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She sighs, and the breath comes out shaky. She still hasn't been able to process what happened or to understand at what point sleeping with her aunt's right-hand woman seemed like a good idea, and the worst part is that no matter how hard she tries to find some trace of regret, she can't. She wanted to sleep with Laia, she'd wanted her the day in the bar bathroom and has kept on wanting her ever since, and last night, when she had her beneath her body and watched her while they had sex, she understood just how far that desire reached—because seeing her that surrendered, trembling, flushed and breathless before her orgasm hit was the most intimate thing she feels she's ever experienced with anyone. She feels a tug in her stomach—one more—and tries to focus on work, failing again because her mind keeps circling back to the same thing.

She remembers the moment Laia sat up to leave and still can't understand why she didn't say anything—even if she was confused, they had slept together, something had happened that neither of them expected, or at least she hadn't, and they should have talked so that today things wouldn't be awkward between them the way they've felt this morning, when Laia arrived at the factory, did her rounds, and when she walked past her section, raised her hand in a quick wave that Claudia returned without either of them being able to hold the other's gaze, and that quickness and coldness with which it all passed made her feel as if someone had pressed a finger on a bruise.

She repeats it to herself like a mantra—that it was a mistake—she does it every time she blinks and sees Laia beneath her again, when she replays in her mind the sound of the moan she let out against her shoulder when she came, or when she saw her get up from the bed to leave without a word. It has to be a mistake, because Laia is the person who's there because she's paid to keep an eye on her, her aunt's assistant, the girl who waits at the bar every Tuesday and Thursday while she fucks other women, and sleeping with her has only complicated something that was already hard to begin with—but then she remembers what she said on the street, in front of her building, with a trembling voice and her eyes fixed on hers.

"I want to sleep with you. I have for a long time, Claudia—for months."

For months. Claudia stares at the garment in front of her and can't see anything, because all she can see is Laia sitting in the corner of Nadia's club night after night, her glass of sparkling water in hand, while she dances and makes out with Nadia until they disappear into the bar bathroom or somewhere else—and then she'd watch herself come back with swollen lips and a flushed face, and Laia never said a word, swallowed all of it without saying anything, and the thought alone makes Claudia feel sick, because if Laia genuinely feels something for her, then all those nights were a cruel torture for her—having to watch the girl she likes have eyes for everyone but her, and then go home knowing she was in bed with someone else.

She steps away from the press and runs her hands over her face. She can't keep thinking about this. Her head is starting to pound and she feels a pressure building behind her eyes that, if she doesn't get it under control, will turn into a migraine that'll knock her out for hours.

She leaves the section and goes to the locker room to grab a painkiller from her bag, then splashes cold water on her face and stares at herself in the mirror, shaking her head. It doesn't matter whether Laia meant it or not, whether she genuinely feels something or whether all there was was a moment of desire she handled the best she could—they shouldn't have slept together, and she understands that, because she's liked Laia from the beginning and somehow she's become a pillar Claudia holds on to, one that helps her stay upright without saying a word about it. Laia has always been by her side, for almost four months now; time has passed so quickly that the only explanation she can come up with for not having noticed is that it's been because of her—this girl who's always there when she loses focus, who doesn't judge her or ask anything of her, who follows her into her crazy ideas without complaining and waits for her without reproach. She's become a constant presence in her life, something Claudia has looked for every day at work and every night at the club, because she likes having Laia there, close to her.

"Damn," she mutters, pressing her hands against the countertop.

Now she doesn't know whether the fact that she liked having Laia around was simply because she trusts her, or whether it was something else—something that might have to do with everything she felt last night while she was with her: that vertigo spinning through her stomach, that need to look at her and make sure everything was okay, that she wasn't doing anything Laia didn't want or didn't like, the way her heart pounded out of control and her body ached with need when Laia hadn't even touched her yet, or that flood of emotion she felt at the end that she didn't know how to handle because nothing like it had ever happened to her before. She liked it. She enjoyed herself with Laia, enjoyed herself in a way that was different from how it's been with other women, and she knows it—because when she thinks back on the moment Laia left, she comes to the conclusion that she wouldn't have minded letting her stay. She would have slept next to Laia, and she smiles softly at the thought of her drowsy face waking up.

