I held my napkin tightly, breathing slowly, reminding myself to endure.
Dinner felt like a performance. Dishes I didn’t choose, an overpriced wine Javier insisted on opening “because my mother deserves it,” and a dessert Mercedes selected just so she could comment that my taste would have been “too basic.”
When the bill arrived, the waiter placed it in front of Javier.
Without even glancing at it, he slid it toward me.
“You pay,” he said casually.
I froze. “Excuse me?”
Javier frowned impatiently. “My mother invited us. We’re not going to embarrass ourselves. Just pay.”
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