Love, in English

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Shame on us, doomed from the start. May god have mercy on our dirty little hearts,” Trent Reznor sang softly in my ear. I don’t know what it is about listening to music 35,000 feet in the air, staring out the window at just clouds and rounded horizons, but life seems so much more profound. So fleeting. Maybe it was because at any moment you could plummet to your death. Maybe because it made you realize how small your life really was and the music was the soundtrack to your epiphany.

Or maybe it was because you were listening to a depressing and intensely relatable song. I sighed and skipped to the next one just as the seatbelt signs came on and the pilot announced our descent into the Madrid-Barajas Airport.

I didn’t need to buckle my belt—I never took that shit off when flying—so I rested my head against the wall, staring out the window as the clouds came up to meet the plane. I was having immense déjà vu, which made sense since I had landed in London back in late May with the same misfiring nerves coursing through my system. But there was more than just buzzing nerves this time: my entire heart, soul, and life was on the line.

The last week in Vancouver had been as miserable as you could imagine. My mother wouldn’t even look at me, and I never saw Mercy again after that. Josh was my saving grace. He was the buffer between me and the world of disappointment and hate. He made me feel loved when others didn’t.

I was extremely busy as well, trying to figure out if I needed to apply for a permit to work and stay in Spain for longer than normal. Because I was Canadian, working in Spain would be a fairly easy process but it was something I would have to deal with later. The most important thing was for me to just get there.

Naturally, my mother did talk to my father, and he didn’t sound too impressed with me either. He thought I was making a mistake. But he did say that if I ever came back home, I could live with him in Calgary. I really hoped it didn’t come to that, but it was nice to know it was there.

I didn’t want to think about that, about returning to Canada with my tail between my legs. My mind kept going to the “what ifs” all throughout the flight. What if Mateo’s friends and family hated me? What if the spark had died while I was away? What if he decided to reconcile with his wife for the sake of their daughter? What if he had forgotten how to love me—or realized he never loved me to begin with?

I was still so caught up in the questions and the lack of sleep that I didn’t even flinch when we came upon horrid turbulence upon our arrival. The man next to me was gripping his seat rest until his knuckles were chalk white, his body rigid, and yet my only fear was losing love.

Soon we landed, and while everyone looked relieved to be alive, jonesing to get off the plane, I was stuck to my seat, strapped down by fear. Suddenly, I couldn’t do it. Suddenly, I realized what a giant leap I had just taken, something so ballsy and slightly irresponsible. That wasn’t just my mother talking in my head, that was me, that was the me that feared she may have risked everything on a huge mistake. I had five hundred Canadian dollars in my bank account, and no way to get back home if something went wrong. As the flight attendant came down the aisle and asked me if I needed assistance getting off the plane, I asked, “Is there any way I can just stay on this plane and have it take me back home?” She laughed politely then shot me dagger eyes that told me to get my ass up.

I walked through the airport as if in slow-motion, everything so familiar and yet foreign. It was nice to hear Spanish being spoken again, and though it filled me with trepidation because, of course, I didn’t speak Spanish, and unlike Las Palabras, English wouldn’t cut it, it made me feel alive again. It was a kick in the pants of “Hey, I made it, I’m here.”

I just wished I wasn’t so damn afraid. Mateo had said he’d meet me at baggage claim, and I was actually a nervous wreck about seeing him. Would he look different? Did I look different? Was this going to be passionate? Awkward? Was I going to cry?

Would he still feel something for me?

I felt as if I was going to be sick. After I went through customs, I ducked into the bathroom and sat down in the stall, breathing in and out, trying to keep my nerves from bouncing like a rubber ball. I counted down to ten, did my makeup in the mirror, making sure I didn’t look like a jet-lagged mess. I looked normal…a bit wide-eyed but normal. I was wearing a long-sleeved dress that covered up my tats, just wanting to look more presentable when I flew, my hair pulled back into a braid.

Okay. Time to do this.

I walked out of the bathroom and headed for my carousel, my eyes darting around the busy area, looking for a tall handsome Spanish man. I didn’t see him. After what seemed like forever, my bags finally appeared—I had a large suitcase that Josh had given me and the backpack I had gone traveling with. I was moving my whole life over, after all, and was amazed everything could fit in those two bags. Everything else I had to leave behind, Josh promising he would take care of it and not let mom throw everything out. Not that she would, but considering her tendency to overreact, I wouldn’t put it past her.

I put the bags on one of the luggage carts and looked around. I hated feeling like he was somewhere watching me when I couldn’t see him.

After five minutes though, I was really starting to panic. What if he never came for me at all?

“Are you Vera?” I heard a soft voice beside me say.

I turned to see a girl who was at least model height, all willowy limbs, with long, thick brown hair and greenish eyes. She was wearing a loose strappy tank in a metallic green that showed off her tanned skin, and those Hammer pants that made everyone except women like her look like they had saggy diaper butt.

“Yes,” I said, smiling uncertainly.

“I’m Lucia,” she said, showing me a great flash of white teeth. She thrust out her hand. “I’m Mateo’s sister.”

“Oh,” I said slowly. Why was she here? Where was Mateo? I shook her hand, limp at first until it really clued in who I was speaking to. Jesus, where were my manners? “Hi,” I said quickly. “Sorry. I just got off the plane and…um, I guess I thought Mateo would be here.”

“He was but he got called into a meeting with the lawyers,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “He asked me to come in and get you.”

“That was nice of you,” I said, feeling terrible. I couldn’t have had the best reputation—I mean, if he asked her to come, then she knew about me. And now she had to come to the airport and pick me up.

“Do not worry about it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Do you need help?” She gestured to the cart. “I parked in the temporary lot but it is not too far.”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

“You are good?”

I needed to stop saying that. “I don’t need any help. I have it.”

She smiled and flipped her long hair over her shoulder. I caught a whiff of a women’s perfume I couldn’t quite place. She walked slightly in front of me, her car keys jangling from her hand. I noticed she was wearing strappy stiletto heels, and I envied her ease in them.

“I like your shoes,” I said as we stepped outside into grey skies and muggy warmth.

“Mango,” she replied. “The autumn sales will start soon. We will have to go. Mango, Zara, Blanco, they have the best deals. You can get a leather jacket for forty euros. Forty! Real leather.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “Do you like shopping? I like your tattoos.”

“Uh, thanks,” I said, caught off-guard by how friendly she was. I guess it made sense, since her brother was a charmer. Still, I thought if I ever got a chance to meet Lucia I would have been met with hostility, not this instant buddy-buddy thing, which surprisingly, I didn’t think was an act.

I pushed the cart forward, struggling to catch up with her long-legged gait. “And yeah I like shopping. We have Zara at home. They have nice dresses.”

She shrugged. “More or less. It is a Spanish store, yes? But I have a feeling you will like Blanco more. Once you are settled in with Mateo we shall go.” She raised her keys in the air and clicked the fob repeatedly until the electronic doo doo of the locks unlocking rang out down the row of cars. Satisfied, she waved at me to follow.

Wow. It was a silver Mercedes two-door…car. I didn’t know cars well, obviously, but it looked really pricey.

“Nice car,” I said.

“You like it? My boyfriend bought it for me,” she said.

“Nice boyfriend,” I commented, giving her the slow nod of approval.

“Yes,” she said, staring at it with an appreciative smile. “He likes to spoil me. You will meet him too, soon.” She opened the trunk and lifted my backpack up, apparently packing some muscle in her thin arms. Together we lifted up my heavy suitcase and pushed it into the back.

“Come now,” she said with a jerk of her head. “I will take you to your new home.”

Whoa. I know I had moved all the way here for him, but to hear where I was staying being described as home was jarring to my ears. My home. That seemed fucking surreal. It’s like I stepped off a plane and found a friend and a home right away. It didn’t seem right. It seemed too easy.

As she peeled the car smoothly out of the parking lot, she grinned at me slyly. “It seems you are in shock.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“My brother didn’t tell you much, did he?”

“Not really. But I didn’t ask too much either.”

“I see,” she said, pulling out a tin of Altoids from the middle console. She offered one to me, and though I wasn’t a fan of strong mints, I knew my breath was probably rank after being on that plane for twelve hours. I put it on my mouth and the taste made my brain perk up.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was all kind of last minute. I guess I was just so focused on getting here, and I didn’t really think about what happened after. Mateo told me about his new apartment, after…um, you know. But I guess I didn’t really think about the whole moving in, physically, that this would be my home.”

“Are you worried?” she asked, her lips pursed slightly, her thin brows furrowed.

Yes, I was very worried. But about things that she’d probably take the wrong way. “No,” I told her. “It’s just…”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” she said. “I can only imagine how it is for you, to leave home suddenly and come here. Of course, Mama and Papa, we were so surprised about Mateo and you. We thought that, yes, he was different when he came back from Las Palabras. But when he asked for a divorce and then he told us about you, well…”

Well, ain’t you a whore, I finished in my head. Frankly, I didn’t think I’d heard it enough.

“Well, it certainly was surprising,” she went on with a flash of smile. “But in the end, it made Mateo happy. We all knew that he wasn’t happy with Isabel anyway. At least I knew that. She was always in it for the prestige and not him.” She shot a quick glance at my face, as if to make sure I wasn’t the same. “Like I said, he was happy when he said he met you. It did happen fast, and I’m sure there will be words said about it from the other side, but what can I say, Mateo knows what is best for him and we all support Mateo.”

That was an awful lot to process at once. “So your mom and dad, they weren’t angry at him?”

She shrugged. “Papa didn’t really understand, at first. But my mother, she knew. I think it was a similar situation for her, you know, when she met Papa. None of us had seen Mateo so…like…” she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel in thought, “like he was back in Atletico. You know, the life back in him. That was so nice to see that we didn’t really care what had brought about the change in him.” She eyed me out of the corner of her eyes and smiled. “I can see though that you are a nice girl. Very different from what he is used to, so don’t be surprised if some people give you a funny look. It is just that you are so much younger, and you have the tattoos. It doesn’t really mix in with certain types of people. But you know, I like you.”

I felt my shoulders relaxing slightly, despite all the shit she had said that I should get nervous about. “I like you too.”

“Good. Mateo says I can be a pain in the behind, but as my brother he has that right.”

“Are you two close?” It sounded like they were even though he didn’t talk about her all that often.

She tilted her hand back and forth. “More or less. We’ve always had our age differences between us, so perhaps we aren’t as close as we should be. But we make an effort.”

The funny thing was that they were closer in age to each other than I was to Mateo. I bit my lip.

“But that is not the only thing,” she went on reassuringly. “By the time I was a teenager, he was already moved out and part of the team, so I didn’t see him very much. He is a good brother though. And a good father, too. Perhaps not the best husband.”

I looked at her, my hackles raised. She was smiling at me. “It is true, no? I say, if you can’t laugh about it, then life is too serious. Divorce may not be as popular as it is in America, but it happens more and more. It’s just life. You make what you can of it, yes?”

I nodded, swallowing slowly. “Yes.” If only other people would see it so easily. “So, can I ask how he’s been handling it? The divorce, I mean?”

She rubbed her lips together and shrugged as she brought the Mercedes off the highway and on to a boulevard. “It is not easy. Isabel does not want him to have joint custody.’

“Why?”

“I think she is punishing him the only way she knows how.”

“With their daughter?”

“Si,” she said. “That is what it has come to. I am not too sure if Isabel knows about you specifically or that you are here, but she does know there was another woman. Of course she is hurt and humiliated, as any woman would be.”

My chest felt cold, heavy. This was all my fault.

“She is lashing out. She doesn’t want Chloe Ann to ever see her father again.” She dabbed pale pink nails at her eyes that were suddenly wet, her voice going an octave higher. “And then I would never get to see my niece again. Papa, Mama, they love their granddaughter. And Isabel doesn’t care. She doesn’t even care what is best for Chloe Ann, which is to see her father. They are close, you know. Mateo would do anything for her. I know that is the only reason he has stuck with Isabel for so long.”

Shit. This was too much. Despite what Mateo said about being unhappy before I came along, and wanting a change, wanting a new universe, this wouldn’t have happened this was if it wasn’t for me. I did this. His sister could be losing her niece, her parents could be losing their grandchild. Mateo could be losing the light in his life, his happiest memory. All because of me. Because I wanted him. Because I was young, in love, and selfish.

“Do not be so hard on yourself,” Lucia said with a sniffle, as if she heard my thoughts. “Mateo will win. There is no reason for him not to. The courts will see he is a great father. It’s just such a long process because Isabel is making it so. She is fighting it every step of the way, even for his money. Spanish women, we like to fight. But Mateo will be fine in the end. He is very respected.”

“Makes me think I probably shouldn’t have come here so soon,” I said carefully, my words pricked with regret.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But falling in love with another woman does not mean you are not a good parent. That should have no effect on it.”

“Even if the other woman is fifteen years younger, and covered in tattoos and piercings and is Canadian?”

She studied me for so long with those pretty eyes of hers that I was afraid we were going to collide with the back of a van. “We like Canadians,” she finally said. “It will be fine.”

After that sobering conversation, I asked her about things that didn’t make me feel like a horrible human being. She told me all about her job in marketing for a major cell phone company, how she still lived with her parents because she and her last boyfriend had only broken up six months ago and she had nowhere to go. Now, despite the car, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to move in with her new one. When I asked her why she didn’t move out on her own, she told me that didn’t sound like a lot of fun.

Eventually the car pulled down one of the prettiest streets I had seen yet. It was wide, with classic buildings and lots of greenery and color. There were all sorts of smartly-dressed people on the sidewalk, tons of boutiques and tapas bars. Even on this grey day, it had life to it.

“This is the Salamanca barrio,” Lucia said. “My ex-boyfriend lived down that street right there. I love it here, you’re lucky that Mateo got a place. It can be quite expensive.”

“Where do you and your parents live?”

“We are just north of the city. My boyfriend now lives in the Ibiza neighborhood, and it is not so bad. If he asks me to move in with him, I will not mind.”

We drove around the block a few times, Lucia peering at the apartment buildings, until she drove down toward another road. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I have only been here once. But now I remember.”

Finally she found a parking spot in front of a cream colored building with almost a Parisian look to it. “Here we are.”

I stared up at it through the car window. It was gorgeous. I was going to be living here?

We got out of the car, Lucia swinging the pack over her shoulder, me with the suitcase, and we walked through the glass doors of the entrance. The floor had white marble tiles, and the concierge desk was dark wood. Lucia nodded at the man behind the desk who was sifting through a newspaper, and we continued over to the elevator.

“He is only here during the day,” she said as she pushed the button. “At night you need to use your keycard to get in the building.”

The elevator was tiny as hell, barely fitting us and all my stuff; the floor was red velvet that had seen better days. I guess not all the building was as well-renovated as the lobby. I liked that. It felt more like me, to have something a bit tired and rundown.

We got off on the top floor, which was the sixth, and I followed Lucia down a long hallway of sleek hardwood floors with a red and gold runner carpet down the middle. The doors to each apartment had intricate moldings around the frames. You’d never find a place like this in Vancouver and have it be from the actual time period.

“How old is this building?” I asked.

She shrugged as she tried to find her keys, her glossy hair falling in her face. We had stopped at one of the doors at the end of the hall, light streaming in through an ornate window. “Mateo would know. Maybe two hundred years old, more or less. Our buildings here aren’t as old as the other European cities.”

“It’s old to me,” I told her, amazed.

She stuck the key in the lock and we walked into my new home.

I sucked in my breath. It was beautiful.

The floor was hardwood like the hall, but a lighter maple color. The walls were textured and a creamy off-white. The ceilings were very high and had iron chandeliers hanging from them, much like Las Palabras, but these were painted the same color as the walls. As I slowly walked down the front hall, marvelling at the Matador paintings on the walls, I came across the kitchen to the left, a big open space of gleaming chrome and granite, fit for a chef. Beyond that was the living room with a flatscreen TV and soft white leather couch. Windows on the far wall stretched from floor to ceiling, bathing everything in light. You could hear the muffled sounds of the street below and had a view across the street to another beautiful apartment.

“This is amazing,” I said under my breath, peering out the window. I looked over my shoulder at her. She was standing to the side of the kitchen, my backpack still on her shoulders, texting someone on her phone.

Deciding to give myself a tour, I looked to my right and saw another hallway with a bathroom at the end of it. I walked down it and peered into the first room to my left. It was a small den, barely furnished except for a roll-top desk, a laptop, and an open filing cabinet. A few papers spilled onto the carpet beneath. A large amount of boxes were stacked along one wall. Seeing that, seeing the proof of Mateo having to move, having to start his life over, picked at my heart a bit.

I wasn’t the only one faced with massive change.

I continued down the hall, calling over my shoulder, “Do you know when Mateo will be back?”

I opened a door across from it on the right and peered into what looked like a small guest bedroom, tastefully decorated but unlived in.

“He just texted me,” she said. “Should be another hour or so, he hopes.”

I nodded and opened the door on my left. The last one. The master bedroom. It was gorgeous: a king bed with a fluffy white duvet that you’d find at fancy hotels, a large window that opened to the street, a humongous antique dresser, a walk-in closet (great excuse to go shopping with Lucia), and what looked to be a vast en-suite bathroom.

“So,” Lucia said. I turned to look at her putting the backpack down on the couch. “Now that you are here, I’m afraid I have to leave before the traffic gets too bad.”

I walked down toward her, both afraid to be alone and eager to take in my new place by myself.

She embraced me in a quick hug and a perfumed kiss on each cheek. “I will see you soon, yes?”

“I hope so.”

She smiled coyly. “This is your home now, Vera. You are with my brother. We will see each other so much that soon I will be a pain in the butt to you, too.”

She turned and strutted toward the door. Then she stopped and said, “I forgot to leave you these,” and put down a key and a key card on the kitchen island.

Then she was gone and I was all alone in my new place.

I was immediately overwhelmed by the silence, by the unpacking that needed to be done, by the shower I needed to take, by the exploring I needed to do. Instead I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The sound of keys rattling in the door woke me.

My eyes sprung open, my heart immediately off to the races. I sat right up and turned to look at the door, blinking a few times. I had to remember where I was. Mateo’s place. My place. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my body and mind weary from my travels.

My god, was it Mateo at the door?

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

The door opened and in he stepped.

All the breath was taken out of me.

Time came to a crawl.

My heart kicked up a notch.

The air became charged, electric.

All those cliché things that actually do happen to you once Mateo Casalles steps into a room.

He looked unbelievable. A sharp cut steel grey suit that showed off his broad shoulders, a white shirt underneath with top buttons undone to show off the dip of his throat, and no tie. Grey loafers with no socks so you could see a sliver of tanned feet. A thick briefcase in his large hands.

No wedding ring.

I paused on that for a moment, feeling the weight of it, before I looked up to his face.

He had a few day’s worth of stubble along his strong jaw, his hair a bit more tamed than I was using to seeing, slicked back slightly. I preferred his hair messy, but this showed off his great nose and high cheekbones. There was a faint trace of purple under his eyes, like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but the look in his eyes more than made up for it. They were full of wonder, amazement, and a hint of longing and desire that made me think perhaps I was his favorite food after all.

“Vera,” he said in a low voice, unsure, as if I were an apparition. He kicked the door shut with his leg and walked slowly toward me, putting his briefcase on the counter while his eyes never left mine. We were locked in our gazes, that charge in the air thrumming between us.

