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another girl? Training somewhere? Bastard didn’t even have a Facebook account I could stalk. His Scorpio ass had become even more elusive since we broke up.
    When we were together, I never doubted his fidelity or love; he was honest and open with me. But I also felt that I could never penetrate his core. Even after dating him for two years, he always held a part of himself back. Like he was afraid to let me see his true self. Joaquín and I shared so much with each other that Grant’s exclusion had sometimes made me wonder if he really wanted me in his life. But I was far from innocent—I kept my secrets too.
    I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, and my heart raced when I viewed the city skyline. This was Joaquín’s and my hometown, the last place where my life had made sense. The Transamerica Pyramid, where my father had worked nights cleaning, glowed in the distance. My dad had been so proud, so principled. In a way I was glad he never lived to see his only son accused of murder.
    I turned off Geary Boulevard and pulled the car in front of Blue Danube Coffee, grateful to the parking fairy for finding me a spot. I dashed out of the car, but paused before opening the front door of the coffee shop. The San Francisco Chronicle stand held a paper with the headline— U.S. Navy SEAL Joaquín Cruz Murder Trial set for August .
    I pushed my four quarters into the metal slot and grabbed a paper from the top. My muscles quivered and I ground my teeth. I hated not being there for him, showing him support and unconditional love every step of this mess. I had to make this work. I was his only hope.
    My instructor Roman was waiting for me at a back table. I ordered myself an almond milk Mexican Mocha, and slid into the chair across from him. This gorgeous man was the polar opposite of Grant. Roman’s jet-black hair skimmed his eyebrows, highlighting his almost black eyes. His lips were full, his skin was pale, his body was lean. His accent was so alluring; every time he pronounced the word pleasure “plea-shure” my knees went weak. In another life, another time, I could fall madly in love with the man sitting across from me sipping a single black espresso. But I was focused on Joaquín, and unfortunately for me, Grant had a permanent hold on my heart.
    “You’re late.” The words rolled off his tongue.
    “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, Roman. Traffic.”
    “Call me Roma.” His eyes focused on my swollen breasts. “Why it is that you want to learn Russian? You never told to me.”
    Of course I didn’t. I found you on Craigslist.
    “It’s a sensual language. Always wanted to learn. I’m an actress. I would love to perform Chekhov in his native tongue.”
    He smirked, clearly not buying my story. I now started to doubt my acting skills. “You will tell to me when you are ready. Davai. Kak vas zovut ?”
    Let’s go. What’s your name?
    I took a sip of my mocha, the warm liquid coating my throat, helping me slip into my character. “ Menya zovut Ksenya .”
    Ksenya, derived from the Greek word xenia, which meant stranger. My eyes perked when I found it on a list of Russian names. I was a stranger now, a stranger to Joaquín, to Grant, to myself. Grant had been right. Mia couldn’t help Joaquín. Mia couldn’t break the SEAL code. Mia couldn’t get anyone to talk.
    But none of those SEALs stood a chance of resisting Ksenya.
    ***

 

     
     
    AS I REINVENTED MY LIFE, Joaquín rotted in a jail cell for five months. Per his request, I made no further contact. Just one final call to his lawyer, telling him that I’d been accepted into a theater program in England and that I’d check in when I could.
    I missed Joaquín so much, every day, but I couldn’t focus on that pain. Today was game day.
    I pulled my car into the parking lot at Panthers. Was I really going to do this? The thought of taking my clothes off for a bunch of leering men made my throat burn.
    Roma had helped me secure a new driver’s license,