Her eyes go wide when she realizes she wants it to happen again—that she'd like it to—and that's exactly what she shouldn't want, because her life right now is a complete disaster and the last thing she needs is another headache. She has to focus, figure out once and for all what she wants to do with her future, get back on track, and only then think about anything else. But right now there's something about Laia that pulls her in a way she's struggling to stop—a kind of constant tug that makes her sigh every time she thinks about her, something like what made her open the door of her apartment last night and let her come up.

She decides maybe the best thing is to talk to her, clear the air, and ask whether what she said was real or just something she said because she felt like having sex with her in that moment. She wouldn't mind if it were the latter—Laia has needs too, and it's fine if she used her for that; she does the same thing every week with Nadia. But she needs to ask, because if it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, they can forget what happened and go back to the way they were before—they're both adults. But if it wasn't, then she needs to know, so she can decide what to do with that information, because right now she has no idea.

When the bell finally sounds marking the end of the shift, Claudia packs up her things with her head pounding and walks out to the parking lot with the pain not entirely gone—and then she sees her there. Laia is standing next to her car in a short-sleeve V-neck shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. A simple outfit, but enough to make Claudia think she looks beautiful.

She walks toward her, and as she gets close enough to see her tired eyes, she decides she's spent the whole day going over what happened last night too.

"Hey," Claudia says, stopping a couple of steps away—close, but not crowding her.

"Hey," Laia replies, dropping her gaze to the asphalt right away.

Claudia bites her lip, uneasy, because she's never had trouble talking about a night of sex before, and now, standing in front of Laia, she can't even figure out how to bring it up without feeling her stomach clench and her whole body go tense just thinking about it.

"Last night was good," Laia blurts out, nervous, so quietly that Claudia leans in to hear her.

"Yeah, it was great," she says, making an effort to find something that doesn't make her sound desperate or uncomfortable, which would be worse.

They both go quiet, looking at each other, and the silence grows so uncomfortable that Laia breaks it with the first thing that comes to mind.

"Is it okay if we don't talk about it anymore?" she says without taking a breath. "It's obviously awkward and you've still got two months here—I don't want things to be weird every time we see each other."

It's not what she was planning to say, but it doesn't seem like the worst idea either, because she's convinced Claudia isn't meant for her—they belong to different worlds and are at completely different places in their lives. Laia knows exactly what she wants, she's focused, her goals are pretty clear. Claudia just spins from one thing to the next like a top.

Elvira's niece looks at her, the breath held still in her lungs from the unexpected blow of those words. With carefully chosen words and in a perfectly polite way, Laia has just turned her down, and Claudia realizes it's the first time this has ever happened to her—until now, she'd never met a woman who said no to her, or who didn't want to do it again after being with her, and the feeling leaves her with a sadness she wasn't prepared for. Not because she's been turned down—that she can accept—but because it's Laia who's done it. That the one woman she actually wanted to be with again has decided they don't need to talk about it anymore, that they should forget it, as if it had been a one-time thing and nothing more, something that happened and was fine but doesn't need to happen again—and that, therefore, confirms that the words Laia said to her on the street were just her way of getting what she wanted in that moment.

"Okay," Claudia answers, sounding completely hollow inside. "If that's what you want, that's fine with me."

Laia lifts her head and looks at her for a second, and Claudia sees something in her eyes that leaves her unsettled—a mix of surprise and disappointment that vanishes the instant she blinks.

"Great, then that's what we'll do," Laia says, pulling out her car keys.

Claudia nods, raises her hand to say goodbye, and turns to walk to her own car, not knowing how to handle the strange pressure she feels under her ribs that climbs up to her throat, closing it, and makes her eyes sting. She gets in the car and sits still, hands on the wheel, with the feeling that she's lost something again—something she didn't know she wanted, or needed.

Chapter 20

Claudia has been at Nadia's club for twenty minutes, and what usually doesn't bother her at all tonight grates on her deeply. She catches the smell of sweat in the air and feels like the music is too loud, thumping too hard through the speakers.

"You're going through those fast," Pol says, surprised, when she finishes her first drink and orders a second.

She ignores him, leans against the bar, and lets her gaze drift to that damned corner where Laia sits with her stupid water with gas and that unreadable expression of hers that gives nothing away. It drives her crazy that Laia looks so calm, as if this is just any other night and not the first time they've been here since they slept together—as if, for Laia, nothing happened, as if what she said in the parking lot actually worked and she's wiped that night from her mind. And that's what's sending Claudia over the edge: that Laia can sit there in that infuriating stillness while Claudia feels like she's burning from the inside out.