My pulse spikes. I glance at Rafe, needing something from his face. Anything. Guidance. Permission. When he doesn’t give me anything, I answer truthfully, because it’s the safest thing I can do. “Not long,” I say. “Marco and I have to head back tonight. Red-eye.”
His mother’s brows lift. “Tonight?”
I nod. “Team schedule.”
Her mouth pinches with sympathy. “That is fast.”
Marco nods dramatically again. “Yeah. He’s basically allergic to rest.”
Rafe’s father looks at Marco now, amused. “And you, Marco. You said you are married, yes?”
Marco brightens. “Yeah,” he says, like he’s proud. “Twenty months. Carol’s a saint.”
His mother’s face lights up instantly. “Ay, qué bonito,” she says. “Almost two years!”
His father nods. “Marriage is work,” he says, solemn and sincere.
Marco points at him like they’re in on a joke together. “See? You get it.”
Rafe’s mother leans forward, clearly charmed. “Maybe you will help Rafael,” she says teasingly, “find a nice woman.”
Rafe makes a strangled sound. “Mamá?—”
Then his mother’s expression shifts, subtle and thoughtful, and she adds quietly, almost casually, “Or man.”
The air changes. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough.
Rafe goes very still beside me. His fingers tighten around his water glass. Not enough to crack it—just enough to remind himself he’s holding something. I drag in a breath, but it sticks halfway down. I want to cry.
Not because she said it, but because she said it like it wouldn’t change how she loves him.
Because she said it like it was obvious she’d still be proud.
Because she said it like love is simple.
Marco blinks, then recovers with the ease of someone who doesn’t know how loaded the moment is. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Whatever makes him happy, right?”
His father nods, calm. “Yes.”
His mother smiles at Rafe, then turns to me, eyes bright. “And you, Oliver?” she asks warmly. “Are you married?”
My heart drops straight through my body. I stare at her, my mouth turning dry. The wordyesburns behind my teeth like a secret trying to escape.
I can’t. I force my voice steady. “No,” I say.
Rafe’s head snaps toward me so fast it hurts to see. His eyes widen, and for a split second, I see the flinch. The impact. The pain that doesn’t have anywhere to go.
His father bobs his head approvingly, oblivious. “Sensible,” he says. “Career first. You are young.”
Marco opens his mouth, and I feel panic spike because I don’t know what he’s about to say. I don’t know if he’ll accidentally trip over the truth.
“Well,” Marco says, playful, leaning back in his chair, “some people are married to their job, right? And some people are… married and still act single in public.”
The words land with a soft thud, and my blood runs cold.
A joke.
A throwaway.
