Rafael said nothing, avoiding Beth’s gaze.
Oh, crap, Beth thought, they saw Jen’s spontaneous unveiling. And apparently Rafael had been too polite to bring it up.
Marta said, “Is something wrong?”
Beth smiled weakly. “My sister has a few issues. I sometimes think of her as my evil twin.”
“Ah, si, ” Rafael said with a sly smile. “I can see the resemblance.”
“But only from the neck up, right?”
They both looked at Beth, surprised, then burst into laughter.
Beth joined in, the ice broken.
After a moment, Rafael lifted his Tequila Tonic in a toast.
“To sisters,” he said. “A blessing and a curse.”
Marta shot him a quick look, then they laughed again as Beth clinked his glass with hers and took another long sip. Not that she needed it. She was already starting to feel a little woozy.
She said to Marta, “So you work for the cruise line?”
Marta shook her head, gesturing toward the piano player. “Actually, I met Miguel in the food court this afternoon and he was kind enough to let me have some fun.”
What a surprise, Beth thought. Most guys would let this woman do anything she wanted. Join me onstage? Sure, why not.
“You have a remarkable voice.”
“Thank you. I don’t often have an opportunity to show it off.”
“Oh? You’re not a professional?”
“Singing is more of an avocation for me. A form of release.”
“With a voice like that, I’m surprised you don’t have a record deal.”
Marta shrugged. “Such things don’t interest me.” She glanced at her watch. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but Rafael, we need to talk.”
Rafael’s eyebrows rose. “What is it?”
She looked at Beth. “Do you mind if I steal him for a moment?”
“No, not at all.”
“It was nice meeting you.” Marta took Rafael by the hand, and he shrugged at Beth, saying, “Una momento,” as his sister led him across the floor to a spot near the wrought-iron staircase. They huddled together, speaking into each other’s ears, Marta doing most of the talking.
Beth tried not to watch them, tried instead to concentrate on Miguel, the piano player, but she couldn’t help herself. Rafael and Marta’s conversation seemed to be growing heated-a fiery look in Marta’s eyes-and Beth had a feeling they were arguing about her.
Which made no sense at all.
As if to confirm it, however, Rafael glanced in her direction-forcing Beth to momentarily avert her gaze.
Then Marta touched his cheek, looking apologetic, and Beth got the sense that something more was going on here than a simple spat between siblings. Something in their body language that went beyond the bond of brother and sister.
With a quick look around, Marta pulled Rafael into the shadows beneath the staircase. Beth could barely see them now, but what she could see made her stomach turn.
Marta leaned into him, kissed him.
Full on the mouth.
And this was no sisterly kiss. And least not where Beth came from.
Worse yet, Rafael seemed to be kissing Marta back, neither of them even remotely close to coming up for air.
Oh. My. God.
Turning away from the spectacle, Beth took a nice big gulp of her drink, then set it on the counter. Waited for her stomach to settle.
This was obviously her cue to exit. She had no interest in hanging around with Mexico’s answer to the Appalachia twins. And from all appearances, they seemed to be getting on just fine without her.
Ugh.
Scooping up her purse, she crossed to a doorway on the opposite side of the bar and fled.
16
When she got back to their stateroom, Jen was gone. A note on her bunk said:
GOT MY SECOND WIND. WENT DANCING.
Beth sighed. Only Jen could be throwing up one minute and raring to go the next. She never ceased to amaze.
Pulling off her dress, Beth crawled onto her bunk, grabbed the remote from her nightstand, and flicked on the TV. Not that there was anything playing that could top what she’d witnessed tonight.
She was no stranger to incest. In her work at the prosecutor’s office, she’d seen more cases of father/daughter couplings than she’d wanted to, but those were always crimes of abuse. Some twisted fuck taking advantage of his parental authority, perverting a child’s love.
What Beth had seen between Rafael and Marta, however, was obviously consensual. But that didn’t make it any more palatable. Some might argue that her objection to it was both morally and intellectually empty-Rafael and Marta were adults, after all-but that didn’t keep it from creeping her out. The ick factor was almost too much to bear. And the image of two his-and-her beauty queens macking on each other was not likely to go away anytime soon.
Beth shivered, trying to concentrate on the TV, which was showing a remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still with Keanu Reeves. She managed to stare at it for a full thirty minutes but would be hard-pressed to tell anyone what she’d seen.
This was turning out to be one hell of a vacation.
But if Jen could recover so quickly, why couldn’t she? The original plan was to go dancing together, and late was better than never.
Flicking off the tube, she got up, pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of shoes, then grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
Two staircases and an elevator ride later, she was back on Deck Eleven, standing outside of the Vibe, the pounding beat vibrating beneath her shoes as the bodies inside moved to the rhythm-a sea of bobbing heads and waving arms and drunken, smiling faces.
Jen was bound to be in there somewhere.
Pushing past a couple locked in an embrace, Beth squeezed into the room and searched the crowded dance floor.
It was dark, except for swirling, multicolored lights and a spotlight on the DJ, who looked a little lame wearing his ship’s uniform. At least he played good music.
But there was no sign of Jen.
Anywhere.
Shit.
Thinking she may have made a mistake, Beth was about to turn and head back out the door when she heard a familiar peal of laughter rise above the din. Spinning around, she saw a cluster of bodies move from the shadows onto the dance floor, Jen at the very center, head thrown back, hair wild and flowing.
Beth called out to her and waved but was drowned out by the music. Stepping onto the dance floor, she squeezed past several dancers, pushing toward Jen — then stopped cold, a ball of bile rising straight to her throat.
Jen was dancing with a man and a woman.
But not just any man and woman.
Rafael and Marta Santiago.
And on closer inspection, it was much more than dancing. Jen was sandwiched between the two, Rafael behind, Marta facing her, breast to breast, all three rubbing their bodies against one another. Rafael’s hands roamed Jen’s ass as Marta kept her arms around her neck, staring intently into her eyes.
Beth watched them in utter amazement, unable to quite understand what she was looking at, trying to convince herself that she’d made a mistake, that this wasn’t Jen at all, that the flashing lights were playing tricks on her eyes.
But of course that was only wishful thinking.
It was Jen, all right.
Her little sister.
And like any protective mother, Beth waded into the crowd toward them with only rescue on her mind.
Jen turned as Beth approached, let loose a squeal. “Beth! We were just talking about you.”
Rafael and Marta also turned, smiling at her, as Jen reached out and tried to pull Beth into an embrace. Jen was drunk again-or still-and, judging by her glazed eyes, was high on more than booze. God only knew where it had come from, but Beth had her suspicions.
Avoiding the embrace, she shouted above the music:
“Jen, what the hell are you doing?”
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. What are you doing with them?”