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were huge—gigantic.”
    “And please tell me again, why did they attack you?”
    “Because a girl one of them was with—okay, she turned out to be his wife, but I didn’t know that part—gave me a little attention. As I said, not my fault.”
    Alejandro groaned in frustration. “We have another two months of games, Sebastian.”
    Sebastian held up the cast on his wrist. “I know. And I’m truly sorry. But obviously you’re going to have to find someone else. Unless you’d like me to play zurdo —left handed.”
    For a moment, Alejandro looked like he was going to explode, then he shut his eyes, took a long, deep breath, and let it out again. “Maybe this is for the best anyway.”
    Sebastian looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    His brother ran his hands through his hair. “I think you taking a break from the game isn’t the worst idea. Your heart hasn’t been in it lately. Perhaps some time off will help.”
    Sebastian felt stung by the truth of what Alejandro was saying, but forced himself to smile, determined not to show his feelings. “Maybe so. Who will you get to replace me?”
    “I’m sure Hendy knows someone. Or perhaps Enzo can take it on.”
    “Great idea,” said Sebastian casually. “Give the piloto some time on the field. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Now”—he used his one good hand to fluff his pillow before he lay back down on the couch and grabbed the remote control—“I’m going to drown my disappointment in a bottle of tequila and a marathon of terrible movies.”
    Alejandro sighed as he left the room. “But of course you are, hermano. I expected no less of you.”

Chapter Eleven
    T he house was enormous. Beautiful, but enormous. Filled with high coved ceilings and sweeping arches, Aubusson carpets and silk window dressings, dark wood floors and jewel-colored velvet upholstery. The whole place was lush and luxurious and brimming with art and books and glorious natural light from the countless floor-to-ceiling leaded glass windows. Kat now understood how it kept her mother busy full time, even with the small army of regular staff helping her.
    Before Kat left for college, Corinne had worked for a dozen different clients around Wellington, cleaning houses from top to bottom all on her own. But this job for the Del Campos was different, Kat realized. Her mother had kept telling her that she was a housekeeper now, not just a maid. But it was only seeing the scope of Corinne’s duties in person that made Kat finally understand. This was not just a cleaning job—this was a production. One that was, in some ways, every bit as complicated as any movie set Kat had ever been on.
    Her mother supervised the other workers in the house, making sure every corner of the home was immaculate. She worked with the head gardener to keep the grounds up to par. She kept shopping lists, and hired and fired staff when needed. She made sure that there was nothing left unnoticed, no task left undone, and judging from the list of tasks Corinne had written out for Kat, she wasn’t afraid of rolling up her sleeves and doing some of the dirty work herself when it was needed.
    Kat had started cleaning early that morning in the enormous kitchen, taking note of the twelve-burner Wolf range, the huge glass-fronted refrigerator, and the way every bit of food inside it was arranged like a still life.
    After living in Hollywood for so long, Kat was used to a certain level of luxury. Wealth no longer intimidated or impressed her in the same way it had when she was a girl. But this home was truly unlike any place she’d ever seen.
    There was something old world about it. It was an estate—not just a house—but despite its size, it felt lived in and welcoming. As she wandered through the house, taking note of what needed to be done, and contemplating its most intimate spaces, Kat sensed a kindred soul in whoever had carefully curated the pieces in this home.
    The bedrooms were restful and