“It’s obvious from a mile away that you’re totally hooked on her,” Cora’s voice suddenly whispers in her ear, warm and conspiratorial.
Martina jumps slightly, nearly spilling the wine.
She turns toward her, glass still in hand, her heart pounding.
“What?” she replies, trying to sound nonchalant.
Cora raises an eyebrow with a smile.
“No need to deny it, sweetie. It’s obvious you want to devour her.”
Martina takes another sip of wine, trying to buy some time while she searches for a response that won’t make her cheeks flush any more. The warm liquid slides down her throat.
“I could say the same about you and Ariadna, couldn’t I?” Martina retorts, changing the subject.
Cora lets out a little laugh.
“That’s absolutely true,” she admits without a trace of shame, and her eyes sparkle for a moment as she glances toward the sofa where Ariadna is laughing with the others. “But I’m not married.”
She leans slightly toward her and strokes her arm with a calm, almost maternal gesture.
“I’m not holding it against you,” she adds, lowering her voice to a whisper that only the two of them can hear. “But you have to be aware of your situation. This isn’t a game. And especially not with her.”
Martina knows exactly what she means. Her situation and that desire that seems to grow more intense with every passing minute, like a flame no one could extinguish.
Cora gently squeezes her arm before stepping away to return to Ariadna, leaving behind a faint trail of her perfume.
Martina stands still for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, trying to put her hostess mask back on. And then she looks across the room.
Julia is near the dining table, pouring wine for Tomás while saying something that provokes several laughs. She moves with charming ease among the guests, as if this house were the perfect setting for her personality. Her dark blue dress fits her figure elegantly, and her hair falls loosely over her shoulders,brushing her skin with every movement. She speaks with ease, listens, jokes. She leans in to hug the guests when they thank her for the meal, and the gesture is so warm, so genuine, that Martina feels a pang of guilt in her chest.
Martina watches her with a mix of emotions that are hard to sort out. Because that’s just how Julia is. Attentive. Warm. Charming. And for a long time, that was enough.
But now…
Something has changed. Irrevocably.
As she watches the scene, she sees Julia approach Rebeca. The two begin to talk. She can’t hear what they’re saying from where she is, but their gestures seem almost conspiratorial. Rebeca smiles at something Julia says—a slow smile, the kind that leaves an almost invisible dimple on her left cheek—and Julia responds with a laugh as she raises her glass, accidentally brushing against the other woman’s arm.
The knot Martina feels in her stomach tightens sharply, like a rope someone is pulling from the inside. She takes another sip of wine, a longer one this time, and feels the alcohol begin to cloud her thoughts.
Then she decides to make a move. She needs to bridge that distance, even if it’s with empty words.
“Well,” she says, raising her glass as she approaches the group, forcing a cheerful tone, “thanks for coming. I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much.”
Several eyes turn toward her. Tomás raises his beer, and Cora raises her glass enthusiastically.
“To the birthday girl!”
“To Martina!” Julia adds, and the glasses clink in a toast that should cheer her up.
Only it doesn’t.
For a few minutes, Martina manages to get swept up in the celebration. She serves more food, chats with Lucía about a recent photography exhibition they’ve both seen, and talks animatedly with the rest of the group. But even as she participates in the conversation, her mind seems to constantly drift back to the same place.
Toward the woman who holds the key to her thoughts.
Every time she looks up, she finds Rebeca somewhere in the room. Sometimes talking to someone, sometimes simply watching with those dark eyes that seem to read her perfectly. And each of those glances has something that seems to pierce her from the inside. As if the space between them were charged with electricity, with that desire and that love that has been beating silently between the two of them for weeks.
