“I said I’m proud of you.” He squeezed my shoulder once, then let go. “You finally found something worth fighting for.”
And then he walked away.
I stood there, frozen, my drink forgotten in my hand.
It was the first time he’d ever said those words to me.
And somehow I had Zara to thank for it.
I found her by the terrace doors, staring out at the city lights, already planning her escape.
“What are you doing out here, Tesoro?”
She turned, and for a moment, her mask slipped. I saw exhaustion in her eyes. Sadness. The same brokenness I’d seen the night we met.
“Your father left,” she said. “He said goodbye to me, but he was kind, I think…”
“He said he was proud of me.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Because of you.”
She looked away, a muscle twitching in her jaw. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did everything.”
I stepped closer, close enough to smell her perfume. Something floral and soft, completely at odds with the woman wearing it.
“Dance with me.”
She looked at me, and for a second, I thought she’d refuse. But then she placed her hand in mine, and allowed me to lead her to the dance floor.
The band was playing something slow. A Sinatra song, maybe. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the warmth of her palm against mine, the gentle pressure of her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m glad you came tonight. You look amazing. But it feels like you’re trying to get me in trouble, forcing me to watch as all these men lay eyes on my wife.”
She didn’t respond, just looked at me puzzled, like she was trying to sort through my words. We swayed in silence for a long moment before she finally spoke. “You can’t say things like that. You don’t even know me, Lorenzo.”
“I know you better than you think.”
“No,” she shook her head, her eyes fixed on my bow tie. “You know my body. You know how I sound when I come. But you don’t knowme.”
I pulled her closer, my hand sliding to the small of her back.“Then tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me about yourself.” I looked down at her, willing her to meet my eyes. “What’s your favorite color?”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Blue. Like the ocean.”
“Favorite food?”
“Mac and cheese. The cheap kind from a box.”
“Favorite memory?”
She looked up at me then, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes.