I found myself slowly getting to my feet, staring at him, feeling that tiny bit of awkwardness that you get when you see someone you haven’t for a long time, someone that you’ve been dreaming of, someone that owns your body and mind. It was like a first date, each person sussing out the other, wondering if they felt the same, wondering what to do.

At least that’s how I was feeling.

Mateo was never one to overanalyze.

He suddenly marched right over to me, a madness in his eyes, and for a heady moment I thought he might consume me.

He put his arms around me and brought me into a tight, hard, nearly painful embrace, holding me as if I were to be ripped right out of his hands. I was engulfed by his intoxicating smell, that mix of fresh ocean breezes and sensual musk, and strengthened by the feeling of his hard chest pressed up against me. I let out a muffled cry, my body overcome with hunger, my heart desperate for his. I could have been standing in the middle of the Arctic tundra for all I cared; as long as I was in his arms I felt home.

“I can’t believe you are here, my Estrella,” he murmured into my hair. “I can’t believe it. I pray I am not dreaming.”

“I pray for the same thing,” I said, my fingers pressing into him, afraid to lose contact.

He pulled back slightly and cupped my face in his hands, gazing down at me with eyes that burned with liquid intensity. “But you are real.”

He kissed me deeply, our lips feeding the passion in each other, our tongues melding together, sweet and spicy. That python of desire was back, squeezing me until it hurt, making me want, need, crave nothing but him, nothing but this moment. We gripped each other, fire in our fingers, pressed against each other as if we couldn’t get closer. I’d never wanted his cock inside me so badly, that physical link between us, to feel him so deep and thick.

Before I could even tell my hands to act, they were already reaching for his pants, unzipping them, sliding into his briefs and pulling out his cock, long, hard and heavy in my hands. Jesus. I almost came just from touching him.

He groaned at my grip, and that only made me throb even more, my underwear soaked. They needed to come off, now.

We fumbled for each other frantically, Mateo’s kisses growing deeper, his tongue fucking my mouth, and I felt my knees buckling. I nearly fell back to the floor but his hands had a stronghold on my arms. With a flame in his eyes, he lowered me to the rug until I was flat on my back. I hiked up my dress and wriggled out of my panties while he managed to only get his pants and briefs off. He attempted to unbutton his shirt but growled, “Fuck it,” and came down on top of me.

His head immediately went between my legs, and I made fists into his hair, already squirming. “My God, I have missed this taste,” he moaned, the vibration against my clit causing me to gasp and tug hard on his hair. It took no time before his tongue was swirling me to an orgasm. I wasn’t seeing stars—I was the stars.

There was no break, no respite. With my body still riding the wave, trembling with ecstasy, he was positioning his cock at my entrance.

“I must have you, like this, right now,” he said adamantly. “I am clean. Do you trust me?”

Of course I did. I wasn’t going to put a condom on him anyway. If I didn’t trust him by now then I shouldn’t be here. Thankfully, I was religious when it came to the pill.

“Yes,” I said, nearly begging. “Please come inside of me.”

With his hands planted on the rug on either side of me, his answer was a single thrust, going in deep, expanding me. I gasped and he slowly slid out. Then back in again. Then out. Taking his sweet, beautiful time. I stared down at him as he pushed in and out, with his slick cock and his white work shirt. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I started playing with my nub but soon my hand was replaced by his.

“That is my job,” he grunted, his fingers sliding back and forth between my clit and his cock.

Soon, his thrusts became faster and faster, and he was so adept at control, playing me just right, that I wasn’t coming until he was. Both of us cried out, moaning and jerking from the spasms, riding an endless wave that made my mouth gape open and my eyes roll back. When he began to slow, he remained inside of me, kissing my face gently and everywhere. My eyelids, my nose, my cheeks, my chin. Our breathing eventually returned to normal, but I didn’t want him to pull out yet. I wrapped my arms around his toned back and held him to me, his face in the crook of my neck.

I’d dreamed about having him like this again. It’s what kept me going on those nights where I felt alone and cold and unloved.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

I was finally home.

I awoke before the break of dawn, the world saturated in a grainy ink blue. After the night of sex—on the floor, on the couch, against the wall, in the bed, in the shower—I would have thought I’d sleep for days. But despite all the frenzied activity, I was wide awake, my internal clock all messed up thanks to jet lag. I stared down at Mateo sleeping soundly beside me, so tanned and dark against the cool white of the sheets. I could still hardly believe he was here.

I wanted to run my fingers over his nose, feel his soft lips, his solid jaw, his chin, his cheekbones, but I didn’t want to wake him. I was somewhat surprised at his stamina last night—I had been with guys my age who tuckered out after two vigorous sessions in the sack, let alone five. I wanted to wear Mateo out until he couldn’t possibly go on—that was my new goal.

I smiled to myself at that thought and slowly got out of bed. The light outside was already turning from ink to sky blue, and through the thin glass of the windows I could hear the birds chirping. The only thing this apartment was missing was a balcony. It would have been nice to start the day outside.

I slipped on my boy shorts and my t-shirt since we’d slept naked, and went out into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. He had a fancy espresso machine that would put my barista skills to good use, but I knew it would be messy and noisy. I rummaged through the cupboards, full of food that looked untouched, and finally found a container of instant coffee. While the kettle was heating up, I leaned against the counter and hugged my arms across my chest. The apartment was cool in the morning, which was good considering that Madrid was apparently going through a heat wave. I was so in and out yesterday that I barely had time to feel it.

I went through three cups of coffee, black, my heart being jumpstarted again and again, and just took in the look of my surroundings, my new home. It was going to take some getting used to, especially with jet lag. I know when I was in London, the first few days were spent in a fog and I had done stuff that, looking back now, I could barely remember. I wondered if I would look back at this exact moment and remember everything I was thinking, everything I was feeling: excited, nervous, hopeful, and scared.

Compared to yesterday though, I felt a lot better now that I was with Mateo. He made a lot of the fears go away, though there were still some dark worries lurking around in the back of my heart. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to fit in here—yes, I did well with the Spaniards at Las Palabras, but this was the city of Madrid, and in some ways a whole new game I knew nothing about.

I worried that his friends and family wouldn’t like me—while Lucia was darling, and according to her, her parents were accepting of me and Mateo, I didn’t know that for sure. As for his friends, I had absolutely no idea. His friends were all going to be in their mid to late thirties. What the hell were they going to think about me? I still liked to party, go out and get drunk, go to concerts where you got stale beer thrown in your face and people kicking you in the head from crowd-surfing. I wasn’t a martini-sipping in a fancy lounge, gossiping about boring shit kind of girl. I didn’t have children, or even a pet. I didn’t have a prestigious career or a well-paying job or a job in general. Fuck, I didn’t even speak Spanish.

And of course my biggest worry was the divorce itself and all that involved, particularly Chloe Ann. I was worried that the little girl would resent me for doing this to her, for taking her father away from her. I worried that Isabel and her semi-royal family would turn hateful and come after me for being the other woman, the villainous homewrecker. And more than anything, I worried that it would become too much for Mateo and I to carry on. We’d survived Las Palabras and seeing each other every day; we’d survived a long-distance relationship where we never saw each other, but this would be the final test. If we could survive my moving to Madrid and being with Mateo while all of this shit was whirling around us, then we could truly survive everything.

I just had no idea how things were going to pan out. I’d have to start living in the moment, not worrying too much about the future, or I’d go insane. I already made all the right steps—now it was time to see where they would lead.

Eventually Mateo came out of the bedroom, having slipped on his boxer briefs, and stood in the hallway, staring at me with sleepy eyes while scratching his bedhead. As usual, he skirted the line between sexy as hell manbeast and being absolutely adorable.

“I had the most wonderful dream,” he said with a yawn, padding over to me. “That you had come to live with me in Madrid. Now I see you in my kitchen, drinking my shitty coffee, and I have to ask…am I still dreaming?”

I grinned at him. I don’t know why I bothered with coffee when the mere sight of him made my heart turn into a rocket. “I may be dreaming too. Some things seem far too good to be true.”

He came and kissed me on the forehead. “I like you like this, my dream Estrella.” He walked over to the fridge and opened it, and I took a long moment to admire his ass. “You, in my kitchen, like a vision.”

“Well, I like you in the kitchen too. Especially when I’m up here,” I said, patting the counter with a wicked gleam in my eye. I jumped up so I was sitting on it, opened my legs, and gestured to my pussy. “And when you’re right here.” I expected him to laugh. I didn’t expect him to be interested right away, not after the night we had, but he closed the fridge door and strolled over to me, a smug look on his face.

“You want more?” he murmured, reaching for my underwear. I lifted my hips and he pulled them right down my legs. I kicked them off to the floor as he pulled his cock out of his briefs, already thick, hard and at attention.

I bit my lip, wondering how the fuck I got so lucky. “Of course I want more. What about you?”

“Vera,” he whispered feverishly, coming up against me, my legs around his hips, his hands in my hair. He gazed at my face, blinking as if in disbelief. “I can never get enough of you, ever. I could fuck you every day, several times a day, for the rest of my life, and I’ll still never get enough.” He kissed me, soft and wet, then slid a finger down into me. I gasped at the intrusion, immediately wanting more.

“Tu coño es mi hermosa prisión,” he said breathlessly.

I grinned and pulled back, trying to look at him. “What did you say? Something about my pussy?”

“It is a good thing and it is the truth,” he said, lazily returning the grin. He then proceeded to fuck me right there on the counter, my legs wrapped around him, my nails digging into his ass.

It was a good morning.

My first week in Madrid flew past in the blink of an eye. Maybe jet lag had something to do with it, but it felt like one big airy dream filled with nothing but sex and food. If we weren’t in the apartment making up for lost time, we were out exploring Madrid. We ate at a lot of tapas bars in very youthful and vibrant parts of town. It was not at all what I would have expected. I thought once I was with Mateo, he’d be taking me wining and dining to the fancy restaurants, the trendy bars where everything was made of ice and the waiters didn’t smile, the lounges for the elite.

Instead, we were almost slumming it. When I brought it up, he told me that he didn’t care much for those types of places anyway and thought I would be more comfortable in laidback environments. Frankly, I thought he was probably trying to avoid running into his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s crowd and I couldn’t fault him for that. I enjoyed living in the happy bubble that the first week brought me, and I wasn’t looking forward to the reality that would come crashing into us one day.

On a sunny Saturday, the city still sweltering and strangely empty with most of the locals escaping to Mallorca or the coastal beaches, I finally got to meet up with Claudia. She was working longer hours at her job since so many of her colleagues were on vacation, and we hadn’t had a chance to hang out. Ricardo was now living with her in Madrid as well, having been able to get a job transfer.

Mateo and I walked down to Plaza Mayor where we were to meet them at an outdoor café that had an assortment of beers on tap. That’s really all I required when the weather was like this—a patio and beer. Though being sticky was never fun, I always took advantage of the sun and heat whenever I could, thanks to Vancouver’s mild and rainy weather. You’d never hear me complaining about hot weather.

“It will be nice to see them again,” Mateo remarked to me as we waited to cross the street. When the coast was clear, he grabbed my hand and led me across the road. It was the little things like that that made me do an internal squee, that got the butterflies racing. I loved it when he held my hand or put his arm around my waist in public.

It especially meant something to me because I often saw the looks that other people gave us, the sight of the business man with the tattooed girl. The men looked envious and the women looked disgusted. The good thing was that Mateo certainly didn’t look thirty-eight, so really, it wasn’t that scandalous, people just liked any reason to pass judgment. It also helped that Mateo started dressing down a lot more, like he did at Las Palabras—his signature “business” look was jeans and a blazer—and I’d made sure to start dressing up. It wasn’t a stretch for me, especially in the summer—I loved a good sundress.

“Look who it is, the Anglo and the Spaniard!” I heard Claudia yell from across the square. Sure enough, there was Claudia and Ricardo, getting out of their chairs, big smiles on their faces. Claudia looked radiant, her skin deeply tanned, wearing a plain green v-neck and a white skirt. Ricardo was clean-shaven, and in shorts and a soccer jersey.

I hugged her and we exchanged pecks on the cheek. “You look great,” I told her, looking her up and down.

“So do you. Like Marilyn Monroe,” she said. I was wearing a white retro-styled dress with cherries on it. I wasn’t sure if I looked Marilyn or just very Rockabilly. Either way, the boobs were definitely getting some sun.

While she greeted Mateo, I greeted Ricardo. “You must forgive me,” he said, pecking me quickly. “Our English has not been so good since we got back from Las Palabras.”

“Speak for yourself,” Claudia admonished him with a grin. She looked at me, her eyes dancing. “I was promoted the other day to take care of the international accounts.”

“Congrats!” I told her.

“That is fantastic,” Mateo said, casually jamming his hands in his pockets. He was wearing black knee-length shorts, Keds (no socks), and a plain white polo shirt, his face erring on the side of stubbly instead of beardy thanks to the heat. “I could barely put together a sentence before Vera showed up.”

“Oh, that is not true,” I said. I wanted to remind him that we were speaking English and talking on the phone nearly every day until I got here. But even though Claudia already knew that about us, something made me clamp my mouth shut. Maybe because now that I was finally here and we were finally together, all the time leading up to now had been part of an actual relationship. It had been an affair—a short one, a distant one, before he had come clean and filed for divorce—but definitely not harmless.

We sat down with them, and like that time at Acantilado, Mateo and Ricardo went off to get us drinks. I watched as his tall, broad-shouldered form disappeared into the dark of the bar, unable to take my eyes off of him.

“Well, look at you, so in love,” Claudia teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Look at yourself.”

She waved at me in dismissal. “Maybe a month ago, when Ricardo first got here. Now I’m already tired of him pissing on the toilet seat, never closing the lids on things.”

“Then I’m sure that will be me soon, so let me have my googly eyes, mmmkay?”

She smiled and studied me for a few moments while she finished her beer. The she smiled, wider this time, until I could see her canines, and exclaimed, “I am so happy you are here! I never thought you would actually do it, to be honest with you.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted. “Until it seemed like it was the only thing to do.”

“Well,” she said, reaching out and laying her hand on mine for a moment. “I am glad you did. This must be such a change for you though. How are you coping?”

“I honestly can’t complain,” I said with a coy smile.

She wagged her finger at me. “I know that look. You had it on the last day of Las Palabras.”

“I was crying on the last day of Las Palabras.”

“We were all crying. But in between your tears you had this same look. Utterly satisfied. Like you just had a great meal.”

“Satisfied. That’s a good word,” I said, leaning back in the chair. I titled my head to the sun, glad for my shades. Pigeons cooed from below, walking among the cobblestones. I’d been dreaming about exactly this for so long, being in the sun, being where there was life, being with my friends and love again. I needed to soak it up like the rays.

“When does fall come?” I asked her, keeping my eyes closed and face to the sky. “More specifically, when does summer end?”

“Are you tired of the heat?” she asked. “Weak Canadian.”

“Not at all, I love it,” I told her. “But I know that the seasons will change soon. I like to hang on to this—to summer and sunshine—for as long as I can.”

She peered at her arm, as if her tan could tell her. “I say another two weeks. Then it will start to end. October, you will feel the difference.”

I didn’t dare think that far ahead.

Soon Mateo and Ricardo came back with our drinks and we spent the whole afternoon just relaxing under the sun, chasing away the heat with ice cold beers. I was buzzed—summer buzzed, the best kind. And no, not like a bee. We literally sat there for hours and hours, all chatting away like it was old times. Near the end I was starting to feel guilty for having them adapt to my language, so I made them speak Spanish at the end to help me learn. I was lost, but after a while I started to pick up on things here and there.

After a while though, it was time to part ways. We invited them over for a drink—they would have been our first guests—but Claudia looked a bit drunk and was complaining about a headache, so we made plans for another day and Ricardo took her home.

When we were walking back to the apartment, our gaits meandering along the stones of the sidewalk, Mateo gestured to another bar. I was drunk too but had the energy to keep going, especially as the sun was only beginning to set.

It was fairly busy, but I guess it was Saturday night after all. It wasn’t a large bar and had a rustic appeal to it. Little plates of patatas bravas—potatoes with a spicy orange sauce—and calamari and olives were lined up along the bar. Mateo put his hand on my shoulder and asked me to order him a beer while he went to use the restroom.

I went up to the bar and leaned against it, trying to get the bartender’s attention since he was wrapped up in conversation with an old dude. A young guy, mid-twenties, sauntered up to me. I could see him approaching out of the corner of my eye, and it wasn’t until I looked at him that I saw he was actually quite cute. He had sandy brown hair that fell in his eyes, bronze skin, green eyes, and a chin with a dimple in it.

He rattled off some Spanish to me but I could only smile and say, “Los sientos, je ne parle pas Spanish.” Then I laughed at myself from my drunken attempt at Spanish. Somehow I managed to get it mixed with both French and English.

The guy laughed. “You are American?”

“Canadian, actually,” I said.

He nodded, as if that was better, and stepped a bit closer. “Cool. So what are you doing in Madrid?”

I smiled at him, trying to be polite and charming but not give him the wrong idea at the same time. “I live here.”

“Oh, you do?” he asked. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

He didn’t seem offended, not like guys back at home would be. “So do you live alone?”

“She lives with me,” I heard Mateo’s gruff voice say from behind me, his arm going around my shoulder. I looked up at him and was surprised to see the look of cold steel in his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tensing. He was looking at the guy like he was about put his fist through his face.

The guy looked between the two of us a few times then threw up his hands and muttered something with a smile on his face. He turned around and moseyed into the depths of the bar.

“What did he say?” I asked.

Mateo didn’t say anything for a few moments. I could see his pulse beating along an artery in his neck. He was angry…or maybe it was something else.

Could Mateo have been jealous?

“Mateo,” I said.

He slowly tore his eyes away from the guy who had long since disappeared from sight and looked down at me. Instead of looking angry, he looked worried, nearly frantic. His grip around my shoulders tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking with something I didn’t understand. “Come with me.”

I blinked, puzzled, and jerked my thumb at the bartender. “You don’t want a beer.”

“I just want you,” he whispered. He grabbed my hand and led me back toward the restrooms. He kicked open the woman’s washroom and poked his head inside. Then he ushered me in, closing the door behind him.

“What is…what?” I asked, still a bit confused as he brought me over to the handicapped stall and locked us both in there. “Um, Mateo.”

He grabbed my face and started kissing me, hard and feverish. The breath was sucked out of me, replaced with fire. “I am the only man for you,” he growled. “I’m going to come inside of you and I’m going to make you come hard.”

Well, okay then.

The man was jealous. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

He hiked up my dress until it was around my waist and groaned at the sight of me with no panties—I knew there was a good reason to go commando. Suddenly he picked me up and pressed me against the wall, taking out his cock while I gripped him with my thighs. He pushed into me, tight and quick, and I gasped at the friction.

He fucked me relentlessly, his passion and need filling the air like static electricity, present in every touch of his body. He’d gone mad with lust and I’d gone mad for him.

When he was done, both of us breathless and sore, we made each other look presentable again. I smoothed out his collar, patted down his hair where I had pulled on it; he tucked my breasts back into my dress, pushed the hair behind my ears. We grinned at each other, two silly fools in love, and opened the stall door.

