“I know I am.” Her voice doesn’t shake.
Her confidence is maddening. She steps closer until I can smell the faint sweetness of her perfume: something with jasmine, but darker underneath, like smoke. It doesn’t belong in this house any more than she does.
Her fingers brush mine. Light. Testing.
“Mara,” I warn.
“What?” she whispers. “Afraid you’ll like it?”
I should walk away. I should say something to stop this madness before it starts. But I don’t.
Her hand slides up my arm, settling on my shoulder. My breath catches before I force it steady. I place a hand at her waist—bare skin under silk. Too warm. Too alive.
The music fills the space between us. For a moment, I let her lead. It’s awkward. Her steps are uneven, her rhythm off, but it doesn’t matter. Her laughter breaks the silence, soft and sudden, like light cutting through fog. I don’t remember the last time I heard something that honest in this place.
“You’re not terrible,” she says, looking up through her lashes.
“I’m not trying.”
“You’re such a bad liar.”
I pull her a little closer. Her body goes still for half a heartbeat, then her breath brushes my throat. I can feel her pulse: fast, erratic, alive. It shouldn’t affect me. It does.
Her eyes flick between my mouth and my face. I shouldn’t notice. I do.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say.
“Sure,” she whispers. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
The song ends, but neither of us moves. Another starts. A slower piano piece, quieter, the kind you only hear when you’ve already stayed too long. I realize her heart’s pounding against my chest. Or maybe it’s mine.
I step back first. Always me. Her expression shifts, like she wants to say something but doesn’t trust herself to. There’s color on her cheeks, her lips parted like she’s still trying to breathe.
Before I can say anything, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, not checking the screen.
“What?”
Romiro’s voice comes through. “You sound busy.”
“What do you want?”
“Just thought I’d call with some good news.”
“Define good.”
“She’ll be out of your hair soon.”
The words land like a punch to the ribs. My fingers tighten around the phone.
I glance at Mara. She’s crouched again, scooping Duchess off the couch and stroking her head absently. The cat purrs like she’s the only one not feeling the tension in the room.
“What do you mean?”
“Emiliano called,” Romiro says. “He’s making arrangements. Should be a couple of weeks, maybe less.”
My jaw tightens. “And you’re telling me this because…”
“Because I thought you’d like to know,” he answers easily. “You sound…upset about the news.”
