Read Online Suspicion of Betrayal by Barbara Parker - Free Book Online Page A

they were not the same. Anthony had said so himself. He had a slight accent he couldn't shake, but his ideals, his political views, were not a holdover from fifties Latin America. She was grateful for every difference.
    The conversation veered to houses, then to the one on Clematis Street, which Anthony said they would remodel—probably next year—and eventually, as Gail knew it would, the talk came around to the wedding.
    Gail smiled, not really comfortable as the center of attention. No, she hadn't picked out her dress yet. Elena suggested a shop in Coral Gables. "Gail, you have to see it. You must. I'll go with you." And Betty wanted to come along too, because she had bought her wedding dress there. Gail shook her head, still smiling. "Please don't bother. I can find something easily enough."
    But they carried on without her. Which couturier in the Gables was most suitable for a second marriage, and whether you could ever find the right dress at Dadeland—
    "Dadeland?" Xiomara laughed. "¡Que va! Maybe at Saks, pero everything looks the same, y la gente— you have to walk sideways, it's so crowded."
    The entire wedding had been like this—rolling along on its own, picking up speed. Gail's mother, Irene Connor, had volunteered to handle the details. An intimate wedding, Gail had instructed her. Family and our closest friends. Then Ernesto and Digna Pedrosa announced they would pay for the reception. They reserved the Alhambra Ballroom at the Biltmore Hotel. They would hire a fifteen-piece orchestra to play salsa, jazz, and pop. Flattered and thrilled, Irene caved in. She lined up a soprano with the Miami Opera to do "Ave Maria" at the wedding. The invitation list shot past three hundred names. Darling, they want to invite the governor. How can you say no? This was not a wedding anymore, it was an event, a political statement, a three-way detente among the exiles on the right, of whom Ernesto Pedrosa was a quintessential example, the more liberal new Cubans, such as Anthony Quintana, and the Anglo establishment. Gail felt as though she and Anthony were hanging onto a rocket by their fingernails. And somewhere during the last few weeks it had occurred to her that Pedrosa's stunning generosity was not because he liked her, or had a sentimental spot for weddings, but because he was luring Anthony home.
    Leave him alone, old man.
    The old man still had power. The article in the Miami Herald had touched only the surface, although bribery was too crude a word for what Pedrosa engaged in. Influence was better. To do favors for those in a position to return them. And when one had power, the favors were large. A judge on the circuit court, a Cuban American himself, had confided to Gail, Where we came from, there was very little respect for government. We brought that attitude here, I'm afraid.
    Anthony had accused his grandfather of that very failing, and Gail admired him for having the guts to say so. Aside from loving Anthony Quintana, she respected him. He was a lawyer because he believed in the law, not for what he could get out of it. He loved his grandfather but didn't need his contacts or his wealth.
    After the dishes were cleared, the cake was brought out, naming with candles enough to make everyone laugh. They all sang "Happy Birthday," and presents were sent down the table to Aunt Adelita, who exclaimed over each one. Que linda. Que preciosa. A pretty blouse, some perfume, a framed photograph. Anthony had given her earrings and had signed Gail's name to the card as well.
    By now Ernesto Pedrosa's head had sunk into his shoulders, and his eyes were closing. Soon his wife noticed, and she shook him gently. Standing up, she ordered everyone to stay, stay as long as they liked. The old man roused himself for the parade of goodnight kisses and hugs. Then Digna wheeled him into the elevator and the door slid shut.
    While the table was cleared, the guests wandered back into the living room. Gail wished she and