There was a woman standing there as if waiting for us to finish.

She already had a look of disgust on her face, but when she laid her eyes on Mateo, they widened as if she’d just seen the biggest spider in the world.

“Mateo?” she cried out in ardent disbelief.

Oh fuck. I swallowed hard and started paying attention to her. She was probably in her late-thirties with dark brown hair cut into a severely stylish bob. Red lipstick, secretary glasses on her eyes—the cat-eyed kind, a yellow jeweled tunic over white capri pants. Sophisticated. Older. And she obviously knew Mateo.

And suddenly I couldn’t breathe. This could not be good.

Before Mateo could say anything—he was, in fact, too stunned to speak—she put one hand on her hip and cocked her head, eying us both with a manipulative gleam, the disbelief having worn off. She pointed at me and looked at Mateo. “Mateo, no creo que esta es tu esposa.”

I understood esposa. That meant wife.

“Sonia,” he said, finding his voice. He cleared his throat. He looked down at me and I saw absolute fear in his eyes. It rocked my foundation. “Vera, this is Sonia. I have known her for a long time. She moved to Paris. I did not know she was back in Madrid.” He stressed these words to let me know that this chick did not know about the divorce; at least that’s what I got out of it.

Oh, this so did not look good. Now I was blushing with shame, like a flaming tomato. I had to get out of there.

I nodded at her and gave her a quick smile which she did not return. “Nice to meet you,” I said. I brushed past her and shot Mateo an apologetic look over my shoulder. “I need to get some air.”

I made my way out of the bathroom and bar and into the night air. A certain chill had settled in it, despite the heat of the day.

Summer was ending sooner than I thought.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The next day was Sunday and a day that Mateo thought I should finally meet his little Chloe Ann. I was extremely nervous, especially with what had happened with Sonia at the bar. After I had gone outside, Mateo explained to his friend that he and Isabel were divorcing. He didn’t say anything about me, I guess that was pretty explanatory. And even though Sonia had been his friend—an ex-girlfriend of one of his buddies—and not Isabel’s, he said he could feel the hate coming off of her.

It definitely put a damper on the evening and made me realize with a kick to the gut that we couldn’t be a normal couple, not yet anyway. We were hanging around fun restaurants and bars not just because of me, but because he didn’t want to run into people like Sonia. Claudia and Ricardo were the first friends we’d met in a long time, I hadn’t seen his parents yet, and it seemed like there was an awful lot of hiding going on.

When I brought the subject up over our hung over breakfast, the feeling that our relationship was as sequestered as it had ever been, he told me that he’d go pick up Chloe Ann and we could take her to the zoo, one of her favorite places.

He called up Isabel and I listened to their conversation blatantly, mainly because I didn’t understand any of it. There were a few tense moments, the heel of Mateo’s hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, it seemed she acquiesced and he let out a sigh of relief.

I, however, was a bundle of raw nerves. This was his daughter we were talking about. And I knew she had no idea who I was. Mateo had told me that though Isabel knew there was another woman he met at Las Palabras, she didn’t know I was here, living with him, so Chloe Ann definitely didn’t know about me.

“What are you going to say to her?” I asked later as he was grabbing his keys off the hook on the wall, about to leave. “Who will you tell Chloe Ann I am?”

He gave me a soft look. “I will tell her you are a friend of mine from another country, Canada, and that you are very nice.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and folded my arms. “That’s it? I mean, don’t you think she’ll tell Isabel about me? Don’t you think that maybe you should tell her about me anyway? I mean, the thing with Sonia…it’ll happen again, don’t you think?”

He nodded and exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked defeated. He stared at his feet for a moment before he looked back at me, a quiet desperation on his brow. “Vera, I just want you to see Chloe Ann. I want her to see you. You’re the most important girls in my life. So…I will ask a favor from you. Will you do me a favor?”

I couldn’t say no to him. “What?”

“Today, when I bring her back here, can you cover up your tattoos? Put your hair up. And I will call you Estrella.”

I felt my stomach freefall. I frowned, feeling disturbed. “You want me to hide who I am? Pretend to be someone else?”

His lips curved into a sympathetic smile. “No, Vera. Just…you are so lovely, so full of life. You’re distinctive. You’re right, I need to tell Isabel about you. But I also want you to see Chloe Ann, and I don’t want Isabel to hear it from her.”

“I don’t think I like this.”

“Please? Just this once.”

“She’ll still probably say she met Daddy’s friend Estrella, what’s the difference?”

“Please.”

I sighed, running my hand through my hair in frustration. “Fine.”

He came over and held me tight, a quick embrace. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

And then he left.

I leaned back against the hallway wall, my legs splayed in front of me, barely keeping me up. This was getting so complicated, and it would only continue to be complicated until…well, I didn’t know when it would end. Things never got tidied up the minute a couple got divorced. It seemed, from what I’d seen, that the divorce itself was the easiest part and all the real shit is what came afterward, shit that went on for years.

And then I understood why Mateo wanted to keep me so hidden, so under wraps. Lucia had said that being with me wouldn’t reflect poorly on him to a judge, and while that may or may not be true, it obviously wasn’t what Mateo thought. He feared that if Isabel knew I was living with him, that it would affect his chances of getting joint custody of Chloe Ann. And I knew that if I was just some other woman, it probably wouldn’t be as much of a problem.

But I was me. I had all the tattoos, the piercings, the way I dressed, the way I was, the fact that I was fifteen years younger. I was sure that Isabel could spin me into anything she wanted; all she’d have to do was point to me and call me dangerous, a delinquent, a threat to her child.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt a cut of regret at all my tattoos.

But Mateo loves you for you, I told myself. Because of all those things that make you who you are.

I knew I was right. I knew that had I been someone else, someone older, no ink, someone prudish and classy and demure, that Mateo wouldn’t have fallen in love.

It was just such a shame that the reasons Mateo fell in love with me were the very same ones that could be used to rip his life apart.

With that heaviness weighing down on my heart, I went into the bedroom and changed into skinny jeans and my Freddie Mercury long-sleeved tee. I brushed my hair back and knotted it in a bun at the back. I took my dark eye makeup down a touch, but unfortunately that only highlighted my age. There was really nothing that could be done about that. Thankfully to a five-year-old, every adult looked the same—old.

While I was waiting for him to come back, I started pacing the apartment, trying to take my mind off of things, this terrible feeling of dread that had started building up in my gut after we saw Sonia last night, like the week of sex and fun was over and now things had to get very real and very serious. I’d only spoken to Josh once since I got here, but I had a feeling I was going to need his advice again. I couldn’t burden Mateo with this exact thing. He already had enough to worry about.

Suddenly my cell rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. It was Mateo.

“Hey, where are you?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper. “Do you mind coming to meet me at the zoo instead?”

The fuck was going on? “What? Why?”

“Please,” he said. “It will work better this way. Trust me.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Fine. How do I get there?”

He gave me directions that sounded far more complicated than I wanted to deal with. I grabbed my purse and headed out the door.

Nearly an hour later, after I’d gotten off at the wrong Metro stop, I slogged my way through the heat up to the zoo, which was set in a beautiful park. After I paid my way in, I watched the signs to the Panda exhibit. Apparently it was one of the more popular attractions and Chloe Ann was obsessed with pandas. I was tempted to snatch up one of the stuffed ones I saw for sale in the kiosks, but thought that would probably come across as a bit creepy, a random lady giving a child a toy.

I kept my eyes peeled for them, taking in the sights, the smells, the screaming children, the families. It was kind of weird to be in this atmosphere, so wholesome and normal.

Eventually I spotted Mateo in the crowd. With Chloe Ann up on his shoulders, it wasn’t hard. I stood there, watching, unseen, just wanting to observe him and his daughter together.

She was certainly a precious little thing. She had on blue leggings, a white t-shirt that already seemed to have some sort of stain on it, and little blue running shoes on her feet. Her profile was dainty and cute—she got Isabel’s delicate nose and Mateo’s full lips—and she had long sandy brown hair that waved and shimmered in the sun. I was surprised at how at ease she seemed with Mateo, holding on to his head and occasionally smacking him playfully in the face over something. Sometimes she’d kick her heels into his chest, like he was a horse, and he’d try and take her closer. Unfortunately, the crowd in front of the pandas was so thick that even I couldn’t see what they were all staring at.

While they stood there, she talked to him, nearly non-stop, always smiling. In turn, Mateo was smiling too, a big, beautiful smile that made his face glow. It was almost heartbreaking to know what was going on outside of this picture, and once again the guilt started eating away at me.

I didn’t know how long I was planning on being a stalker but eventually Mateo’s sixth sense kicked in. He swivelled his head and his dark eyes came right to me.

I lifted my hand up quickly in a soft wave. He smiled back and then said something to Chloe Ann. The girl scrunched up her face, not happy about this no more panda thing, and he brought her over to me.

I didn’t know what to do or say, how to act, how to stand, so I just stared at him while he stopped right in front of me. Chloe Ann’s eyes were not noticing me at all—they were looking in the distance at what other animals lurked out there.

“Hola,” Mateo said to me warmly.

So I was speaking Spanish now?

Chloe Ann finally looked at me, peering down inquisitively. “Hola,” she said in a tiny voice.

I smiled at her. “Hola. Me llamo es Estrella.” And I was totally butchering the language already.

“Mateo,” he said, gesturing to himself. He tapped her leg. “Chloe Ann.” Then he began speaking to her quickly in Spanish and I could only stare, smile, and nod, like I totally had a clue what was being said.

Chloe Ann smiled at me after he finished talking and he gently lowered her to the ground. She ran over and grabbed my hand, tugging lightly at it. “Vamos!” she cried out, giggling, and started to pull me toward the panda enclosure. I laughed in surprise and raised my brows at Mateo.

“Pandas,” he said, rocking back on his heels and watching us go. “Su favorito.”

I guess he had told his daughter something about pandas either being her or my favorite, because she led me over to the crowd and was pointing in their direction, saying a bunch of stuff. I could only nod and keep saying, “Si, si,” over and over again but that seemed to be enough to keep her satisfied. She just kept talking and talking. It was the cutest thing ever, and I felt some maternal part of me that I had always assumed was dormant starting to flicker.

I felt Mateo’s presence behind me, amazed at the energy he radiated without even touching me. “I told her that Estrella has never been to the zoo before,” he whispered in my ear, “and your favorite animal is the panda.”

“She didn’t question how you knew that?” I whispered back.

“No. What her father says is usually the truth.”

Usually.

Soon, Chloe Ann grew tired of the crowds, so she led me and Mateo toward the tigers, taking both of our hands in hers. I was amazed at how brave and comfortable she was with a supposed stranger like myself. I thought maybe she could pick up on how relaxed Mateo was around me, but I could also tell she was just a happy, adventurous little thing.

Mateo beamed at me, at his daughter between us. My heart did back flips at the content expression on his face—there was nothing but love for this moment. We found the tigers, Chloe Ann telling me all about them. I kept saying, “Grande gato” and she kept correcting me with impatience. When we were done with that, we found a little café to sit at and had something to eat. Chloe Ann only stopped talking when she was devouring her ice cream cone, something she relished so completely that I had the impression she wasn’t allowed treats like this normally. Dad was spoiling her.

When she was done, he plucked her out of her seat and put her in his lap, making silly faces at her and blowing raspberries on her forehead. She giggled uncontrollably, loving it, wiping her ice cream sticky fingers on his shirt. He didn’t care.

Watching their interaction, I was flooded with warmth. My uterus started kicking at me. It kind of hurt.

Then he said something to her about “adios” and suddenly Chloe Ann’s face fell like a brick. Her lower lip stuck out, brow scrunching together. She wailed something to him, talking fast, punctuated by hiccups.

Mateo kept apologizing, trying to sound light. She shook her head and buried it in Mateo’s neck, growing quiet, her little arms wrapped around her. He held her close and shot me a look—it was the look of his heart breaking.

Eventually he had to get up, and he held Chloe Ann to him like that as we walked toward the park exit. At the sight of the gift shop though, her tears seemed to dry up and she pointed excitedly at a stuffed monkey. Mateo let her down and she ran over to it, holding it to her chest.

“What was that about?” I asked him.

“I told her it was time to take her home,” he admitted softly. “She asked when I was coming home. Said she missed me and wanted me to tell her stories at night. I told her I wasn’t coming home anymore.” His eyes were getting watery. He sighed. “It’s been like this every time I see her. I wish I could see her more, but until the divorce is final, Isabel keeps it to just once a week.”

“But legally she can’t do that,” I said. “If your divorce isn’t final, you’re just separated. You have the rights.”

He nodded slowly. “I know. But I don’t want to fight Isabel right now, not with Chloe Ann on the line. I have done and will do what I can to make Isabel happy, to keep whatever peace there is.”

The gravity of the situation sank over me. The desperation in Mateo’s voice was unmistakable. My eyes stung. “I’m a terrible person,” I blurted out, unable to keep it inside.

Mateo’s eyes widened with shock. “Don’t you ever say that,” he whispered harshly, his gaze fiery. “You don’t ever say that about yourself, understand?”

“Papa!” Chloe Ann cried out. He slowly tore his eyes off of mine and looked over at her. She jumped up and down, the monkey raised above her head, a pleading look in her eyes. “Por favor, Papa!”

He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Si, Chloe Ann,” he said and walked over to her, taking the monkey from her hands and walking it to the counter. She followed him, hanging on to the edge of his shirt and pulling at it with excitement.

I breathed in deeply, trying to ease the tightness of my chest. The pain came back, however, when Mateo and Chloe Ann—and the monkey—came out of the store. Mateo stopped and waved at me. “Adios,” he said and his daughter said the same. Then they walked away.

I guess I had to leave separately too. I wondered if all our lives were ever going to truly come together.

The week went on with a bit of a damper on things. While the weather was still hot and humid, I felt like the mugginess was becoming a glove around my throat. I stopped finding the heat to be beautiful; instead I found it oppressive and annoying, my patience being tested. I did what I could to seem cheery for Mateo, to try and assimilate into my new life. While he was at work, I explored the city on my own, until I had a really good feeling for the neighborhoods. I liked Madrid—a lot. But I couldn’t shake the knot of unease in my stomach.

I talked to Josh on the phone, and though his advice was along the lines of, “No one ever said this would be easy, the hard things are worth it. Hang in there,” just hearing his voice and having someone to vent to made me feel better. I talked to Claudia too, but I didn’t get very in-depth. I guess I was afraid she’d think I regretted moving here and that really wasn’t the case.

By Thursday, Mateo came home to see me sitting on the couch and flipping absently through the TV channels, not understanding a word of it. Rain had started to fall from a dark grey sky but the heat pressed at the windows from the outside.

“That is it,” he said, tossing his briefcase on the kitchen counter. “I miss my smiling Estrella.”

I turned to look at him, plastering a smile on my face. “What are you talking about?”

“You aren’t very good at lying,” he said. He came over and sat beside me. He was wearing a sharp navy blue suit today, including a waistcoat. He had a meeting with a client from the UK, someone who was supposedly interested in franchising his restaurant.

“How was your meeting?” I asked, wanting the subject off of me.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It is a tough sell. I think they thought I was still some big football star and that’s why they were eager to meet. I am not sure what my partner told them, but they looked a bit disappointed.”

“No one could be disappointed with you,” I said, pulling him to me and kissing him softly. The feel of his lips and tongue still made my nerves tingle, as if they were stroked by lightning. “Besides, they could always Google you if they had the inclination to do a bit of research.”

“Have you Googled me?” he asked curiously.

I gave him a quick kiss on the nose. “Of course,” I said. “I wanted to find naked pictures of you, something to get off to while I was in Vancouver.”

He grinned slowly and cocked a brow. “I like that. Did you find any?”

I shook my head. “No. Did you know there is a really fat man from Mexico called Mateo Casalles? He doesn’t have a problem having naked pictures of him.”

He laughed. “Good to know.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ears and tugged on it. “So, I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Did I like surprises anymore? I wasn’t sure.

“Well, I have two surprises, one you will probably like more than the other. Tonight we are going for dinner at my parents’ house.”

I tried to keep the smile on my face, I really did. But my anxiety wouldn’t let me.

“Don’t look so worried,” he said with a gentle expression. “They will love you and you will love them. And if you don’t love them, you will love Carmen’s food.” Carmen was his stepmother, and he never referred to her as Mom. “Lucia will be there too, of course, and she may bring that man of hers that she’s seeing, so you don’t have to be the only one feeling awkward. He has also not met them yet.”

Well, that would help a bit. I exhaled. I knew I’d have to meet them at some point, but the idea still terrified me. Despite what Lucia said about them, I was so afraid that they wouldn’t like me. I needed them to like me, to like Mateo and I together.

“And,” he went on, “as your reward for getting through dinner, as well as an attempt to put a smile on your face again, and to escape this damn heat, I am taking us tomorrow morning to Barcelona. I took time off work and there are no more meetings with the lawyer for a bit—we can stay in the apartment there. Five days on the beach. What do you say?”

Well, that did put an actual smile on my face.

“Really?” I exclaimed. “We can just go there?”

“Of course,” he said. “You are my Estrella. Anything for you.”

“Anything?” I asked seductively. I slowly raised the hem of my skirt until he saw I wasn’t wearing underwear.

I could practically see him salivating, his eyes going glossy with lust. “Especially that,” he growled. I lay back on the couch as he buried his head in between my legs.

Soon, I was smiling a second time.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It took me ages to get ready for his parents’ house. I was trying on everything I owned, experimenting with my hair and makeup, trying to make myself look as demure as possible. I eventually settled on a long-sleeved navy blue dress, form-fitting but cleavage-covering, and pulled my hair back into a braid that covered up the tats on my neck. I wasn’t taking any chances with these people.

On the car ride over there, I was starting to crack a bit. My breathing felt restricted, my thoughts chaotic. I kept rubbing my palms over and over again on my dress. I’d had panic attacks as a teenager, after the divorce, and this felt like one of those episodes all over again.

I couldn’t hide it from Mateo. He took one look at me and pulled the car over to the side of the highway, so private and public at the same time.

“Vera,” he said, twisting in his seat, putting his hands on my face. “Look at me, Vera.”

I managed to meet his eyes, overwhelmed by the panic in them, as if he was feeling how I was feeling, absorbing my emotions for his own.

“Vera,” he said, his voice low, soothing but strong. “You’re okay. You are with me, yes? You are here and you are okay. Just breathe. Breathe in slowly. Breathe out slowly.”

I did as he asked, trying to focus on my breath going in and out of my body. Eventually my heart rate slowed and I was starting to feel more centered and in control.

“Oh, my Estrella,” he said softly. He pressed a gentle kiss on my forehead. “What happened?” he murmured.

I swallowed. “I don’t know,” I said weakly. “I just…I’m just so afraid. So afraid.”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around me. “I know you are. And it’s okay to be afraid. But, you will see…my parents are not your parents.” I flinched slightly, the memories of my mother and Mercy slamming into me. I had told him all about them—he knew. He went on, “You deserve good people in your life and happiness. Trust me, my family is good people.”

“They won’t like me,” I said, nearly sobbing. “The deck is stacked against us, Mateo. There are too many things wrong about me.”

