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Laia smiles.

"It's not what you think. Claudia isn't like that. What I mean is, I have the feeling she's in a phase, that she's lost."

"She's a little old to be lost."

"And that's why I think it's worse for her. If you knew her, you'd understand, Mom—I promise you she's a good person."

"Of course she is. You never would have noticed her if she weren't. You've always been a good judge of people. But, Laia, I don't think it's a good idea to keep that job. You can't spend all those nights following her around and watching her with other women when you're—"

"I know," Laia cuts her off. "I know, and I've thought about it a lot. But when her six months at the factory are up she'll disappear. I don't think I'll see her there or anywhere else after that." She starts folding the napkin at the corners. "And I want to make the most of the time I have with her."

Laia drops her eyes because she knows her mother is probably thinking this is pure masochism—but she doesn't feel it that way, because when Claudia is just with Pol, she loves watching her. Watching the way she gestures when she talks, the way she sweeps the hair off her face with those unconsciously graceful and sensual movements, the way the corner of her mouth curves when she smiles, or just the simple sight of her dancing—watching that body move, and the laughter that takes over when Pol tries to dance with her and loses the beat. It's all those little things that keep her there in spite of the exhaustion and the ache that comes from seeing certain things, and she doesn't expect anyone to understand it, not even her mother, who is the person who knows her best.

"I don't like it—but you know I trust you and I respect your decisions. Even so, I don't understand what you meant at the start. What did you mean about being invisible and visible at the same time?"

Laia breathes in deeply and lets the air out through her nose.

"The first few weeks, I had the feeling she would never look at me the way she looks at any other woman—that to her I'm her parents' lackey, the girl who follows her around like her shadow and then reports back on everything she does."

"Which she does too, so I don't see why that would matter much to her," her mother points out, having never quite managed to understand that woman's behavior.

"Right, but this past month I've noticed her watching me more, and things have happened."

"What kind of things?"

Laia feels the heat crawl up her neck and spread across her cheeks.

"Things. It doesn't matter—well, actually it does matter," she corrects herself. "The other night she kissed me."

Her mother's mouth falls open in surprise.

"But the circumstances were weird and now I can't stop turning it over in my head. I don't know if she kissed me because she wanted to or because I was the only available option at that moment."

Sonia's head is spinning, and without more concrete details it's hard for her to make sense of the situation—but she's not going to push her daughter now that she's finally opened up and let slip why she's been so withdrawn these past few days.

"Why don't you just ask her?"

Laia's eyes go wide.

"Because since it happened I can't even look at her without my whole body shaking. I wouldn't know how to bring it up, and if I actually managed to, I'm not sure I could handle her telling me she was just messing around."

Sonia sighs and folds her hands together on the table.

"Even so, I still think you should talk to her. It's better to have things clear from the start, Laia. And if you have to take the hit, you take it—but that's better than living with the uncertainty."

Her daughter looks at her and nods. She knows her mother is right, that her questions aren't going to answer themselves, but thinking it and finding the courage to actually do it are two very different things. Still, she's willing to work up to it and take the leap as soon as she gets the chance.

Chapter 18

Laia gets held up for just a couple of minutes—she's almost at the stairs when Cecilia from administration stops her with a quick question—but that's enough time for her to walk out to the parking lot and watch Claudia's car disappear toward the far end.

"Damn," she mutters to herself, frustrated.

After the conversation she had on Saturday with her mother, she spends all of Sunday turning over and over in her head how to stand in front of Claudia and tell her what she feels. She decides she'll do it on Tuesday—catching her in the parking lot—because she wants to say it before Claudia decides to go out that night, but she has no luck, and now she has to drive all the way to Barcelona and wait in her car until Claudia comes through the building door.

She reaches the city with sweaty palms from nerves and double-parks until another driver pulls away and she can take the spot.

She cuts the engine and waits, trying to distract herself on her phone—answering a text from her sister Alba, then one from her mom—then she scrolls through social media for a while, but nothing manages to shake that conversation from her head, the one she keeps turning over and over, the one she's sure will come out in any way but the one she expects or has planned. And if there's one thought that surfaces more than any other, it's the reminder of what happened in the bathroom.