I wondered what she wanted. Perhaps she was going to hint, once again, that I should get married. In her opinion, Rafael and I were the perfect match—we’d known each other for three years, ever since my brief stint working as a security guard, just after I left the Star. It didn’t matter to Rosalita that we had nothing else in common—or that I wasn’t interested in repeating my last disastrous relationship, no matter how aesthetically appealing Rafael’s muscular body might be.