First at the table.
And later…
in my bed.
SIXTY
VALENTINA FERRARA
That morning began exactly like so many others had over the past few weeks: the table set with care, Clara already sitting in her seat, chatting animatedly about some cartoon she’d watched on TV, while Enrico finished making the pancakes that had recently become his specialty.
I watched him discreetly as I finished setting the plates, noticing how naturally our morning dynamic had evolved.
Despite all the barriers I still tried to build between us, the reality was clear: together, Enrico and I made a good team—especially when it came to taking care of our daughter.
“Mom, can I take a different fruit in my lunchbox today?” Clara asked, her big gray eyes shining with expectation.
“Of course, sweetheart. What do you want?” I answered distractedly, sitting down at the table while trying to avoid looking at Enrico, who was now carefully placing the pancakes in front of her with a loving smile.
“Grapes!” Clara replied excitedly, already grabbing her little fork.
Enrico sat down beside me right after that—too close for me to completely ignore him, even though I tried.
“Alright, grapes it is,” I agreed.
But before I could focus on my plate again, Clara turned to me with a serious expression, full of childlike curiosity.
“And your birthday, Mom? What are you going to do for your birthday this week?”
My heart jumped instantly, and I couldn’t help casting a discreet, anxious glance in Enrico’s direction. Did he remember?
It had been so long. I’d grown used to celebrating that date with just Júlia and Clara over the past few years. But now, with Enrico back in my life, I had no idea what to expect.
He remained silent, his eyes lowered to his coffee cup, his expression unreadable. I swallowed hard, a strange twinge tightening in my chest. Maybe it was better this way. I didn’t want to create unnecessary expectations.
Weeks had passed since the gala in São Paulo, and since then Enrico had shown himself to be relentless in his efforts to seduce me. He did small things—things I stubbornly insisted on interpreting as trivial gestures—even though my body and my heart reacted as if each detail were a silent declaration.
Unexpected flowers at the bakery. Short messages during the day with small reminders that he was thinking about me. Coffee made exactly the way I liked it. Secret smiles he threw my way, powerful enough to melt whatever resistance I still had left.
And there were the touches. Subtle—but far too effective at driving me insane.
And the sex…
I simply couldn’t resist the sex anymore.
I kept pretending none of it affected me, that I was indifferent to the effort he was making, but it was becoming increasingly clear that my indifference was nothing more than a façade.
A façade that grew more fragile by the day.
“Mom?” Clara insisted, snapping me abruptly out of those dangerous thoughts.
I turned my attention back to my daughter, doing my best to hide the blush that now rose quickly to my cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t know…” I tried to deflect. “We’ll probably have dinner with your Aunt Júlia, like we do every year. Nothing special.”
Clara immediately made an adorable face of disapproval, crossing her little arms and huffing dramatically.
“Mom, birthdays are always special!” she protested with the absolute conviction only children have, before turning straight to Enrico as if instinctively seeking an ally. “Don’t you think, Uncle Enrico?”