“Vera,” he said sharply. He pulled back and peered intently into my eyes, commanding me to listen to him. “Do you know why I love you?”

I tried to think, and in my frazzled state came up with nothing. “I have no idea.”

“I love you because you are you. You’re a little bit crazy, and I find that more interesting than being normal. You’re passionate and I find that more fascinating than being calm. You’re curious and adventurous and sexual, and you’re full of life and you make me want to be a better man, to live louder, to bend and break all the damn rules.” He kissed me hard and I was so shocked by it, shocked by his words, I didn’t have time to reciprocate before he broke away. “And those are all the reasons why my parents will fall in love with you too.”

I gave him a shy smile. “Well, except for the sexual bit.”

“Hey, they are happy as long as I am happy. And Vera, you make me happier than I have ever been. Even now, even with all this shit going on around us, I am still happy because I have you—by my side and in my bed. We will get through this. I promise you. I swear on the stars.” He raised my hand to his lips and ran them over my knuckles.

My lip quivered. Fuck, I was getting really tired of getting so weepy all the time, but at least now these were happy tears.

Mr. and Mrs. Casalles lived in a two-story stucco house on the outskirts of the city, in a nicely kept suburban neighborhood. It kind of reminded me of home, except all the houses had this wonderful Spanish-style architecture and the gardens were a lot more colorful.

Mateo pulled the car up into the driveway beside Lucia’s Mercedes. It was funny—the car that Mateo drove was just a black SUV, nowhere near as flashy as his sister’s, even though he could obviously afford a Mercedes himself. I liked that about Mateo, how he had quite a bit of wealth, but aside from the suits and the apartments, he didn’t really flaunt it.

I got out of the car, conscious of my every step, every movement, walking in slow motion. He came around to my side and looped his arm through mine.

“Did I tell you yet how beautiful you look?” he asked, grinning down at me.

“No,” I said. “Did I forget to tell you the same?”

He stroked along his beard, holding his face in his hand. “This old thing?”

We walked up the stairs to the porch and rang the doorbell. I was surprised he didn’t barge right into the house.

I held my breath as I heard footsteps on the other side. The door opened and an older man with a thick grey beard and glasses peered out at us. He was a tad shorter than Mateo, slightly portly, and I was immediately reminded of a thinner George R. R. Martin. He even had a fisherman’s cap on.

“Papa,” Mateo said with a respectful nod.

His father smiled only slightly at his son and then fixed his eyes on me. He raised his bushy silver eyebrows and said something in Spanish to Mateo.

Mateo looked to me. “Papa doesn’t speak English. But he thinks you’re very pretty.”

Now I raised my brow. That didn’t seem like what he said.

Luckily there wasn’t time to stand on the porch and think about it. He opened the door wider and Mateo led us inside.

The home itself was cozy and inviting. Very Spanish—lots of tapestries, some Dali and Picasso prints among pastoral landscape paintings, walls of color mixed with wood. It smelled amazing, like herbs and olive oil.

“Mateo!” a woman cried, coming out from what I assumed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on her messy apron. This must have been Carmen, and at first I was shocked at how young she looked until I remembered that his father had waited ten years before he remarried.

She put Mateo’s face in her hands, squeezing it until I had to laugh, then kissed him twice on each cheek. She was a tall woman with a lively, friendly face. When she finally focused on me and I could see that same warmth in her eyes, I knew she was just a friendly, good person.

She came right over to me and embraced me like I was an old friend. “Vera,” she said, her accent heavy. “I am so happy to meet you, Vera. I have been asking Mateo about you.”

I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. She pulled away, and with a firm grasp on my shoulders, looked me up and down. “You are very beautiful. Such a lovely face.” She looked at Mateo. “She is an angel, Mateo.”

“More like an angel in disguise,” he said gleefully, biting his lip at the daggers I was shooting him.

“Oh, you are no good,” Carmen said to him. She looked back to me. “Are you hungry? I hope you are hungry.” She started leading me toward the living room. “Come, come, sit down.”

Mateo’s father said something but Carmen waved him away. “Quiet Sebastian,” she admonished him. “Mateo’s father doesn’t speak a word of English but don’t worry, he is more harmless than he looks. He thinks he’s turned into Hemingway in his old age.”

I wanted to make a remark about George R. R. Martin but decided not to push it. I had a tendency to gang up on people when I was trying to make friends.

Carmen sat me down on a worn velvet sofa. Mateo joined me while his father and Carmen disappeared into the kitchen.

“You are doing great,” Mateo said to me, putting his arm over my shoulder. “Carmen is very lovely.”

“Yes, she is.”

His father came out a moment later holding a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He gave us one each and poured the bottle of red into our glasses. Mateo thanked him and he only grunted, shuffling back into the kitchen.

“My father is shy,” Mateo said. “And, well, he can be a bit of a grump before he’s had his wine. He will loosen up later, you will see. I bet he is nervous about you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because he doesn’t speak English and wishes he did,” he said. “He always wanted to learn, he just never got around to it.”

“Maybe I can teach him English one day,” I suggested. “Apparently I am good at it.”

“You are,” he said, clinking the edge of his glass against mine. “And even the fact that you would offer that makes me very, very happy.”

We finished our wine while Carmen worked in the kitchen. Eventually his father came out and made small talk with Mateo, becoming more animated the more wine he drank. Then Lucia came down, a sullen look on her pretty face.

“What is wrong, sister?” Mateo asked in English, giving her a hug.

She shrugged. “Carlos isn’t coming for dinner. He is working late. Again.”

She came over to me and gave me a quick hug. “Nice to see you again, Vera,” she said sincerely, even though she was pouting a bit.

“Fuck Carlos,” Mateo said.

“Mateo!” Carmen admonished him from the kitchen. “Please be nice.”

He laughed. “I am serious, Lucia. He is always cancelling on these dinners. When are you going to give him the boot?”

She glared at him. “His reasons are all true. Don’t be so overprotective.”

He sat back down, pulling me against him. “I am not overprotective. I am just getting annoyed that you are dating the invisible man, that is all. I mean, how do you even kiss him if you can’t see his face? Seems complicated, yes?”

I elbowed him, feeling like Carmen. “Be nice.”

He grinned at me like a jackass. “What? It’s true. I wonder about such things.”

I rolled my eyes, though secretly I was enjoying the banter between the two. Playful Mateo was always fun and he really loved to rile Lucia up who fell into his trap every single time.

Dinner was pretty much the same thing, except that his father was smiling a lot more. He asked me a few questions too, which eager beaver Lucia translated for me. The food was amazing—finally some authentic homemade paella that wasn’t made for tourists—and there were endless bottles of wine. I was pretty buzzed, laughing at everything, while Mateo stayed sober so he could drive us home. And by the time that came, I actually didn’t want to leave. I had a long embrace with Carmen and even Sebastian seemed affectionate enough when we said our goodbyes. For all his grump, there was an innate kindness in his eyes.

In the car ride back, I told Mateo that I had been terribly wrong about his family.

“I told you so,” he chided me. “They are good people and they trust me.”

“I wish everyone was good like they are,” I said.

“Yes, the world would be better,” he said. “But frankly, I am grateful for them and the way things are. Sometimes you don’t need everyone on your side, you only need a few.”

I smiled and prayed someday I would take that to heart.

A few beats of silence passed, that kind of comfortable air that happens when you’re riding in a car at night, only the sound of wheels on the dark highway and the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

“You know what we should do?” he eventually asked.

“What?”

“When we get back from Barcelona, we should have a party. Let’s invite everyone from Las Palabras, all the ones who live here or nearby.”

My smile nearly broke my face. “That is a fantastic idea!”

“I thought you would like it,” he said. He put his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “We deserve some fun and friends, no?”

That night we got home and tore each other’s clothes off, barely making it in through the door. I hoped I was able to show Mateo just how beautiful he made me feel.

Barcelona ended up being an absolute gem. First of all, I loved road trips, so the fact that Mateo and I were jetting through the Spanish countryside, stopping at wineries and olive farms and drinking and stuffing ourselves silly on everything that was overripe and decadent was amazing. Then the city of Barcelona itself managed to knock my boots off. The city was a maze of beauty, a mix of the quaint and the avante garde. Dali and Gaudi-esque architecture made me snap a million pictures, the narrow and unassuming side streets led us to hidden tapas bars and used bookstores, the busy street of Las Ramblas made me spend too many euros giving change to all the living statues that were lined up and down it.

Mateo’s apartment was as fantastic as I had imagined it back at Las Palabras. It was in a modern-looking high-rise overlooking a wide expanse of golden sand beach. With the balcony doors open, you could hear the aqua waves crashing at night and feel the ocean breezes during the day. The apartment was only a studio and it was furnished sparsely, looking more like a hotel room than anything. But it was absolutely exquisite nonetheless.

The day before we left, we packed up a picnic lunch—rose wine, meats and cheeses—and headed to the beach just in front of the apartment. It was a Monday and less crowded than the weekend, with only a few bronzed bodies lying about. I decided to do what I had been too scared to do all weekend long and that was to sunbathe topless.

I sat up on my beach towel and untied the back of my string bikini, my breasts coming free. I could see a bit of movement in Mateo’s board shorts, the ever-present erection.

“I approve of this,” he said, eying my breasts lustfully. They were so white in the glaring sunlight I was surprised he didn’t need shades. He could go blind staring at them for too long.

“I figured if you can’t beat them, join them,” I said, lying back down.

“Now this must be an American or Canadian phrase because no one should beat your breasts. Bite and lick them, yes, but only me.”

I shielded my eyes from the sun, looking up at him. “It is an expression. Meaning, everyone else on this beach is topless so I might as well be too.”

“Yes, might as well,” he said. “Too bad I don’t like it when men stare at you.”

I frowned. “I would think most men on this beach are used to seeing breasts.”

“Yes, but not your breasts. Your breasts are pale, Canadian breasts. They are special, beautiful, and very large.”

I let out a laugh. “Wow, you really are putting on the charm, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and ran his fingers over the shooting star on my chest. “The other girls on the beach aren’t marked the way you are. They are just topless women, but you are something amazing that no one but me should get to see.”

“I’m keeping my top off,” I told him. “And if we’re lucky, I won’t burn them to a crisp.”

He immediately picked up a tube of sunblock. “Then may I volunteer for the job?”

“Will you try and not have sex with me in public?”

“I promise nada.”

He smoothed the sunblock on my breasts and I did what I could to not be turned on. While we could go back to the apartment for another roll in the hay, I also wanted to soak up the sun’s rays while still possible—this was pretty much the last week or two of good weather. I was only a light golden color while Mateo was this rich bronze that bordered on mahogany. The Spaniards got dark over the summer.

When he started paying too much attention to my nipples, I swatted his hand away. Eventually he got the hint and rolled over onto his stomach, perhaps to keep his hard-on hidden from passerby. While women did go topless on the beaches here, it wasn’t seen as a sexual thing.

Eventually I got tired of lying around and getting sweaty, so we went into the surf, playing in the waves. I was still topless and finding the whole thing absolutely liberating. Yes, I got some looks because of my tattoos and such, but overall, no one really cared. The only time people really looked was when Mateo picked me up over his shoulder, strode out into the waves and unceremoniously dumped me into the water. I landed into the end-of-summer chill of the Mediterranean and flailed for a few shocking moments, shrieking, before he pulled me up, grinning. I tried to take him down too but I just wasn’t strong enough and fell into the water again.

Jerk.

We came out of the waves and he pulled me to him, kissing me hard, tasting like salt. Then he slapped me lightly on the ass and laughed. Barcelona Mateo was a bit of a deviant—I liked that.

The next day we pretty much did the same thing, except we headed out into the city to have our lunch at one of the small bars we had stumbled upon the other day in a pretty yellow courtyard. It was so fresh and new in Barcelona that I was oddly sad that we had to return to Madrid. I guess the sea air and mild breezes reminded me of home, plus there was the fact that the two of us could just be ourselves and wander around the city without a care.

That said, there was plenty to look forward to upon our return. When we arrived back in Madrid on Wednesday, the weather now cooler by a few degrees, I had the party that Friday night to plan for the Las Palabras folks. I had gotten in touch with Jerry, whom I didn’t realize actually lived in Madrid, and reached out to about twelve Spaniards on the list, telling them to bring their significant others or a friend. It felt good to have a mini reunion, and I started entertaining the idea that maybe I could get a job working for the Las Palabras office in Madrid. I know that Mateo had said he’d take care of me and everything, but since I wasn’t going to school, I would eventually need to do something. And while I had planned to immerse myself in Spanish, I wasn’t going to be fluent for a really long time. I needed something to occupy my days and make me feel like I was contributing to the relationship and our way of life, even if in such a small way.

It was Thursday night when I was settling down on the couch with Mateo, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around us, glasses of red wine in our hands, when I got a call from Claudia. I eyed the time and thought that ten o’clock was unusually late for a call from her; then again the party was tomorrow and perhaps she wanted to know what to bring.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Vera?” she said, her voice sounding odd, kind of panicked. It made my heart skip forward in time.

“Yes? Claudia, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said with a note of unease. A pregnant pause followed. “Have you seen the latest issue of Diez Minutos? It just came out today.”

“No,” I said carefully. Mateo was staring at me inquisitively but I could only shrug. I turned my attention back to the phone. “Why?”

“Um,” she said. “I’m not sure if it will be on the online version or not. But perhaps you want to go to the store and get a copy for yourself, to see. There is a…there is a picture of you in it.”

My heart came to a screeching halt. “What?” I asked, voice hard.

Now Mateo was sitting up, trying to get my attention, to figure out what was going on. But even I couldn’t figure it out because what Claudia had just said made no sense at all.

“How could I be in it?” I asked carefully.

“You just are,” she said. “On page eight. It, um, it’s a picture of you. The paparazzi took it.”

“What?!”

“You’re in Barcelona, on the beach. You’re topless in the pictures.”

I gasped loud enough to shake the walls. I shot up straight to my feet, hand to my mouth, the phone nearly dropping out of my hands. “How can that be?”

“I don’t know,” Claudia said, sounding desperate. “They often take pictures of celebrities on the beach. Your, um, nipples are blocked out. But it is you. Three pictures in a row. In one you are kissing Mateo. The other he is carrying you on his shoulder. The other he is slapping your behind. Vera, these were all about Mateo. And now they are about you.”

I couldn’t even breathe. I let the phone slip through my fingers, thudding to the floor. I pushed past Mateo, grabbed my house keys and a ten euro note from the change bowl on the counter, and ran out the door. It didn’t matter that I was barefoot and in pajama pants and a t-shirt, I was running down the stairwell, through the lobby and out into the dark of night.

The nearest convenience store was open late and just a block away—perfect for when you needed coffee, toilet paper, eggs, or a gossip magazine. The bell above the door rang as I pushed myself into the fluorescent lights, my bare feet slapping on the sticky floor. I didn’t care and I didn’t have to search for long. There it was, propped up below the counter, beside the newspaper and the candy bars.

I snatched it up, trying my hardest not to flip through the pages, and bought it. And by buying it, I mean I slapped the ten euro note on the counter, and without meeting the clerk’s eyes, I left it there and ran out of the store with the magazine.

I made it about half a block when I decided to break down and flip through it, but I saw the shadowy figure of Mateo leaving the apartment building and heading straight to me. “Vera,” I heard him call after me, but I was on a mission.

Under the orange glow of the streetlights, I flipped to page eight.

And there I fucking was.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was just as Claudia had described. Though the pictures were grainy, I looked as pale as a ghost next to Mateo, and slightly white trash when you factored in my tattoos and the fact that I was topless. You could even make out a bit of cellulite on my upper thigh.

This was a nightmare come true.

“What is wrong, Vera?” Mateo demanded when he caught up with me. “You’re not wearing shoes. Let’s get you back inside.”

He tried to put his arm around me to usher me back home, but he looked down and saw what I had gone loco over. It was just as well since I was too much in shock to explain anything.

He swore in Spanish and ripped the magazine from my hands. I was almost too much in horror and disbelief to pay attention to how he was feeling about the whole thing, but I couldn’t help but notice his face. I’d never see him so mad, ever. Even under the unnatural glow of the streetlamps, his face was turning dark red, his jaw so tense it really seemed he might bite someone’s head off. The magazine began to crumple in his hand.

I reached out and put my hand on top of his. “Wait. What does it say?”

He couldn’t even look at me.

“Mateo,” I said desperately. “Please. What does the article say?” When he still wouldn’t answer, wouldn’t break that trance he had seemed to go into, I yelled, “Please! It’s about me, I have a right to fucking know!”

Finally he blinked and turned his head to stare down at me, a strain of softness in his hard eyes. He swallowed and said absently, “It says…it says that I have been photographed on the Barcelona beach with someone who is not my wife. It says that we were spending a few days in the city and they are wondering if Isabel and I are getting a divorce. They added, if not, we will be after this. They didn’t mention Chloe Ann, thank god.”

“Is that all they said about me?” I asked. “That I was just someone that is not your wife?”

He stared at me, worried.

“Mateo,” I said, “I have a right to know. I can handle it. If you don’t tell me what it says, I’m just going to find it online and Google translate it.”

He still stared at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Fine!” I said, and I turned and ran across the empty road over to the apartment. I was sure Mateo would have yelled at me to stop, but he was still standing there, staring at nothing, the magazine in his hand. He had gone catatonic with rage.

If it had been anything else, I would have stayed and helped him, brought him inside. But this involved me too much and I hated being lied to.

I burst into the apartment and opened up the laptop on the coffee table. I did a quick search for Diez Minutos and started clicking through the magazine, searching and searching until I searched for Mateo Casalles.

There it was, the first story to pop up, the picture of Mateo slapping my jiggly ass. And the way the search engine displayed the results, the story underneath it was the one I had read back in Las Palabras, the one of him and Isabel at the restaurant.

I breathed in deeply, my eyes flitting between the two stories, me with my tits hanging out, the skimpy bikini I got from H&M, all pale skin, wild hair and ink, playing in the surf with a man fifteen years older than her. Then there was Isabel with her elegant short blonde hair, mature yet beautiful face, classy dress, hand in hand with her sharp-dressed husband. I knew exactly how it looked, and therefore knew exactly how this would play out. I didn’t even need Google translate for that. I was the trashy young thing on the side. The homewrecking slut who broke up a marriage between an ex-football star and semi-royalty, leaving their younger daughter in the wake.

I was worse than the other woman. I was Jezebel, waiting to be thrown to the dogs.

I knew right there that we were doomed. We always had been.

The worst part was that this whole paparazzi thing caught me unaware. It wasn’t like Mateo was being called for interviews or had photographers normally following him around or fans outside his door. To me he was just Mateo, not this ex-football star, so I never even thought about any of that in our day to day lives. Only occasionally would something remind me of it, say a clip of the Atletico team on TV or on rainy days when Mateo walked with a slight limp. Otherwise, I had lived in a bubble, totally unaware that he was someone really important.

I sighed in frustration and steeled myself against what I was about to read. I clicked on the article about us and hit Google Translate up on the top.

It turned out that what Mateo said was more or less true. He just left out a whole bunch about me. Mainly, that I wasn’t just “some other woman,” but according to Google translate, a wanton young girl who seemed a very unlikely match for someone as respected as Mateo Casalles. They also added there probably wouldn’t be much respect for Mateo after this, though what older man hasn’t thought about having a mistress half their age.

