The Quinceañera Surprise | La Sorpresa de los Quince
"The chambelán she hasn't seen in five years returns for her cousin's quinceañera, and old feelings resurface with new intensity"
The Quinceañera Surprise
La Sorpresa de los Quince
The ballroom of the Venetian was drowning in pink—pink tablecloths, pink flowers, pink everything. My cousin Sofía was living her quinceañera dreams while I hid near the chocolate fountain in a bridesmaid dress that made me look like a flamingo.
"Oye, you're going to eat all the strawberries."
That voice. I knew that voice.
I turned, and there he was—Alejandro Reyes, looking like five years hadn't touched him except to carve his jaw sharper and broaden his shoulders into something architectural.
"No puede ser," I whispered. It can't be.
"Sí puede, Camila." He smiled, and it was exactly the smile I remembered from when he was my chambelán at my quinceañera. The smile I'd dreamed about for years. "Surprise."
"What are you doing here?"
"Sofía invited me." He stepped closer, and I caught his cologne—something expensive now, not the Axe body spray of our teenage years. "Dijo que necesitaba un buen bailarín para el vals."
"She didn't tell me."
"That was the point of the surprise." His eyes traveled down my pink dress. "Te ves increíble."
I grabbed his arm and dragged him behind a pillar, away from my mother's eagle eyes and my tías' gossiping mouths.
"You can't just show up after five years," I hissed. "After you left for the Army without even saying goodbye. After you—"
"Te escribí." He cut me off. "I wrote you. Every week for a year. You never wrote back."
"I never got any—" The realization hit like cold water. "Mi mamá."
"Sí. Tu mamá." He nodded grimly. "I figured it out eventually. Called the house once. She told me you had a boyfriend, that I should move on."
I was going to kill her. Right after this party, I was going to strangle my mother with these stupid pink streamers.
"Alejandro..." My voice broke. "Lo siento. Yo no sabía."
"I know." He reached out, tucking a curl behind my ear. "I figured it out when I saw your sister last year. She told me you asked about me. That you never dated anyone seriously after..."
"After you."
"Después de mí." He stepped closer, and we were practically behind the pillar now, hidden in shadows. "Camila, yo nunca te olvidé."
The music shifted—the DJ playing something slow, romantic, something that sounded like heartbreak and hope mixed together.
"Baila conmigo," he said. Dance with me.
"Everyone will see."
"Que vean." Let them see.
He pulled me onto the edge of the dance floor, and my body remembered his before my mind caught up. How we fit together, how his hand knew exactly where to rest on my lower back, how following his lead felt like coming home.
"Te extrañé," I admitted. I missed you.
"Yo también, mi amor." His lips brushed my temple. "Cada día."
We danced through three songs before I noticed my mother glaring from across the room. Before my tías started whispering behind their champagne glasses. Before my cousin Sofía gave me a thumbs up and a wink that said she'd planned this all along.
"I need air," I said.
"Yo también."
We slipped out to the balcony, and the Miami night wrapped around us—warm, humid, smelling of jasmine and possibility.
"Five years," I said, leaning against the railing.
"Cinco años de soñar contigo." Five years of dreaming about you.
"You dreamed about me?"
"Every night." He turned me to face him, caging me against the railing with his arms. "I dreamed about your laugh. Your mouth. The way you looked at fifteen when I wanted so badly to kiss you and was too afraid of your father to try."
"You should have tried."
"Lo sé." I know. "But I'm not fifteen anymore, Camila. And I'm not afraid of anything."
When he kissed me, five years dissolved like sugar in coffee. His mouth was hungrier than I'd imagined, his hands more confident, his body harder and more urgent against mine.
"Alejandro," I gasped when we broke apart. "Aquí no—my family—"
"There's a hotel attached to this venue." His forehead pressed against mine. "Tengo una habitación."
"That's presumptuous."
"Soy optimista." He grinned. "I'm optimistic. It's different."
I should have said no. I should have been sensible, talked about the years, figured out what we were, where this was going.
Instead, I grabbed his hand. "Vámonos."
The hotel room was on the fifteenth floor—fitting, I thought, for a quinceañera reunion. He barely got the door closed before I was pulling at his tie, his jacket, everything separating skin from skin.
"Déjame verte," he said, stopping my frantic hands. Let me see you.
He unzipped the flamingo dress slowly, watching it pool at my feet. His breath caught.
"Dios mío, Camila." He traced a line from my collarbone to my hip. "Eres más hermosa de lo que recordaba."
"Your turn."
He undressed for me without shame, and the boy I remembered had become entirely a man—muscled, tattooed, marked by years I hadn't witnessed but wanted to learn.
"Ven acá," I demanded. Come here.
He came to me like I was his quinceañera waltz, all careful reverence until I pulled him down onto the bed and demanded he stop being careful.
"More," I said. "Más fuerte."
"What you want, mi amor." He gave me everything I asked for. "Todo lo que quieras."
We made love like we were catching up on five years in one night—desperate, then tender, then desperate again. He whispered Spanish into my skin, praise and promises and plans.
"Quédate conmigo," he said after, pulling me against his chest. Stay with me.
"For tonight?"
"Para siempre." Forever. He kissed my forehead. "I'm not losing you twice."
"What about my mother?"
"Your mother is scary as hell." He laughed. "But I survived Afghanistan. I can survive Señora Reyes."
My phone buzzed with fifteen texts from my sister: WHERE ARE YOU??? MAMÁ IS LOSING HER MIND. SOFÍA SAYS YOU'RE WELCOME.
I typed back: Tell Sofía I owe her the best Sweet 16 present ever.
Then I turned off my phone and turned back to Alejandro.
"Mi familia is going to make your life hell," I warned.
"Worth it." He pulled me on top of him. "Every moment with you is worth it."
"Cursi." Cheesy.
"Pero verdadero." But true. "Now come here and kiss me again. We have five years to make up for."
We did our best to make up for every single one.