Free A Formal Affair by Veronica Chambers Page A

Latino political alliance dinner. Got to stay home and fight the good fight.
    Minutes later, Jamie texted: Sorry to be incog- latino . In the studio. Feeling too creative to hang.
    Carmen sighed and threw her long legs over the stool in her family’s kitchen. That was the problem with having friends who were so fabulous. They always had something going on.
    Her mother walked into the room and asked, “Why the long face, hija ?”
    Carmen shrugged. “Alicia and Jamie are busy, and I kind of want to go out.”
    Sophia smiled. “Me, too. Let’s go see a movie. Something incredibly romantic and cheesy that Christian wouldn’t see with me.”
    Carmen brightened. It had been ages since she and her mom had gone out, just the two of them. “Awesome. Sounds like a plan.”
    Just then, Christian entered the room, in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. He was tall, blond, and handsome. Like a British George Clooney.
    â€œWhat’s the plan?” he asked.
    â€œWe’re going to see I Love You, Too, Puppy at the multiplex,” Sophia replied.
    Christian made a face. “Is that the movie about two dogs and their ridiculous owners who hate each other but then fall in love?”
    â€œ Exactamente. We’d love for you to join us,” Carmen’s mother smiled sweetly.
    Her husband shook his head. “That’s quite okay. Manchester United is playing on the telly down at the Kingsley Arms. I’ll be there.”
    The Kingsley Arms was a British pub in Coral Gables that not only showed European soccer games featuring teams like Manchester United, Christian’s favorite childhood team, but also served all kinds of British food that Carmen just did not get—like bangers and mash and Heinz spaghetti on toast.
    â€œI love your arroz con pollo,” Christian said, giving Carmen’s mother a hug, “but sometimes a man needs a good old-fashioned shepherd’s pie.”
    â€œHave fun,” her mother said, waving him off.
    â€œGo, go, Reds!” Carmen called out, referencing the red jersey that the Manchester players wore.
    Tickets for the eight p.m. show in hand, Carmen and her mother were standing in the concession-stand line, trying to decide what kind of sugary treat they’d have, when Carmen heard a familiar voice behind her.
    A familiar, male voice.
    She turned around to see Domingo standing hand in hand with a girl she didn’t recognize. The girl was pretty. Older. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Everything about her said college, not high school, from her expertly flat-ironed hair to her crisply ironed button-down shirt and expertly tailored jeans. No one in high school ironed their shirt for a movie on a Saturday night, not even Carmen, and fashion was her business. Looking at the girl, so pretty, so grown-up, so holding Domingo’s hand as if it belonged to her, Carmen’s heart sank. She felt as if she’d been shoved into a pool and that she was falling deeper and deeper, shocked and gasping for air.
    Domingo had been saying something to the girl but, as if sensing Carmen’s presence, he looked up and locked eyes with her. His expression was unreadable.
    â€œWhat’s up, Carmen?” he said softly. “ Buenas noches , Señora R.”
    Carmen nodded, but her heart was still drowning. She’d been fine about the breakup. It had been mutual. At least, that was what she kept telling Alicia and Jamie. If it were true, why was she so devastated seeing Domingo and some random girl?
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she finally sputtered, the words sounding way shakier than she meant them to.
    â€œWe get a long weekend for Columbus Day,” the girl said, answering for Domingo. She had a southern accent, and her words spilled out of her mouth like syrup on pancakes. Carmen hated syrup—and pancakes.
    â€œI’m Ashley, by the way,” the girl said, extending her hand. “Domingo’s