These fucking magazines were just as bad as the ones back home. And though I sympathized with celebrities with the way they were treated on gossip sites, I still read the stories eagerly. I never in a million years thought I would be the subject of one of them.

The thing is, I wasn’t sure how many people in the country cared what an ex-football star got up to, but this magazine apparently did. Shit was about to hit the fan in a major way, if it hadn’t already, and I had no idea what to do to prepare for it. I was not only humiliated and embarrassed but goddamn terrified of what this would do to Mateo and I. I felt like my heart was receiving tiny fractures that would one day lead to a break.

Eventually, Mateo came back into the apartment. I turned away from the computer, numb to the core, and eyed him warily. The magazine was gone, probably in the trash somewhere, where it belonged. He looked as terrible as I felt, though it seemed the anger that had overwhelmed him had left and now he just looked lost and defeated.

“Vera,” he said, his voice hoarse, as he slowly came toward me. He dropped to his knees right in front of me, lacing his fingers with mine. He rested his head on my thighs for a few moments, eyes pinched together, breathing in and breathing out. He looked so small at my feet, so meek. It unnerved me deep inside, making me feel unstable.

He raised his head and his brow was wrought with sorrow. “I am so sorry, Vera,” he said softly. “You have no idea how sorry I am.” The way his voice cracked made my soul ache.

I gripped his hand tight. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” he said. “I asked you to be a part of this.”

“You didn’t ask me to be a part of this,” I told him adamantly.

“Yes, I did. I wanted you to be a part of my life. I wanted…you. I never thought about the consequences, how they would affect you. I didn’t think much about anything. I was so caught up in finally having you, here in my life, by my side. I didn’t think.” He kissed my hand and gazed up at me. “I’m still not thinking. Vera, you make me mad, you make me crazy.” He shut his eyes again and spoke, his lips brushing my fingers. “Love is like a thief, it robs you of all thought and logic, and all you have left is a heart that you can only pray is strong enough to survive the rest.”

Goddamn it, even in the face of all this scrutiny, his passion never wavered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he said quietly, his eyes imploring mine.

Something inside me crumbled. “Why would I leave you?”

“Because,” he said slowly. “I can see it in your eyes. That you’re afraid.”

“I’ve always been afraid, Mateo,” I said. “From the very moment I met you, I’ve been afraid. But it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

“This isn’t fair to you,” he said, as if not hearing me. “I thought we were safe in Barcelona. I didn’t think anyone would notice or care. I was wrong because I didn’t think and that mistake has cost us dearly.”

I sighed and stared down at our hands. Just how dearly was this going to cost us? Isabel was going to find out now, his friends would know. What he tried to keep hidden—me—that was all going to be in the open now. It wasn’t just Mateo’s fault, it was mine too. I had known we had to lay low for a little bit longer, that we had pushed our luck already, that it was only a matter of time. I had just hoped and prayed that when we were found out, that it would happen after he was granted joint custody, after he had his rights to see his daughter.

“What do we do now?” I asked, looking at him again.

He gave me a sad smile and a subtle shake of his head. “I do not know. In the past, I have gotten mad at the publications. You know, when I was young and doing stupid things that I would never do again. But it never got me anywhere and I am not sure it will now. I can try.”

I shook my head, knowing that fighting the tabloids was always useless unless it was something extremely slanderous. The magazine was not presenting anything as fact—just speculation—so there was nothing illegal about it.

He exhaled, long and hard. “I guess the only thing we can do is wait.”

“You could tell Isabel,” I said. “Before someone else tells her.”

He winced. “Yes. But there is that chance that perhaps she won’t find out at all.”

I gave him a look. “Really? If that’s what you believe, then you’re going to be in for a rude awakening.”

“I don’t know what I think,” he said. “Let’s just see what happens tomorrow. We have the party. I will tell her after that.”

“Oh god, the party,” I cried out. “What will they all say?”

He squeezed my hand. “Vera, please, they will say nothing, and if they do, it won’t be anything bad. These people were all there, they all know. They have their own battles to fight.”

I leaned back onto the couch, utterly exhausted. This kind of shit served me right, especially after such a fun and frivolous trip as Barcelona. We had pushed our luck and we didn’t care because we just wanted to be with each other. But the truth always has a way of getting out.

And now we were still together, but having to deal with the truth: that our love affair wasn’t as pure as we wanted to believe. That good intentions meant nothing. That we chose each other despite the consequences and now they were ours to pay.

That night we lay in bed together. We didn’t make love, we just held on to each other in the dark, wrapped in our bodies and the madness of our own minds.

“Remember what I asked of you,” he murmured in my ear as we were drifting off to sleep.

“Hmmm?”

“Promise me you won’t give up on us.”

I won’t, I said, though not out loud. I was too afraid to say it, in case it didn’t end up being true.

The next morning we hadn’t heard much about the scandal. There were no phone calls from Isabel or anyone disgruntled. A part of me thought that maybe we were going to sneak out of this one, that everything was going to be okay. The other part of me thought that the net was just waiting to drop, preferably when we were relaxed and unaware.

I never wanted to let my guard down. The whole day I was a nervous wreck, shopping for party supplies and the menu and expecting the ball to drop at any moment.

And it did—just not in the way I expected.

I was making the appetizers—things I knew how to make like bacon-wrapped scallops and goat cheese flatbreads—and Mateo had jetted out to pick up the alcohol from the store, when my cell rang. Again, it was Claudia.

“Please don’t tell me you’re cancelling,” I said as I answered. “Because I cannot handle this alone!”

“I’m not cancelling,” she quickly assured me. “Ricardo and I will be there in an hour to help. I just…”

“Oh Lord, what now?”

“They know your name.”

My heart froze. “What do you mean they know my name?” I asked slowly. “Who is they?”

“They,” she said. “The magazine, Diez Minutos, they know your name. It is online now with the pictures.”

“What?!” I roared into the phone, seconds away from having a coronary. I shoved the tray into the oven and ran over to the laptop, frantically going to the page, which I had bookmarked.

“Did you talk to the press?” she asked me as I clicked along.

“No,” I said, my chest feeling heavier than lead, my breathing shortened and painful. I pulled up the page and scrolled down to the description. Now it said, “With a Canadian woman, Vera, whom Casalles had met at an English language program this June. This young woman, who is said to be in her early twenties, is rumored to live with Casalles in an apartment in the Salamanca barrio.”

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I gasped, my hand curling into a fist over the phone. “How the fuck did they figure this out?”

“Someone must have told them.”

“But who? Someone from Las Palabras?” My paranoid mind began scrolling through everyone, from the guests who were coming over, to Lauren. But everyone had liked us, and Lauren, as much of a bicycle as she was, wasn’t in Spain as far as I knew.

“I don’t know,” Claudia said. “I wouldn’t think so.”

I thought back to the only other person who knew, the woman who heard us doing it in the washroom stall when Mateo got all jealous over that guy. Sonia.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” I told Claudia, and then hung up, immediately ringing Mateo’s phone.

“Did you forget something?” he asked as he answered. “I just left the store.”

“What did you tell that Sonia woman?” I asked through grinding teeth.

“What?”

“The woman, your old friend, the one who caught us fucking in the bathroom. I went outside and you talked to her. What did you tell her about us?”

He paused and I could almost hear his mind racing. “I only…wait, why?”

“Just tell me!”

He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know.”

“Did you tell her my name?”

“I introduced you as Vera, remember?”

“Did you tell her where we met? Where I was from?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Mateo!”

“Don’t fucking scream at me,” he sniped.

Don’t fucking tell me not to fucking scream at you, I wanted to yell back. It took a lot out of me to hold it in. “She told the magazine about us,” I seethed.

A pause. “How do you mean?”

“Well, come home and I’ll show you. But the photos, they now have my name and where you met me. And that I live with you now in Madrid, in the Salamanca neighbourhood. Did you tell her all of that?”

There was silence. I could hear him breathing hard, his footsteps through the phone. Finally he said, “Yes, I did.”

“Mateo!”

“Listen, Vera. I do not like it when you use that tone, all right? You know I have never done anything to hurt you, not on purpose. How am I supposed to know that Sonia would take useless bits of information and report them to the magazine?”

“Didn’t you know what kind of person she was?”

“I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think,” I retorted. “That keeps on being your excuse. That you didn’t think. Well start fucking thinking.”

And then I hung up, my heart in my throat, my gut coated with despair. I had never yelled at him like that before, never hung up on him. Even during our heated arguments over the phone, when the long distance aspect of our relationship was really getting to us, I had never hung up on him.

Luckily, he’d be in the house at any moment and I could immediately apologize to his face. I sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed my hands on my dress, so fucking sick I felt like I was going to vomit.

The door opened and Mateo came in, carrying a canvas bag full of liquor. He kicked it shut, and that’s when I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He was in a bad mood now and I feared that I wouldn’t have a partner in this battle. I couldn’t handle this alone.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately said to him as he put the bag on the counter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry I hung up on you.”

He plunked his elbows down on the counter and leaned over, running his hands through his hair in anger before burying his face in his palms. I watched him with bated breath, unsure of what he was going to say or do. When he still didn’t move, I started to get really worried. Maybe I pushed him, pushed us, too far. I knew that this, that everything, was either both of our faults or neither of our faults, but no matter what we were in it together.

I got up and walked carefully over to him. I gently placed my hand on his lower back as if he were made of glass.

“Mateo,” I whispered.

He nodded, then suddenly stood up and pulled me into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around my back. I felt my whole body give into his, too exhausted to even stand. I relished the feeling of his warmth, his strength, his support. It felt like I was given a tiny piece of relief, an anchor to prepare for the oncoming storm.

“Please do not fight me,” he said into my hair, kissing the top of my head. “Please do not get angry. I am angry too, enough for the both of us. I am more scared than you. But I cannot take it out on you because you did not ask for this. Please don’t take it out on me. I need you with me, not apart.”

I nodded, feeling tears pricking at my eyes. I managed to keep them inside, on the other side of the dam. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. And I am sorry that Sonia went and told the magazine. Sometimes you don’t really know a person, though I should have figured and that was my mistake. All I can tell you is,” he pulled back and peered down at my face, “more mistakes will be made. I don’t know what I am doing, but I will do everything in my power to keep my daughter and to keep you.”

And what happens if it comes time to choose between me and her? I thought. But of course I knew the answer to that.

I’d like to say that our spirits picked up for the party, but they didn’t. Not until Claudia and Ricardo showed up with even more bottles of wine, which in turn got Mateo and I buzzed in a hurry. I did what I could to put on my party face, ignoring that weight on my back.

Though we invited every local person that was at Las Palabras and all of them had RSVPed, not all of them showed up. It reminded me of the one time I threw a party in high school and only a handful of the guests actually came. Luckily, Mateo told me to not take it personally—people were notorious when it came to being flakes, always promising to be places and then never following through.

The first to arrive was Lucia and the infamous Carlos, even though they hadn’t been at the program. Lucia seemed a little tipsy, her cheeks dark red and she was constantly giggling. Carlos seemed to be an all right guy, in his early thirties and a bit stuck-up. Not at all whom I thought Lucia would be with. But he seemed nice enough, even though Mateo would not stop giving him the stink-eye, sizing him up like he was debating tossing him out of the party or not. His brotherly love made me love him a little more.

After Lucia and Carlos came Jerry, Angel, and his equally timid date, Patricia. It was so nice to see them again that I almost started crying. It didn’t matter that Jerry was still a huge overenthusiastic dork or that geeky Angel forgot all his English, just having them there was like opening a door to another life, flooding me with shiny, sunny memories.

Soon Antonio came, still cute and portly with his bushy mustache and a joke for everything, then Manuel with his rocker look, gentle Nerea (now with bright pink hair), and pervy Eduardo. Lucia and Carlos seemed to get along with everyone too, with Carlos and Antonio talking about business and the rest of us just drinking and eating and reminiscing about the old times. More than once I caught myself getting teary-eyed over shit, especially when the alcohol started getting to everyone. The damn Spaniards and their emotions—it was hard not to be affected when everyone else was so obviously missing what we had back at Las Palabras.

At some point though, Lucia, since she wasn’t affected by the Las Palabras effect, put on some dance music. Then the party went from brooding and emotional to happy and drunk. I danced in an Eduardo and Angel sandwich that Mateo pretended not to care about, but I still knew he was watching carefully, making sure Eduardo didn’t try any “Sex Pest” moves.

“Do you still talk to Polly?” I asked him, whipping my hair around.

He shook his head, looking a bit sad. “Not really. On Facebook, yes. More or less. But we are not…together. Not like you and Mateo are.”

“Mateo is lucky,” Angel said from behind me as my hair unceremoniously whacked him in the face.

“Well, I am lucky too,” I said.

“Si,” Eduardo said, “because now you live in Spain with the rest of us. How you like it here?”

“It’s great,” I said, and for the first time, I noticed my smile was a little forced as I said that. “Madrid is a wonderful city,” I added, so it wouldn’t seem like a lie.

Eduardo nodded, seemingly happy with that answer, and we went on dancing again until Patricia pulled Angel away and I needed a break. I went straight over to Mateo, who was leaning against the wall and nursing a glass of scotch. He seemed distant from everyone else.

I wrapped my hands around his taut stomach and pulled myself to him. He smiled down at me and gave me a soft kiss.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

He nodded at the others who were still dancing. “You’re a good dancer.”

“Not as good as you. Remember? At Las Palabras, you said you danced like Justin Timberlake.”

He chuckled. “I was only trying to impress you.”

“Well, you know that it worked.”

His face fell slightly. “But will it continue to work?”

I felt like a tiny hole was being drilled into my core, making me wince inwardly. The tiniest bit of pain trickled through. “Of course,” I told him adamantly. I gripped the sides of his shirt, afraid that if I didn’t, I’d lose us to the undertow of reality.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Lucia said, grabbing her cardigan and brushing past us. She gave Mateo a withering look. “Since my brother doesn’t let us smoke in here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Claudia said, and the two of them left the room.

I wanted to hang on to Mateo, to keep us in this private little world but eventually Jerry came over and started chatting with him about football. It was amazing that no one at the party had mentioned the magazine, which gave me hope that perhaps it wasn’t going to be as bad of an outcome as we had been anticipating. I mean, maybe no one over thirty really paid attention to that shit.

Then my phone rang. I was really starting to regret answering it.

I went over to the counter and picked it up. It was Claudia. What the hell? She’d just left.

“Yeah?” I answered, figuring maybe they were too drunk to figure out the buzzer. “What?”

“Vera,” she whispered harshly into the phone. I could hear Spanish yelling in the background. “Get Mateo on the phone!”

I automatically put my hand to my chest. “Why? What’s going on?”

“She’s here,” Claudia said frantically. “Isabel is outside your apartment. And she’s angry. She’s very, very angry.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My hand gripped the phone tight. I swallowed painfully. “What?” I whispered, barely able to speak or breathe. The yelling continued and now I could make out Lucia’s voice, yelling back at someone. No, not someone.

At Isabel.

At Mrs. Casalles.

Oh, fuck.

I looked over at Mateo and waved him over. He was already halfway to me, having observed the phone call from across the room.

“What is it?” he said, his eyes searching mine.

“Isabel,” I managed to choke out. “She is downstairs fighting with your sister.”

His eyes widened. He nodded. “Stay here.”

Then he left the apartment.

I felt frozen in place, just staring at the door as it closed behind him. I picked up the phone. “He’s coming.” I hung up and looked behind me at the party. They were having a blast, dancing up a storm, totally oblivious to what was happening outside. And as much as I wanted to kick everyone out and tell them the party was most definitely over, I couldn’t because I would be kicking them right into the dirty little reality of my life.

My stomach churned. I was going to be sick.

With my hand to my mouth I ran over to the bathroom and promptly threw up all the red wine and half-digested flatbreads. I stood over the toilet, trying to catch my breath, to make the sickness go away.

Isabel was here.

She knew.

I threw up again until I heard a knock at the door and Claudia’s voice. “Vera?”

I flushed the toilet, rinsed out my mouth, and sprinkled cold water on my face while taking in the deepest breath possible. I held it until I was nearly blue then let it out.

I was going to have to get through this.

I opened the door and peered at her. “Wasn’t feeling well,” I tried to explain, in case anyone was within earshot.

She immediately hugged me. “Well, it is not going well,” she whispered into my ear.

I bit lip my lip. Hard. “What’s going on?”

Her big brown eyes creased with sympathy. “She won’t leave. She’s in the lobby now because she was making a scene on the street. Lucia is still down there. She’s making things worse. His sister is really…feisty.”

“She knows about the magazine…”

“Yes, she knows.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck.”

“How is Mateo…handling it?”

“Barely. That man has a lot of restraint.”

I nodded, knowing all too well. “I should go down there.”

Claudia eyed me like I’d gone batshit insane. Maybe I had.

“No, you should not,” she said sternly. “Stay here and Mateo will handle it.”

“But it’s not his problem alone.”

She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly. “Vera, you were not married to her, okay? You do not owe this woman anything. Oh, and in case you didn’t understand my English, she is crazy.”

“You’d be insane too if you were in her shoes.”

She wagged her finger at me. “No, no, no, no, no. No, don’t start feeling guilty now. Your heart has no regard for right or wrong.”

“Claudia,” I snapped at her. “I have always felt guilty. Every day, all the time.” I ripped myself out of her grasp. “And my heart should have known better.”

I stalked off down the hall while she yelled after me, “This won’t make your guilt go away!” It was loud enough that I knew the partygoers heard it. But I didn’t care. This was my mess too. She was not my wife, but I had a part in it, and I had to face her. I owed her that.

I went out into the hall and took the stairs down, my adrenaline running too high for me to stand and wait for an elevator. I let that same adrenaline surge power my legs, keeping me putting one foot in front of the other, my brain on autopilot, until I pushed open the door to the lobby.

It was empty except for Lucia, Mateo, and Isabel. My eyes immediately went to Isabel, to the novelty of seeing her in the flesh for once. She was angry, that was for sure. Red face, red nose, face streaked with tears, a look that broke my heart. She still had this air of elegance about her, a royal blue shift dress, fancy Louboutin pumps, a Chanel purse. She was everything I wasn’t, though I knew deep down both our hearts had the same capacity to hurt.

But it was hard to hold on to that thought when she was beating Mateo’s chest with her fists and he was doing what he could to just stand there and take it. That didn’t last long though, for the moment the door shut behind me, she lifted her dark eyes over to see who the intruder was.

It was me. Me in my cleavage-baring, retro dress, hair curled with red-coated lips.

The jezebel, the harlot, the whore.

There I was, standing face to face with the wife of the man I loved.

She wasted no time. She pulled away from Mateo, her eyes lit up like firecrackers, sizzling with the madness of the moment.

“Puta coñio!” she screamed, coming toward me. “You’re the stupid slut!”

And then I remembered that she spoke English very well. I was going to understand all of her insults.

“Vera!” Mateo yelled at me, upset that I didn’t listen, but I couldn’t even look at him. I had to watch for her because she was coming at me and coming fast.

I backed up until I was against the stairwell door and she stopped less than a foot away, smelling like booze and expensive perfume. She thrust a well-manicured finger in my face, jabbing it dangerously close. “You little beast, you fucking whore. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming here and fucking my husband? Huh?!”

