getting those two mandatory cheek kisses from him. Of exchanging pleasantries. Of perhaps dancing with him. Of having him see me in my maid of honor gown. Of finally having him in front of me.

Of the possibilities.

My fingers moved and the door unlocked with a click.

Heart sprinting with the knowledge of this man really being him, I grabbed the handle. Anxiously, eagerly, hope clogging my throat. All the foolishness of whatever my head had fabricated in the months leading to the wedding tangled with new emotions from the mess I’d just made. Anticipation mixed with guilt. Embarrassment coiled around excitement.

Chest pounding, I threw the door open, and…

Something dropped at my feet.

I looked down, my eyes immediately finding the source of the thump.

He was lying on his back. As if he’d been resting his weight on the door and fell backward when I’d opened it.