I turn away from the mirror, phone tucked to my ear, heart beginning to thud with unease, and then I hear it. The soft creak of the studio door behind me. My gaze flicks back to the mirror, and my breath stops in my throat.
Mateo steps inside quietly, the door easing shut behind him. He’s still in street clothes, dark jeans and a fitted shirt that hugs his frame, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His hair is a little messy, and his eyes are locked on me. I turn slowly, heartbeat kicking into a gallop.
“Amor?” Gerardo’s voice crackles again in my ear. “Are you still there?”
I swallow, forcing my voice to be calm. “Yes. I’m here.”
But my eyes are still on Mateo, who’s walking toward me now, each step more certain than the last. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me with a blank expression, but his eyes betray him. They burn like he’s walking into the fiery depths of hell carrying a burden he doesn’t know what to do with.
I shift the phone slightly, voice hushed. “Gerardo… can I call you back? Someone just came into the studio.”
There’s a pause, then, “Of course. I love you.”
I close my eyes as a fresh wave of guilt crashes over me. “I love you too.” Then I hang up.
When I open my eyes again, Mateo is only a few feet away, and suddenly, the silence between us feels louder than the music ever could.
MATEO
She’s still holding the phone when I step into the studio, her back to me, her silhouette prominent in the mirror’s dim reflection. Her voice is soft, too low to hear clearly, but when I catch the hushed,I love you too, it slams into my chest like a fist.
It’s her husband. Of course.
Even after everything, he still lives inside those quiet words. I swallow hard, forcing the bile down, shoving the jealousy into the same box where I’ve been keeping every inappropriate thought about her since the moment we danced together. I’m not here to cause damage or make things worse, but one look at her smooth skin, hair in disarray, and her body caught between tension and exhaustion, has every rational reason for being here dissolving.
I came to thank her. That’s what I tell myself.
My father spoke to her, and something shifted after that. He’s more open now. He even mentioned looking forward to Paris, and that’s because of her. I should just say it. Just thank her and walk away, but I can’t. There’s something about her standing here, vulnerable and alone in this room we’ve both filled with so many sins and silences, that makes it impossible to leave.
She lowers the phone, breathes, and I move. Before she can even turn fully, I close the distance and slide my hand to her waist, turning her gently but firmly until she’s facing me. Her eyes widen as I bring my mouth to hers.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s not soft or patient or anything close to restraint. It’s a war breaking inside both of us, all teeth anddesperation, the kind of kiss you regret even as you’re still inside it.
She gasps, lips parting just enough to let me in, her fingers fisting the front of my shirt like she wants to pull me closer or push me away. Maybe both.
I crowd her backward until her spine brushes the mirror, and the reflection of us nearly steals my breath. We look reckless. Utterly ruined with her face tilted up to mine, her mouth swollen from my desperate kisses. My hands are already shaking with the need to touch more. To have more.
“Mateo,” she whispers against my lips, breaking the kiss just enough to speak, but her breath is ragged and her eyes betray her. There’s no hesitation in them. Only ache.
“Tell me to go,” I rasp, voice gravelly, thick with want.
She doesn’t. Instead, she pulls me back to her, her mouth crashing against mine with the fury of a storm that’s been brewing for so long. Our bodies fit together like fate as my hands slide beneath her shirt, skin to skin, the moment nearly tipping into something irreversible. Until she pushes me away.
Her palms press against my chest with enough force to halt everything. I freeze, letting her create the distance she needs, though every part of me screams to pull her back. Our breathing fills the silence, harsh and uneven, then slowly, she gives a small shake of her head, and that single gesture breaks me all over again.
I take a step back, dragging a hand through my hair. I don’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not, but I am wrecked.
“I didn’t come here to make things worse,” I manage. “I came to thank you. For what you said to my father. He’s… different now. He’s giving me space. Forgiveness even.”
Her gaze flickers, but her arms remain tightly crossed. The guard is back up. “Still doesn’t mean you should’ve kissed me,” she spits, her words like razors, sharp and wounding.
“No,” I agree quietly. “But I wanted to.”
She lets out a short, cruel laugh, and it cuts deeper than I expect. “Why didn’t you ask Yvonne to thank me for you?” she sneers. “I’m sure you two had a lovely dinner.”
I blink. “Dinner?”
Her brows rise. “Yes. The one at her place? With your father?”