I’d never been so terrified. I couldn’t even breathe or think or speak. What could I even say? What could I ever say other than that I was sorry, that I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, that I thought our love would make up for everything else.

“Talk to me!” she screamed, the veins in her forehead throbbing. “Tell me what you have to say for yourself! You’ve ruined my marriage! You’ve ruined my poor daughter’s life. You’re a homewrecker! You should be ashamed of yourself.”

But I am ashamed, I cried inside.

“Well?” she sneered. “You don’t even have the guts to say anything to me, to my face, yet you have no problem fucking my husband. You stupid little bitch!” She spat on my chest. “You’re disgusting, just look at you.”

“Vete a la mierda, Isabel!” I heard Lucia yell from somewhere.

“You’re a horrible human being.” Isabel glared at me, ignoring Lucia’s insults. The spit on my chest slowly slid down, feeing cold as ice. “An insult to women and families everywhere. Fucking whore.”

“Isabel,” Mateo warned her sternly, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him approaching us.

“Talk to me!” she screamed, until I had to shut my eyes to her, her voice rattling through me.

The back of my throat pinched in pain. “I-I’m sorry,” I managed to whimper.

Her eyes widened. “You’re sorry? You are sorry? That is all I get?”

And just like that, she whacked me across the face, backhanding me.

Stars. Everywhere. Burning stars.

I didn’t care how much I deserved it though, because I knew I did. But something inside me snapped for just a moment.

“Oh, fuck right off, you bitch,” I barked at her, trying to get away from another hit I knew was coming for me.

Suddenly Mateo was behind Isabel, holding her arms down at her sides, preventing her from striking me again. But his gaze was focused on me as I held my throbbing cheek, his eyes blazing into mine. “Vera, this is the mother of my child,” he said to me, his voice dark, his brow furrowed. “Please show her some respect.”

My mouth dropped open, my cheek on fire. The fuck? Show her respect? She hit me!

He quickly turned Isabel around and she was back to yelling in Spanish, though now it sounded more like crying. He led her outside and disappeared into the night. Meanwhile I just stood there, dumbfounded and humiliated beyond repair. I felt utterly foolish at what had happened and so embarrassed by what Mateo had said to me that I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and never ever come out.

“I am sorry,” Lucia said, coming over to me. She put her arm around my shoulder and tucked a curl behind my ear. “I didn’t want any of this to happen. We were smoking outside and she started yelling at me about you. I knew she wouldn’t go away until she saw Mateo.”

“It’s okay,” I said absently, unable to tear my attention away from the pain in my heart.

“Mateo is trying hard to do what is best for Chloe Ann, you know this,” Lucia said. “And Isabel has not always been the best wife, so she cannot point the finger too much, but she is very proud. That magazine, what she read, she does not take that well. That damages her image.”

“I damaged her,” I said quietly. “I damaged Chloe Ann.”

“No,” she said. “Do not say these things. Isabel’s ego will return to normal one day and Chloe Ann is very strong. Things will be okay.”

I looked up at Lucia’s pretty eyes. She honestly believed what she was saying. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was lying to herself.

Things would never be okay.

Mateo never came home that night.

After the incident with Isabel in the lobby, Lucia and I went back upstairs. Even though I had never told anyone that the party was over, they all knew. When I walked in the door, they were all hanging around the kitchen and giving sympathetic smiles and sad eyes. I gave Claudia a look and she only shrugged apologetically.

They were good people though and they each gave me a heartfelt hug goodbye, promising to go out for dinner and drinks soon. Even Jerry mentioned a possible position at Las Palabras, if I was planning on staying in the city for a long time.

Funny how a few weeks ago I never would have questioned my permanency. Now, even with true friends who cared for me, I was prepared to be run out of town.

Claudia hugged me hard and said she would come and get me for lunch since it was the weekend. My heart swelled at how she was trying to distract me, to make me feel better. Lucia, too, was the same and told me to call her. I was so happy that I had her on my side, though now I wondered whose side Mateo was on.

I went to bed alone, those thoughts swirling around in my head. Why wasn’t Mateo back yet? What was he doing? Did I really anger him by calling Isabel a bitch? Did it not piss him off that Isabel had physically hurt me, that her insults were much more vile? Or did it not matter because I deserved it—because I had always had this coming.

I had no answers and no Mateo.

At four a.m., I got a text from him.

I’m staying the night at the old house, for Chloe Ann. I love you. I will call you tomorrow.

I was going to be sick again. He was staying at their old house? With Isabel? Oh god. I knew he had written that he loved me, and I knew he said he was staying for his daughter, but that didn’t make the sick, sticky feeling go away, the one that gripped my gut from the inside out, robbing me of breath. The feeling knotted itself until I had to roll over into the fetal position and pray for sleep to take me away.

When I woke up the next morning, the sun streaming in through the curtains I forgot to close, the feeling was still there. I couldn’t shake it. It was working its way through me and driving me mad.

Mateo had said we would be our own universe. He made me promise not to give up on us. He had given me so many reasons to believe that what we were doing was right, that love was good, that we could make it work, that the risks were worth taking, that it would be worth it in the end. And I just didn’t know if that was true anymore. And the more I thought about it, about us, the worse the pain inside me got. There were tiny strands of my brain that wanted to latch on to one thought, one thought that I was too afraid to look at clearly. The thought represented pain.

The thought was realizing that maybe this relationship wasn’t going to work.

That it would have to end.

That I would have to end it.

And that by doing so, I would lose everything I tried so hard to get—I would lose my life in Spain, my friends here, my new family, my chance at happiness. I would lose love. I would lose Mateo.

That thought broke me. It fucking broke me. So I dismissed it, I pushed it aside, because it was too great of a task to think about it, and it was too life-altering to even consider. I didn’t want to think about it and realize that it was true, because once I realized it was true, then I would have to do something about it.

I didn’t want to do something about it. I just wanted things back to the way they were.

But really, when was our love ever fucking free?

I didn’t know how long I lay in bed, waiting for Mateo to call me or come home. But after a while it was obvious that he wasn’t.

When the phone finally did ring, it was Claudia. She practically forced me to get dressed and go and meet her. She threatened bodily harm, which I didn’t find very funny considering my cheek was still a bit red from where Isabel had hit me. One of her rings had left a mark that I spent a long time trying to cover up with concealer. Unfortunately, it didn’t cover up the deep humiliation I felt.

The weather had started off sunny when I woke up, but by the time I was heading out the door to meet her, the clouds rolled in and there was a chill in the air. I held my jean jacket around me tight, sad to say goodbye to the hot summer, and hurried along the streets until I got to the Prado museum. Claudia thought the art would take my mind off of things.

It was only as I was running up to the entrance to meet her that I got a text from Mateo.

Where are you? I am on my way home now.

My heart leaped with uncertainty. I quickly texted back.

I just got to the Prado. Meeting Claudia here. Will be back later, going to look at some art.

I waited a few moments for the next text to come. By now Claudia had spotted me and joined my side, looking on curiously but not being nosy. She knew what was up.

He responded: Enjoy the museum, it is very important. See you when you get home. I love you.

I love you too, I texted back. I meant every single word of that. Despite that thought in my head, the one I didn’t want to touch, to feel, to look at, I knew without a doubt that I loved Mateo deeply and with every part of me. It was that love that made things hurt so much.

“What did he say?” Claudia asked.

I sighed. “Nothing really, just that he’s coming back home now.”

I stared at the grand entrance to the palace-like building. People of all ages were lining up to get in. Suddenly I knew that the last thing I wanted to be doing was staring at paintings and sculptures all while I was thinking about Mateo.

“Go,” Claudia said to me with a knowing smile. “We can always go to the museum another day. This will not take your mind off of Mateo if Mateo is in your home, waiting for you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I’ve lived in Madrid my whole life. I have seen the exhibits two times already this year. We will come back another day, maybe the four of us, like a double date. But believe me, you’re going to get a hatred for Goya if you go in there in this state.”

I smiled at her. “Well, I wouldn’t want to do that to Mr. Goya.”

She kissed me quickly on each cheek and waved as I walked away. “Good luck.”

Usually I got annoyed when people told me “good luck” because it sounded like I needed luck, needed help with something when I didn’t. But this time, I really did need it. I wanted to get back home and see Mateo and fall into his arms and have him bury that bad thought far, far away. I wanted him to take the burden away, to take everything away, and make me believe we had a way to get through this mess.

I decided not to tell him I was coming home early. In fact, I thought perhaps I could get home before him and make it a surprise, lay out some coffee and cookies and prepare for some soul-searching.

I took the Metro for a bit, trying to hurry, and walked quickly from the metro station to the apartment. I was about a block away, doing my best to ignore the little kicks of hurt that still swirled in my gut, that terrible feeling of dread I was convinced I could overcome.

And that’s when I saw Mateo.

He was across the street, getting out of a shiny red Audi. It wasn’t his car at all. Then I noticed the blond head of Isabel in the driver’s seat, and I realized that Mateo had driven Isabel home in her car last night.

I immediately retreated backward into the doorway of a shop, hoping the shadows would hide me, and watched the scene unfold. There was no way I wanted her to see me again; she’d probably leap out of the car and finish what she started.

Mateo walked around to her side of the car, with the same clothes on as last night, and she rolled down the window.

She said something to him. I couldn’t read her expression because she had sunglasses on.

Mateo put his right hand at her jaw, holding her intimately, like a husband would with a wife, nodding at whatever she was saying.

Then he kissed her.

Right on the lips.

A soft, sensual kiss.

And she kissed him back.

My lungs dropped to the floor, the fractures in my heart all blowing up at once, shattering every piece of me, shards slicing me from head to toe. All while my eyes stayed wide open, glued to the scene.

Finally he pulled away and smiled. But there was no time left in this universe to decipher what that smile meant, if it even meant anything.

Because I realized what that thought had meant, what it was trying to tell me, trying to get me to pay attention to.

I was watching Mateo and his wife, or soon-to-be-ex-wife, act affectionate with each other. I was watching them act like they’d been married for years, because of course they had been. I was watching this and I was dying inside, my heart stomped on and crushed, my veins full of black liquid jealousy, choking me from the inside out. I was feeling like I was never going to survive this.

And that was wrong.

Because they had a daughter together.

And me and my feelings, I was standing in the way.

I never wanted my father to leave my mother, not deep down. If there ever had been a way to spare me of all the pain I went through, I would have wanted it. Right now, I was the obstacle between Mateo and Isabel’s marriage. If there was ever a chance, even the smallest chance, that the two of them could ever get back together, I couldn’t be the one to get in the way of that.

They had a family together.

I needed to do the right thing, for everyone.

Fuck my own heart.

I had to leave Spain.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I managed to make it back to the apartment, hurrying along so that Mateo didn’t see me. I wasn’t sure how long he was spending at the car with Isabel, and I didn’t want to know. I felt as if I was going to die with each step, barely holding myself together as I got into our building. Once in the elevator, I started to keel over, holding onto the railing for dear life, trying to keep myself upright. The pain was so overwhelming I was seeing stars again.

As I fumbled with my keys and tried to stick them in the door, I kept dropping them. And then the tears started coming, streaming down my face, making me see through a watery filter. I tried to keep my sobs inside, tried to bury them deep in my chest, so determined not to lose it in the hallway. If I lost it, I would collapse right on the floor and I’d never make it inside.

Somehow the key went into the lock and the door handle turned. I burst through and immediately collapsed to my knees on the hardwood floors, not even feeling the pain that was shooting up through me. Physical pain was preferable; it could be handled. What I was feeling was being ripped apart right down the middle until there was nothing inside me but agony.

I leaned back against the door, shutting it with my back and letting the sobs tear through me. I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t breathe.

I was dying.

There was nothing.

My chest was being crushed and I was dying.

Breathe, I tried to tell myself. Please breathe.

But I couldn’t. I gasped for air and only cried out instead, overcome by the pain and the sorrow and the utter destruction of my new life.

I had to say goodbye to everything. I had to go back home. I had to leave Mateo. I had to do this to us to save us.

It was over.

I screamed, loud, shrill, bloody murder. My body shook, my hands and arms shaking, my chest still twisting and turning as I tried to breathe and cry and scream at the same time. I couldn’t take this, I couldn’t go on. This was the annihilation of every soft part of me; it was brutal and swift and gory, and I was being eaten alive, made to feel it all, every cut and slice and stab, and the wound in my chest was growing bigger and bigger.

Feeling swept away by the rage and the madness, I tore my purse off my shoulder and flung it across the room.

I screamed again and collapsed onto the ground, my fingers trying to dig into the floor, to give me something to hold on to.

“Please,” I cried out loud to no one. “Please make this stop, please make this stop.” I sobbed, my cries getting caught in my mouth, in my throat, in my lungs.

I barely heard the door opening behind me, barely felt it push against my backside.

“Vera?” Mateo asked from above me, his voice breaking. “Vera, my god. Are you okay?”

He shut the door behind him and put his arms under mine, pulling me up to my feet.

I gasped and stumbled away from him, holding on to the edge of the kitchen counter to keep me up.

“Stay away from me!” I screamed.

His eyes widened in fear as he looked me up and down. “Vera, please, Estrella, please, what happened?”

“It’s over!” I yelled at him, scared at the ferocity of my voice, at the way it was coming out. I had underestimated my emotions.

“What are you talking about?” he asked with a shake of his head, coming closer.

I put my hands out to keep him back. I pinched my eyes shut, trying to stick to what I knew was right. But he didn’t stop, he came and put his arms around me, holding me tight to him. I froze, rigid, unable to touch him back.

“Please, what is over?” he asked softly. “Please talk to me.”

“Us,” I sobbed into his chest. “We’re over. I’m leaving Spain. I’m going back home.”

He tensed, standing still. I could almost hear his heart stop. “No,” he whispered. “You do not mean this.”

“I do,” I said. “I do. I have to leave you.”

“Why?” he growled. He pulled away and grabbed a hard hold of my shoulders. “Why do you have to leave me? Because of Isabel?”

“You didn’t defend me last night!” I yelled and pushed him back from me. I walked backward into the kitchen, one hand on the counter for balance. “She fucking spat on me, she hit me, and you didn’t defend me!”

“I couldn’t,” he whispered, seeming to be in shock. “Vera, please, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could have!” I screamed, my heart shuddering violently. “You could have defended me!”

“You have no idea what I am going through!” he yelled right back, loud, his eyes burning up. “You have no idea at all. You don’t know what I have to do to keep my chances of having Chloe Ann alive! Don’t make me choose between you two.”

I felt like I was turning to glass only to be shattered right away.

“I am not asking you anything!” I roared. “I am not that type of woman! You may all call me a whore and a homewrecker, but I would never ask the impossible of you. And you’ve already made the right choice.”

He put his hands in a steeple over his nose and mouth, trying to breathe in and out, his eyes locked on mine. So much anger, pain, and frustration in them. Finally he lifted them away and said, “You are not a whore. Isabel was upset, like we all knew she would be. I could not defend you and her at the same time.”

“I know,” I shot back. “It would explain why I just saw you kissing her.”

His face fell.

I crossed my arms. “I saw you. Just now.”

“Vera,” he said gently. “No, that isn’t what it looks like.”

I swallowed painfully. “Maybe not.”

“I am trying to keep the peace.”

“Are you leading her on?”

“No,” he said quickly, adamantly. “She knows about us, she knows the marriage is over. She agrees. But I have to play nice. Because of—”

“I know!” I yelled. “I know, I know, I know. Because of your daughter. And I fucking agree with you. I just wish I knew how fucking difficult this was going to be before I came out here, before I gave up my school and my family’s respect and my future. I gave up everything for you only to finish last!”

“You are not last,” he cried out. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. This isn’t fair or easy for me and you know it!”

“Shit?” I repeated lividly, my voice raw. “What shit am I fucking pulling? I am getting the fuck out of here and going back to a future I left behind, back to nothing.”

“You are not the only one to give everything up!” he roared at me, his voice shaking me to the bone. He stepped toward me and I backed up until I was leaning against the counter. “You can go back to school! You can go back to your country! I can never get my family back! I have lost everything!”

His face was red, the vein in his neck pulsing hard. I was speechless, trying to remember how to breathe again. His anger, his pain, had stolen my breath away.

I blinked and eked out, “I am sorry. Then perhaps you won’t notice the loss of me.” I tried to move around him but he grabbed my arm.

“No!” he seethed. “You don’t get to do this. It’s hard, it hurts, but you don’t get to leave.”

“I get to leave,” I told him, looking him in the eye, staring him down. “I get to leave because it is my choice to make. I will not be the other woman who breaks up a family anymore. The damage is done, but if I can prevent any further damage, I will. You and Chloe Ann and Isabel are a family. You should be together.”

“But you’re my family,” he cried out softly, pulling me closer to him. “Please, Vera, don’t do this to me. This can work. We just have to push through it.”

“It can’t work!” I sobbed. “You know it. Chloe Ann has to come first and she will. I don’t want to be the one to ruin her life any further.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes closed. His grip on my arm never lessened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Vera. You don’t. Just trust me that it will all work out—just hang on, please hang on. You promised you wouldn’t give up on us.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, part of me wanting to collapse into his arms and believe him, to believe that everything was going to be all right. But it would never be all right. I had to do the right thing. My own pain, my own heart, my own future and my sacrifices, they couldn’t matter. I’d always been the villain, the black sheep, the black hole. But now I finally had a chance to be the bigger person, to put someone else first.

I had to take it.

This was my karma for my entire life.

“I’m sorry, Mateo,” I whispered.

“Do you still love me?”

I shook my head. “No,” I lied. To tell him the truth would make everything that much harder.

He began to shudder, his eyes welling with tears. “You’re lying,” he managed to say, his voice cracking. “You’re lying. You love me.”

“I don’t,” I said. “And I can’t stay. I can’t stay here and do this to you and your family.”

“But you’re killing me,” he whispered in agony. He tried to pull me closer to him, but I remained as still as stone, rigid as a tree. Unyielding. I would not yield to this, I would not let my selfish heart and emotions win.

“Vera,” he went on, now a tear rolling down his cheek. I looked away, unable to handle the sight of Mateo crying. “Vera, you are my star. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I know this isn’t easy, I know you’re hurting and that I am doing things that hurt or don’t make sense to you. But you must believe me that together we can get through this. It is just a bump in the road, if we just hang on we can make it out alive with each other’s hearts intact. We will be stronger.” He wiped angrily at his eyes and swallowed hard. “Please, don’t leave. Please don’t let this be the end of us. Please just give us, give me, another chance. You are my universe and I have nothing if I don’t have you in my life. Please, Vera. I love you like I love the stars, like I love the sky, like I love the earth. I can’t do this without you. I can’t.”

His voice cracked over the last word and I could barely hold my resolve in check. He searched my eyes with his tear-filled ones and I felt like the whole idea of love was being obliterated into space, leaving a black hole behind. I never wanted to leave him, never wanted to hurt him.

But this wasn’t about what I wanted.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I am sorry, Mateo. I never wanted it to be this way. But I am not strong enough for you. This is just too fucking hard.”

I wrestled out of his grasp, steeling whatever was left of my heart, and headed down the hall to the bedroom, ready to pack.

“You don’t get to leave just because it’s hard,” he cried out angrily after me. “You don’t get to pretend you don’t love me because you think that will make it easier on us.”

But I didn’t stop to answer because there was nothing left to say. My choice was made. I locked the door behind me in case he came after me. I pulled my suitcase and backpack out of my closet and began to pack up my life once again.

My heart burned beneath the icy glaze, but it couldn’t melt it now, couldn’t break through. I wouldn’t let it.

Love, our love, had been a shooting star, burning in the darkness, unseen until it got too close, too bright and too quick to capture. It burned out, lost to the deep cold and darkness, to the brutality of space, the infinity above us and in the new emptiness inside of me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The rest of that day passed by in a blur. In some ways it went too slow—every second I spent packing was a second that terrified me, scared that I would relent, that I would go back into the living room and put my arms around Mateo and tell him I loved him, that I would fight for us, that I wouldn’t leave him.

In other ways, it went too fast. I wanted to hold on to each second that slipped through my fingers. I loved our apartment, I loved our home, I loved our city. I didn’t want to leave this life behind, even with all the hardships; I wanted to hang on to it and pray for the circumstances to change.

I wanted time to wind backward, to go back to Barcelona where we wouldn’t leave the apartment, where I would make him tell Isabel right then, or even back further, when he asked me to move to Spain. I would have told him I’d come when the divorce was final. I would have found a way to stay in Vancouver until then, I would have put up with the wrath of my mother. Anything to avoid the pain of having something so beautiful, so fragile, only to be the one to crush it with your own foot.

Eventually though, I had packed everything in the room and bathroom. The only things I needed in the living room were my laptop, my jacket, and my purse.

Unfortunately, Mateo was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, right by them.

I stood there, the suitcase beside me, the backpack hanging off of one shoulder, stuck in quicksand.

“I need to get my computer,” I whispered.

He didn’t look up at me. “Then take it.”

Shit. He was mad. Of course he was mad, I just broke his heart at the same time I broke mine.

I put my backpack down and leaned over him, quickly snapping up my computer and my purse. I tried not to look at him but I couldn’t help it. My eyes were drawn to him as they always had been. I took in the thickness of his black hair, knowing how soft and smooth it was, how it felt to tug at it with my fingers. His striking eyebrows that were the perfect frame for his teak brown eyes.

Eyes that were now meeting mine. He had looked up in time to catch my gaze. His eyes were still dark as ever, but bloodshot and full of pain. I stared at him, lost, afraid, and yet certain that this was the last time I’d ever see him.

“I love Chloe Ann,” he said hoarsely. “And I love you. In very different yet very equal ways. Can’t you trust me? Can’t you trust that I know what is best?”

I swallowed shards of glass.

I was too afraid to trust him.

I straightened up, and finding the smallest pocket of courage, managed to give him a smile. “You are a good man, Mateo. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

He stared at me, dumbfounded now. “You are actually leaving me. I can’t believe this is happening. Did none of this mean anything to you?” he whispered harshly.

A tear rolled down my cheek. “It meant everything to me.”

I turned around and walked to the door, taking my jacket off the coat hook. It took every parcel of strength I had left in my ravaged soul to keep going, even when I heard him say, “I love you, my Estrella. Please don’t go.”

But I opened the door. And I went.

At first I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Just up and leaving Mateo and my Madrid life wasn’t as straightforward as I had assumed. If I even did assume. All I knew to do was panic and run, and I had no idea where I was running to.

I had very little money, enough for one night at a hotel.

Not enough on my Mastercard to buy a plane ticket home.

In reality, I was totally fucked.

That didn’t stop me from walking and walking through the grey Madrid streets until I was covered in sweat and my back and arms hurt as much as everything else did. I paused, totally unsure of where I was and quickly called Claudia.

“Vera?” she answered.

And then the tears started coming again. I leaned against the cold stone wall of a building, shielding my face from passerby, and letting it all flow until I could speak again.

“I left Mateo,” I told her.

That was all she needed. I gave her vague directions, spotting the name of a few stores. She told me to stay put and thirty minutes later she was roaring down the narrow street and helping my bags and my life into the back of her hatchback.

Claudia didn’t exactly live in the city; her apartment was just to the west, still accessible by metro but things looked a little greener and spread out. It took us about a half hour, and the entire time I cried to her about what had happened—that I had seen him kiss Isabel, that I knew things would never improve, that I was making things harder by staying, that I could ruin his family’s true chance to stay together.

She never said anything except to murmur her shock or sympathies. She was just quiet comfort, which I appreciated more than I could say. Usually in this kind of case, people gave you unsolicited advice or agreed too much with what you were saying, wanting to help but only making things worse.

Claudia was more than eager to offer me anything that I needed. She said that she didn’t have much money to spare, but if it turned out that I couldn’t get my brother or one of my parents to fly me back home, then she would lend me what she could and I would pay her back. The only catch was that it would take her until her next paycheck in two weeks.

I had Claudia’s den as my room for as long as I needed, opting to sleep on an air mattress in there instead of on the couch. With Ricardo living with her, I wanted to give the both of them as much privacy as possible. I set up temporary camp in the narrow room, which Claudia’s fat grey cat Rocco didn’t like too much given that the den was one of his hangouts.

That night I kept checking my phone for texts from Mateo, having a sick kind of pull toward it, some kind of torturous impulse. He had sent no texts though, no emails, and there were no phone calls. It was pretty stupid to admit how much that destroyed me even further. There was nothing worse than thinking that the painful decision you made was the right one. I guess I had held out a little hope that he would continue trying to convince me that I was wrong.

I sat on the couch with Claudia and a bottle of wine, and we talked our way through the night. Ricardo decided he was heading out with some buddies of his, leaving us to vent and cry. I went through an entire box of tissues, just talking and talking and talking and just trying to work through everything.

The only thing I kept getting thinking about, saying over and over again, as if I had willed it to be true, was that we brought this on ourselves, that we were doomed from the start. Ours had been a love that never should have been, that was never meant to be. I wished I had recognized it from the start, that it was too impossible to go on.

“But you did,” Claudia said, pouring the rest of the wine into my glass. “You resisted until the very end.”

“I should have tried harder,” I said. “I should have seen this coming.”

“But love makes you an optimist,” she said. “That is what love is. It is hope for the future. Love doesn’t want you to lose faith, to view the world darkly, to have no hope. Love makes you believe in the impossible. That is the meaning of the word.”

“Very poetic.” I sniffled. “But love is misleading.”

She shrugged. “No one said it wasn’t.”

Talking with Claudia helped, even if it didn’t make me forget or make me feel any better about what had happened. But as the night wore on and a new day begun, I felt like if I kept talking about it to someone, then perhaps I could understand why I really did what I did.

Monday rolled around, however, and with Claudia and Ricardo at work, I was stuck alone with Rocco. I had nothing but time to kill with myself, time to feel that pain that kept reaching up from my gut like an icy hand.

There were still no messages from Mateo. The irrational side of me started getting really mad at his audacity—that he didn’t care. I had to keep reminding myself that this was my doing, my fault, that I had wanted this, that I had done this to us.

I decided to finally face my fears—admit that I was a failure—and call up Josh and my mother. It wasn’t going to be easy, to try and come crawling back to a home I had given the middle finger to.

I called Josh’s cell, knowing it was better if I talked to him first. I hated having to ask him for money, I hated for him to worry about me.

It was about seven a.m. in Vancouver and I was totally waking him up, but I wanted to talk to him before Claudia and Ricardo got home.

“Hello?” he answered groggily.

“Josh?” I whispered, as if I didn’t want to shock him.

He groaned. “Yeah. Vera. What time is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m…” I started. “I’m not okay.”

“What’s wrong?” He was waking up now, sounding more frantic.

I took in a deep breath. “I need to come home.”

He sighed. “Oh, no. Vera. What happened, man?”

“Mateo and I broke up,” I said, choking on my words.

“Fuck,” he swore. “I’m sorry. Why?”

“Many reasons,” I said. “It just got to be too hard.”

He made a funny grunt.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just, you knew it would be hard.”

I narrowed my eyes at the phone. “No. I didn’t know it would be this hard. You have no idea, Joshua, no idea what the fuck I have been going through since I got here.”

“Sorry. I had no idea you were this unhappy.”

“I wasn’t unhappy,” I said, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t know. Don’t you ever think that sometimes love isn’t enough? That it can’t overcome everything?”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I’ve never really been in love before, not the way that you have. I’d always hoped that love would be enough. Otherwise it’s just a Nine Inch Nails song.”

“Well, love sucks.”

But the truth was, not having love is what sucked. Not having Mateo sucked. Mateo was love. Despite all the shit while navigating this whole emotional shitshow, he loved me with all his heart. I felt the passion in his touch, saw his soul in his eyes. That man, that wonderful man who was trying nothing more than to be a good father, even with me in the way, he had loved me.

And I was turning my back on it, on everything that Mateo had to offer me. He rearranged his life for me and I was bailing when it got tough.

You’re doing the right thing, I told myself. You ruined a marriage; you don’t deserve his love or anyone else’s.

This was karma.

Payback.

Consequences.

“I have to come home,” I told him. “I’m doing what’s right for everyone.”

“And what did Mateo have to say about all of this?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Josh laughed. “Doesn’t matter? Vera, the dude left his wife for you.”

“He did not.”

“He did and you know it. He’s mad about you, God knows why. I’m pretty sure if Mateo didn’t think you could have handled it, he would have cut you loose or bailed himself.”

“No,” I said adamantly. “Because he doesn’t want to hurt me, because he believes so much in making this work.”

“Then why don’t you?”

I paused, taken aback. “Because my happiness is not as important as a family’s.”

“Maybe you should let Mateo decide that and not you.”

“Josh,” I said sternly.

“Vera,” he said right back. “Things aren’t too late. You’re still in Madrid, aren’t you? Spain, at least.”

“Yes,” I said warily.

“Then fucking go back to him and make it work. You love him, don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Well, you either do or you don’t,” he added.

“Josh, I’m coming home,” I said, louder now. “What’s done is done. I need you to be supportive, okay? You were so supportive when I came here.”

“Because I believed in that crazy scheme of yours,” he said. “I don’t believe in this one.”

“So I guess you’re not going to lend me money.”

“No, Vera,” he said. “I am not. And not because I’m being a dick, but I actually don’t have a fucking dime to my name. Everything has been going to the car. He’s a piece of shit, that Herman.” It took me a moment to realize he was talking about his Golf.

“Well, what the hell am I going to do?”

“You really don’t have any money?”

“No!” I cried out. “I don’t have a job.”

He sighed. “What about your friend? Claudia?”

“That’s who I’m staying with right now. And she’ll help me, but only in two weeks when she gets paid. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You want me to ask Mom, don’t you?”

I bit my lip. “She might say yes to you.”

“Maybe,” he mused. “But probably not. You’ll have much better luck with Dad. You rarely ask him for anything.”

“I know,” I said. “But it’s like, if Mom gives me money, then she’s pretty much saying I can come back home. If Dad gives it to me, I’ll probably have to live in Calgary.”

“Or,” he said, “you could just go back to your man and live in Madrid.”

“Josh, please,” I pleaded.

“Okay fine,” he said. “Give me a few days, all right?”

That would have to do. I thanked him profusely and hung up the phone.

The silence thrummed around me like the cadence of Rocco’s purrs. I didn’t want to think about everything that Josh had said. I didn’t want to think about anything. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I wanted the hollow place in my chest to be filled, to take away the emptiness, that black hole that kept swirling with pain and doubt.

The doubt was the worst part. It was the part that made me think everything that Josh said was true. That I was giving up too easily and too soon. But the thing was, he could never know what it was like to be me. He had never seen Isabel’s horror right up in his face or the look in Chloe Ann’s eyes when she asked her dad why he wasn’t coming home. I had to see all of that, feel it coming off of Mateo.

He made all those choices for me, and I was the most undeserving person of them all. He was just blinded by me because I made him feel like a different person. Perhaps the truth was that our love was what it was, that shining star, and it should have remained in Las Palabras. It should have never survived outside those confines, outside of that slice of life we happened upon. We were meant for a certain part of time, and anything else was pushing it.

I didn’t hear from Josh for a few days. I sank into a deep darkness that even Claudia couldn’t pull me out of. One moment I thought I was going to be fine, that I was going to get through this, and in the next moment, a Lana Del Rey song or a certain smell would bring me crashing to my feet, erupting into a fit of tears. There was no smooth ascent out of this pit. It was a jagged rollercoaster ride with no real end in sight.

When Wednesday rolled around, just as I was getting into bed, I got a text from Mateo.

I heard the beep—his particular chime—and my heart smiled. It was automatic, like Pavlov’s dog. I was used to feeling happiness at the sound.

With my breath held in my mouth, afraid to pass it out through my lips, I picked up my phone and peered at the screen with trepidation.

I love you. Please come back to me.

That was all it said. That was enough for my soul to crumble, my heart weeping inside, torrents of agony. Oh, god. How was I ever going to get past this? How was I ever going to go home, knowing that this man was out there, a man who totally and completely owned me inside and out?

I missed him. No, missing him wasn’t even the right word. I yearned for him, pined for him. I needed him. Something inside me was empty and aching in his absence, like flowers during the night. He was my sun, he was my everything.

I held the phone in my hand, staring at the text, wondering if I should respond, wondering how I couldn’t. And yet there was this block inside of me, the moral part that was showing its head too late and trying to make up for past grievances. It prevented me from texting back, even though it killed me inside.

I fell asleep in a river of tears, wondering if I’d ever feel whole again, if this pain would ever make me stop hating myself.

Apparently, I still needed to be punished.

Chapter Thirty

A few days after Mateo’s lone text, Josh finally called. It was Friday night, nearly a week since I had left Mateo. Claudia, Ricardo, Rocco and I were sitting on the couch watching the Spanish version of The Voice. I was going through the motions, telling myself that everything was going to be all right, fooling myself into thinking this was just a hiccup in my life to overcome.

Mateo couldn’t have been my one true love. I was only twenty-three. The cynic in me knew that the odds of me ever finding the right person were skewed toward my late twenties, particularly for the kind of lifestyle I lived.

The romantic part of me knew that love happened at any age. As Claudia had said, it had no regard for time.

I picked up my cell from the coffee table and answered it. “Hey, Josh.”

I tried to sound breezy, as if everything wasn’t riding on it. I failed. My voice cracked, and Claudia and Ricardo looked over at me in worry.

I got up, shooting them a quick apologetic look, and took the call out onto the balcony. The weather had turned so fast, as if it were mimicking my situation. I pulled my cardigan close around me. “Yes, what is it?” I said into the phone.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“Shitty,” I said. “Any luck in getting me home?”

He sighed. “No. I’m sorry, Vera. Mom said no. She did, however, say you could return home if you apologized.”

Normally I would have scoffed at that and told him she could go fuck herself. But I was tired of doing that. I’d already started to make the peace here in Spain, and I needed to continue. My pride didn’t matter so much. If Mateo could do things he didn’t want to do to keep the peace with Isabel, I could do the same with my mom.

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Thanks for trying.”

“So you’re actually going to apologize to Mom?” he asked incredulously.

“First things first,” I told him. “I’ll get a way home, then I will tell her I’m wrong, admit I was sorry, whatever.”

“Dude,” he said. “I’m not saying that you and Mom shouldn’t try and get along, but this doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Maybe I’m growing up,” I told him. “Maybe I need to make some changes in my life.”

“Right,” he said slowly. “I’m still worried that you’ve been replaced by a robot. Since when have you ever cared about doing the right thing? You’re Miss Rebellious, always have been.”

“Maybe when I saw firsthand what the damage was like,” I said. “What I leave in my wake.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Vera,” he scoffed.

“It’s all I know how to be,” I remarked softly. Well, if my mom wasn’t going to help, that meant I’d be waiting another week for Claudia. I hated knowing I owed people but in this case I had no choice.

“Well,” he said, “keep me posted on whatever you do. I’ll let Mom know though, so if she calls you in the next few days, you’ll know why. Don’t freak out.”

“I won’t.”

“Love ya.”

“Love ya too.”

I hung up and leaned out on the balcony railing. From Claudia’s apartment, the city lights were further away. You could kind of see some of the stars in that big velvet sky. They were fighting to get through all the light pollution and the haze, but they still managed to shine.

That night I had a beautiful dream.

I was laying on the grass out in that field, beneath that big oak tree, with Mateo by my side. Wildflowers grew all around us and up the trunk, spreading their colors across the leaves.

“Do you know why I call you Estella?” Mateo asked, lacing his fingers with mine and raising our hands up into the big blue sky.

“Why?”

“Because you are my star,” he said, his voice low and smooth, raising the hairs on my arms. “You shine brighter than the sun.”

“But even the sun goes away every night.”

“But it is the sun’s absence that makes us feel its power. We know the loss, the beauty and the life that the moon can’t replace. That is why we hang on to each day we are given. That is why I hang on to you.” He lowered our hands and kissed my knuckles. “I love you, Vera. I’ve had the moon, the dark, the cold, for too long. I want my star back. My Estrella.”

He kissed me next, his mouth tasting as I remembered, his stubble rough as my fingers traced his jaw. His eyes were deep and luminous, begging me to stay with him, to bring him the warmth we both needed.

“And what if I was only supposed to burn for a certain amount of time?” I whispered. “What if I was only meant to shine for a while?”

“Then you truly don’t know what stars are meant to do.”

I looked at him in wonder.

“They are meant to give us hope in the face of infinity.”

He kissed me again, his warm hands on my skin.

Then it all faded to black.

I slowly woke up.

My cheeks were wet. My lips tasted like sunshine.

Four more days rolled past, days that went too quickly or too slowly, depending on my mood. Everyone was looking to Friday, the day that Claudia would get paid, the day I would book my plane ticket back home. In those four days, I talked to my mother and apologized to her. It went about as well as I thought it would. I felt utterly humiliated, having to admit I was wrong, that I made a bad choice. She sounded cold as always, though near the end of the conversation, she was conceding a bit.

“I would pay for your ticket, Vera,” she said. “It’s not a matter of punishment here, I just can’t swing it. Not with Mercy’s wedding.”

Of course. I rolled my eyes and yet still managed to ask my mom how the wedding was going. For some reason, I thought the wedding planning would have brought joy to my mother’s life, but she seemed perpetually annoyed about the whole thing. Perhaps Mercy and Charles were pissing her off too with their demands.

I told her not to worry about it, that I now had a way home and just had to pay my friend back. She sounded vaguely happy about that, which gave me a smidgen of hope for my return. Hope was a dangerous thing, I knew, but it didn’t stop your heart from latching on to it like a life raft.

Thursday night, however, the night before Claudia’s paycheck, my mother called me back.

“Vera?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, panic never too far away from me. Did something happen to Josh? Dad? Mercy?

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all. I just called to let you know that I bought you a ticket home.”

“What?” I asked, completely floored.

“It’s on Sunday at five p.m., a red-eye. Do you have a pen? I have a confirmation number for you here.”

I scrambled for a pen, totally blown away. I hated owing my mom, but I knew deep down she could afford it. Claudia couldn’t. She had signed up for a big favor by offering to lend me a thousand dollars for my flight home, and I would have been eaten by guilt until I paid her back, something that would have taken a long time.

My mother told me the number and I wrote it down with all the details. Five p.m., Air Canada, on Sunday. Stopover in Toronto with a four hour layover. It all sounded like hell, but I didn’t care at this point.

I thanked my mom profusely and hung up the phone.

“What is it?” Claudia asked, coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine for our girl’s night.

“My mom bought me a ticket. I leave for home on Sunday.”

Her face fell slightly as she placed the bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Oh.”

“What?” I asked. “I thought you’d be happy. I’m saving you money.”

“I know,” she said. “But…” She plopped down on the couch and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I thought maybe I could have convinced you to stay.”

“Why would I stay?”

“Because you love it here.”

“Claudia,” I said, “I don’t love it here. I love you. Ricardo. Your cat. Okay, I do love Madrid, I do love Spain. But if I stay here, it will just remind me of why I came. It will remind me of Mateo.”

“Then go back to him,” she blurted out.

I frowned at her. Claudia had never given me any advice or any input into this whole thing. “What?”

She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I just think you are making a mistake if you get on that plane.”

“Why?”

“Because Mateo loves you and you love him, and while you think love doesn’t conquer all, I think it does. Vera, you need to go back to him.”

“I do not,” I said. “He hasn’t even tried to get in touch with me.” Except for that one text, I thought, the one I keep replaying in my head over and over again.

“Because he thinks that you’ve made your mind up, or maybe he even thinks you’re gone.”

I shook my head. “I made the right choice. I don’t need you to second guess me right now!”

“Just…” Claudia stammered, looking for words. “I don’t want you to go either. You need to stay here. This is where you belong.”

And then Claudia started crying.

My heart melted. She wasn’t a big crier and I didn’t want to leave her either.

“Claudia,” I said to her, bringing her into my arms. “This is still a happy ending.”

“How?” she sobbed. “You’re my friend and you’re leaving me. You’re Mateo’s love and you’re leaving him. You’re leaving the ones you care most about and the ones who care most about you.”

“But don’t the best stories, the best experiences, aren’t they about character growth and change?” I asked. “Aren’t they about sacrifice? This is just something I need to do. I’ll be happy again. So will you. So will Mateo.”

“You don’t need to justify your actions to yourself,” she said into my shoulder.

I pulled back and eyed her. “I’m justifying them to you.”

“No,” she said, meeting my gaze. “You’re not. You’ve been trying to explain everything away from the minute you called me up on the phone, telling me that you left Mateo. You keep repeating over and over again that you are doing the right thing, that you are doing what needs to be done for the greater good. Did you ever stop to think that you may not have a fucking clue what you are talking about?”

My mouth flapped open, slightly aghast. “I do know.”

“No, you don’t. You say you do and you don’t. You know nothing, Vera, nothing about Mateo and what he wants. He’s the one who is going through the divorce. He’s the one going through all of it, center stage. He is older, you know, he knows what is going on, he knows Isabel and his daughter. He is making the best decisions for everyone. You cannot make those decisions for him. You have no idea.”

A cold feeling came over me. “Has he talked to you?”

She looked away.

“Has he?!” I screeched, getting to my feet.

“He called me a few days ago,” she said. “He asked if I knew where you were. I told him you were still here and you hadn’t gone home yet. We were waiting for my paycheck. He asked me how you were doing.”

“And?!”

“And I told him what you’ve been saying for the last ten days.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he loved you.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s not enough?”

The thing was, it was enough. Just not enough to keep me here.

“You’re only doing the right thing because you’re trying to get rid of your guilt,” she said to me. “But wouldn’t you rather have some guilt and be happy than be miserable and not feel guilty?”

“One way is selfish and the other way isn’t.”

“Vera,” she said patiently. “You are selfish by nature. So am I. So is Mateo. It’s why he left his wife, so that he could be happier. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be happy and believing you deserve to be happy.”

I shook my head, refusing to believe that.

She got up and put her hand on my shoulder. “Look, I don’t know who has been telling you over the years that you aren’t worthy of love and happiness, but they’re idiots. We all deserve it. And if people get hurt along the way, that’s life. We’ve all been hurt. Doesn’t that make love more crucial to our lives? Did you ever think that loving Mateo hasn’t been punishment for the wrong you’ve done but payment for the shit you’ve gone through? Vera Miles, you are a lovely, beautiful, funny, generous, great human being and I am honored to call you my friend. Don’t let anything else color that or rob you from the happiness that you do deserve. Tell those voices in your head to shut the fuck up.”

At that I burst out laughing. Crazy happy and sad tears that rocketed through me, turning me hysterical. I wanted to believe Claudia so badly. I really did. I wanted to say she was right and a small part of me knew she was right. The part that burned for Mateo, that still believed in us, that believed that everything would be okay.

But it was too late now.

I hugged her, bringing her close to me, wishing I didn’t have to let go.

Chapter Thirty-One

On Saturday night, my last night in Madrid, Claudia and Ricardo took me out to the bars. I hadn’t really left the apartment for two weeks, and definitely hadn’t gone back into the city, so I felt like I had to have the Madrid experience one last time.

We walked through cobblestone streets, the night soft on our shoulders, the air filled with laughter. I hung on to every single smell—garlic, chilies, fish—and on to every sound—the chatter of Spanish, the classical guitar that wafted out of the bars, the cries of people having a good time. I soaked up everything that assaulted my senses because I knew, I knew, it was my last time to ever experience this place.

I wanted to leave on a good note. I wanted Madrid to brand me, make one last mark on my soul that I wouldn’t forget.

And because of this openness, this willingness to take what I could get while I could get it, I kept thinking that maybe by luck, maybe by chance, maybe by the fate of those motherfucking stars, I would run into Mateo. Just to see him one last time.

What I wouldn’t give to see his beautiful face one last time.

My god I loved that man.

And that night, I allowed myself to feel every part of that love. Everything he had ever made me feel. I rolled in the memories, letting them scar my skin. I relived them, telling myself that I was lucky to have known him, to have been loved like that, to have loved like I did. I’d told myself that our love never had been free, but that was a lie. I had loved him freely, beyond restraint or constriction.

I had loved and always would love Mateo Casalles.

There was no one else.

Claudia, Ricardo, and I were winding down the night at some quiet bar when I got a call from Josh. I took the phone outside, staggering a bit thanks to the copious amounts of sangria.

“Hello?” I said into the phone as a bunch of drunk chicks stumbled past me.

“Vera,” Josh said. “Hey, you got a minute?” He was slurring a bit which made me think he was probably drunk.

“Kind of,” I said. “Just out in the city. Last night and everything.”

“Right. Good.”

“Josh.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you call?”

“There is something I’m not supposed to tell you.”

I pursed my lips for a moment. “Well, now you know you have to tell me, right?”

“Vera, Mom didn’t buy you that plane ticket.”

“Okay…”

“Mateo did.”

Stunned.

I was absolutely stunned.

“What?” I hissed into the phone. “Why? How?”

He sighed. “He called my cell the other day. I guess he knew the number for emergencies or whatever. He asked to speak to Mom.”

“I don’t understand.” My heart started pounding wildly in my throat, at just the thought of Mateo calling my brother, talking to my mom.

“Mom said he made her promise not to tell you. He had heard that you needed a way home. He offered to pay for your ticket. Mom said sure. He told her that you needed to be with people you loved. That he was sorry. That this was a gift. That you should have your family with you.”

I was utterly conflicted over this. Completely torn down the middle. One side of me appreciated the gesture, the generosity of Mateo that had never failed me so far. That he was mature enough to understand what I wanted, to want to help me even if it cost him.

The other side of me was splintering. Because he was telling me it was okay to leave. He was giving me his blessing. The flight was a parting gift. It was only fair—he flew me to Spain to begin with.

“Vera?” Josh asked.

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the heel of my hand into my forehead, trying to put some sense in my brain.

“Are you okay?”

“I guess.”

“Should I have not told you?”

I thought about it. “I guess if you hadn’t…maybe I would have wondered if he hated me. But…now I know he doesn’t. He just finally agrees with me. That I did the right thing.”

“Yeah.” He breathed out. “I guess so. I’m sorry.”

I breathed out and looked up at the sky. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“I have your info. Mom and I will see you at the airport.”

I hung up the phone and stared out at the plaza across from me, at the people enjoying the Saturday night, the vibrancy in the air. I always felt like I belonged here. Even with the shit Mateo and I had gone through, I still felt like Madrid was my home. Hell, I felt Mateo was my home too. There had never been a moment that I thought I didn’t belong here.

I was going to miss this place, the way it made me move, made me dance, made me love, made me live. And now I was leaving. I could only hope that the Vera that returned to Canada could manage to hold on to Spain somewhere deep inside her soul.

I had lost it once before. I didn’t want to lose it again.

The next morning, I woke up slightly hung over—it was a fitting goodbye to Spain. After Josh’s call, I went back inside the bar and decided to keep drinking and dancing my face off. Eventually I told Claudia about Mateo’s purchase. She was actually upset, not understanding why Mateo would send me off without a fight. It didn’t seem like him.

“Maybe he’s going to be at the airport,” Ricardo spoke up from the backseat as Claudia drove me to the airport.

I would be totally fucking lying if I hadn’t been secretly wishing for that the whole entire time. What woman didn’t want the dramatic airport reunion scene, the guy running up to her gate at the last minute? I had hoped that maybe that was Mateo’s plan. Seemed I wasn’t the only one.

“That would be more like Mateo,” Claudia said. She gave me a quick look. “But if that doesn’t happen, are you going to be okay? You’re going to need to be okay if he doesn’t show up.”

I sucked in a breath and stared out the window at the Spanish landscape as it flew by. Of course it was nice and hot on the day I left. It would probably be raining when I got home. And would I be okay? Would I be okay with Mateo never showing up, with going back to Canada as planned, alone, on my own, with a scattered life to return to?

Would I be okay?

No.

I wouldn’t be.

Not at first.

But in time, somewhere, deep inside I knew I would be. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not a week from now, maybe not a year. But at some point in time, in this universe and among these stars, I was going to be okay just being me. Just being Vera Miles.

With that strengthening thought, we arrived at the airport. I hugged Claudia and Ricardo at the curb, not wanting to delay our goodbye any longer.

Claudia held me tight, crying into my hair. “I promise to come to Vancouver. Ricardo and I. We’ll do it as soon as we save up. Maybe in the winter for skiing? You could take us to Whistler Mountain.”

“Absolutely,” I said, hoping that Claudia would stay true to her word, that she wouldn’t forget about me over time, forget about what she meant to me. I wanted her as a friend for life, someone to overcome distance and cultures. I think we could make it last.

At least I had that.

I dried away stray tears with my knuckles, trying not to smudge my makeup. I smiled at the two of them, putting on my brave face. “Well,” I said. “Adios.”

Claudia and Ricardo both waved at me sadly. I pulled my bags toward the checkout counter and turned back to see them one last time. Claudia was crying into Ricardo’s shoulder and he was leading her back to the car. I felt my throat pinch again, the sobs wanting to escape. I took in a deep breath and sucked it down.

I went to the Air Canada counter and put on a fake smile that I could barely wear, getting my tickets and checking my bags. All the while I kept looking over my shoulder and searching for Mateo. Was he going to come? Would he show up? Dammit, he had to do it soon. He knew what flight I was on and what time, he bought the damn ticket.

“Are you traveling alone?” the desk agent asked me, noticing my wandering eye. “Or waiting for someone else?”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I’m alone.”

She must have caught the sorrow in my voice because she gave me a soft smile. “I like flying alone. It’s one of the few times where you have to pay attention to yourself.”

I nearly sobbed at that. I gave her a tight smile, my eyes welling up. I thanked her, got my tickets, and took off for the security checkpoint.

I wanted to stall on my way through there, knowing that Mateo couldn’t go through without a ticket. I wanted him to catch up with me and take me in his arms and tell me he loved me and that everything was going to be okay. I wanted him to be my home again.

I wanted him in every way I could.

But he never came.

After security, I headed to my gate, still harboring the tiniest seed of hope that he would still somehow come through. Maybe he was on my plane, as ridiculous of a notion as that was.

I was such a dreamer. A romantic deep down inside. After everything I pushed away, I still believed in that great big love, the one that you would create stars and galaxies and universes for.

When the plane boarded, I got to my seat—window, my favorite—buckled up my seatbelt and curled up into a ball, leaning against the window and trying to shield my eyes from the passengers who were still getting on. I felt the people sit down beside me but I didn’t dare look at them. I didn’t dare make a sound. I just let the tears stream down my face as I stared at my last view of Spain. I sobbed silently during take-off. I tried to compose myself as we hit cruising altitude. This was a private moment for me. This was me saying goodbye to Spain.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine all my best memories, Mateo’s wonderful face, his hands on my body, the feel of being in his arms, Claudia’s smile, the late nights, the sunshine, the feel of the air, the taste of the wine. If I tried hard enough, I could even smell Mateo’s cologne, ocean fresh. It brought me the smallest bit of comfort.

I had to be okay.

As the country of Spain became a distant land below me, as the clouds formed over Portugal, as the continent of Europe carved out its name into the Atlantic, I had to be okay.

I took in a deep breath and looked deep inside me for an answer.

There was only me.

And I knew I was strong. I was resilient. And I wasn’t as bad as people had told me.

I was Vera Miles.

And I might have been the villain of my own story.

But I was the hero, too.

I was going to be okay.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I exhaled and adjusted myself in my seat, trying not to elbow my seatmate, which was impossible. I totally knocked them off the armrest.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, still trying to keep my shitty red nose and puffy eyes hidden from view.

“I’m sorry, too.”

The blood in me stilled.

The voice.

That voice.

No.

No, it fucking could not be.

I very slowly turned my head toward the passenger sitting beside me, looking at them for the first time.

Mateo was right there, staring at me, his quiet smile and soft eyes just inches away.

My breath hitched in shock. I was dead, wasn’t I? The plane crashed on take-off and I was dead! Or sleeping. I was sleeping.

I slowly tore my eyes off of him and looked around at the other passengers on the plane, wondering if they were dead too or asleep or strange, or if something was out of the ordinary, some sort of sign that I was dreaming or God was playing the world’s cruelest practical joke.

“I was hoping to get your attention earlier,” he said with a shrug. “But you never looked this way once. I can see why, your little red nose.”

I continued to stare at him like a deer in the headlights. I started shaking my head in disbelief. “No. No, h-how can you be here?”

“Is it bad that I’m here?”

I shook my head again, licking my lips, trying to find words where there were none. Everything around me throbbed as if in slow motion. My mind was officially blown and the rest of me was struggling to catch up.

Mateo.

Here.

Next to me.

Flying to Vancouver with me.

“I told your mother that I wanted you to be with your family and people who loved you,” he said simply. “Whether you believe it or want it, Vera, you are my family. You are my universe. And I love you more than anything.”

“That is so sweet,” the woman next to him gushed, obviously eavesdropping. Actually, I was sure the whole plane was probably listening to this.

I blinked at him, wishing we had privacy. But really, that didn’t matter. Everything I wished for was here.

“Will you forgive me?” he asked, placing his hand on mine. Warmth flooded through me, a shiver ran down my back.

How could this be real? How could this be happening?

“What for?” I breathed out.

“For not being sensitive enough during everything, for thinking you could handle all of that when I should have never asked you to handle it. You are strong, Vera, very strong, but I was so wrapped up in my own burdens, of what I had to carry, that I thought yours weren’t as hard. But they were. There were many, many things that I did wrong.” He raised my hand up to his and kissed it. “Will you forgive me?”

I still couldn’t believe it. “Of course,” I whispered, my emotions all fighting each other. What did this mean? “There is nothing to forgive, Mateo. You did what you had to do.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wished it could have been different. I forget that you are only twenty-three years old, Vera. You have shouldered so much and you are only twenty-three. Women your age shouldn’t have to deal with these situations. I am in awe of you, do you know that?”

I swallowed hard, unable to ignore the gnawing feeling of doubt in my chest. “And…how are things? With you. And them?”

He smiled and his eyes lit up. “I was granted joint custody,” he said.

I broke out into a wide grin. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Yes. I am serious. After you left me, I went and visited Isabel most days.” My face fell but he shot me a reassuring smile. “Do not worry, it wasn’t like that. It was just to talk to her. I very slowly got her to understand. I owned up to everything so there were no secrets. I explained how serious I was about you, what you meant to me, the kind of wonderful and good person that you were. I told her how badly I didn’t want Chloe Ann to grow up without a father. With a lot of patience, I finally got her to sign it over.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

He turned his hand from side to side. “Mas o menos. More or less. I promised her a big settlement in exchange for any humiliation she had to suffer.”

I raised my eyebrows. Figures it would come down to money.

“But,” he added, “it is worth it. I took the time to take care of everything while you were gone. The divorce is almost final. And my daughter can never be taken away from me.”

I felt like the sun was bursting inside my heart, flooding me with utter relief. I felt like I could finally, finally breathe again.

Mateo would never lose Chloe Ann.

All my worries turned to dust, blown away.

“So what are you doing on the plane with me?” I asked when I composed myself.

“I’m taking you back home,” he said. He noted the puzzled look on my face. “Madrid is your home. I am your home. We’ll go to Vancouver and I’ll meet your family. It is only fair, yes? And then I’m taking you right back to Spain.”

“And if I say no?”

His smile faltered, his eyes creasing sadly. “Then I will have tried my best. I bought you this plane ticket because I knew that a nine hour flight was the only way I’d be able to have your attention, where you wouldn’t be able to run, to leave. I figured I would spend the entire flight trying to win you back. Trying to make you love me again.”

My heart swelled, my lower lip trembling. “I never stopped loving you,” I said quietly.

He reached out and stroked my face, running his fingertips over my cheekbones. “I couldn’t quite be sure. Sometimes, when love makes you mad, you wonder if it makes other people mad too.”

I nodded. “It does.” I sighed and looked down. “I’m sorry that I gave up on us. I just tried to do the right thing.”

“That is okay, Vera. I love you enough to make up for it. I would never let you go without a fight.”

I shot him a quick look. “You didn’t know I was at Claudia’s for some time. I could have left the country.”

“You are impulsive,” he noted, “but I figured it would take you a while to make arrangements. And even if you had left, I know your address in Vancouver. I would have found you. You burn too brightly to be missed.”

I closed my eyes at that and smiled, a happy tear streaking down my cheek. I was finally letting myself believe it, believe that we were together and had a chance.

“So,” I said carefully. “You still want me?”

He laughed lightly. “Oh, my Estrella.”

He grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me, hard at first, then soft as our lips and tongues melded together, feeling like honey, tasting like gold. I felt him all the way to my toes, making my skin and body come alive.

The woman next to Mateo let out a happy sigh, apparently still watching us.

Mateo and I slowly broke apart, our noses pressed against each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I gripped his hair, holding on tight, afraid to let go. He was here, he was here, he was here.

And he was mine.

“You still want me?” he whispered, the utter vulnerability of his words sinking into me like silk.

“Si,” I said adamantly. “Always and infinity.”

He grinned and pushed up the armrest between us, unbuckling my seatbelt and pulling me to him. He put his arm around me and held on tight, his warm breath at my ear, his heartbeat steady against my back. He held me as the world outside the window turned to night and the starshine filled the endless sky.

We flew together like the stars.