Chapter 4

　　After an immense effort to bring my rioting pulse back under some semblance of control, I forced my legs to carry me forward, one slow step at a time. Being this close to Javier—in the intimate hush of the night, with his chest bare—was dissolving what remained of my reason at an alarming rate. But just as I began to move past him, his low baritone split the silence of the kitchen and nailed my feet to the floor.

　　"Why is your face so red?"

　　The question came out short and unhurried, but it carried the weight of something dangerous.

　　On instinct, my fingers flew to my own cheek. He was right—it was burning, radiating a heat that had nothing to do with the kitchen and everything to do with the dream that had woken me.

　　"I'm … I'm perfectly fine," I managed, my voice coming out small and fractured.

　　Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the kitchen with quick, wide strides. I could not afford to linger near him—not like this, not in the dark and the quiet of the sleeping house. Being close to Javier at this hour ignited something reckless and ungovernable in me. There was a part of myself I was deeply ashamed of—a selfish, desperate part that wanted nothing more than to reach out, take hold of that solid frame, pull him close, and hold on exactly the way my fevered dreams had shown me.

　　I really do need to see a therapist, I berated myself as I eased my bedroom door shut behind me. Because there is clearly something wrong with me—something grubby and pitiable—that needs to be fixed before it breaks me entirely.

　　By the following morning, I was dressed and composed in my work clothes, my mood noticeably steadier than the day before after a determined effort to put the midnight encounter out of my mind. But the moment my foot touched the last step of the staircase, Adriana's bright, lilting voice floated up to meet me. And there she was, already installed at the dining table, joining Javier and both his parents for breakfast as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

　　She sat right beside Javier—pressed close, her posture effortlessly possessive—occasionally directing a smile at him so tender it made my stomach turn. The sight of it extinguished any appetite I might have had.

　　"Camila, are you coming with us on the trip tomorrow?" Adriana asked the moment she noticed me stepping into the dining room.

　　I shook my head without a moment's hesitation. "No, thank you." I would far rather spend my day off asleep in my own room than position myself as an unwilling audience to their affections from dawn until dark.

　　"Oh, but why not? There'll be plenty of my male friends there—I'll introduce you to all of them. You never know—one of them might be just right for you. They're all from good, wealthy families," she rattled on, her tone wrapped in a thin veneer of cheerfulness that barely concealed the condescension beneath it.

　　"Come along, Camila. Mama hasn't seen you spend time with anyone—you never seem to go out with people your own age. Who knows, perhaps one of Adriana's friends could be the one for you. Say yes, darling," Mama chimed in, her encouragement bright and thoroughly well-meaning.

　　I didn't answer immediately. Instead, my gaze drifted across the table to Javier. Somewhere deep and foolish inside me, I was hoping—waiting—for him to say something. To interject. To, for once, tell me not to go. But Javier said nothing. He went on eating with perfect calm, as though this conversation held no relevance whatsoever, as though my presence at this table registered not at all in the landscape of his life.

　　Swallowing the bleeding sting of that quietly, I let out a resigned breath. "Fine," I said at last. "I'll go."

　　The day of the departure Adriana had been so eagerly anticipating finally arrived. I chose a deliberately modest outfit—a loose, casual top and a pair of full-length jeans—a stark contrast to Adriana's ensemble, which was as revealing as it was carefully calculated.

　　"Make sure you have fun out there, Camila. Maybe you'll come home with a new boyfriend," Mama said warmly as I bent to kiss her cheek goodbye.

　　I could only nod, stretching a thin and unconvincing smile across my face. A new boyfriend. I wasn't sure my heart was still capable of opening itself to another man. The bitter truth was that every available corner of it had gone numb, sealed shut around a single name—Javier's. In the reckless theater of my nightly imagination, no other man had ever been permitted to touch me. No one else had ever even come close.

　　Once we were in the car, the seating arrangements made themselves without discussion. I settled into the front passenger seat beside the family's private driver. In the back, Adriana and Javier sat together. For the entire length of the journey, the image in the rearview mirror struck me in the chest over and over again, without pause or mercy.

　　Adriana had tucked herself against Javier's side with practised ease, her head resting on the broad curve of his shoulder as though she were staking a claim for the benefit of the world—and me, specifically—that Javier belonged to her, absolutely and without contest.

　　"Camila, you're twenty-two now. Have you ever actually been in a relationship?" Adriana asked suddenly from the back seat, cutting through the silence of the car and startling me out of my thoughts.

　　I gave a slow shake of my head. As I answered, my eyes slid quietly to the rearview mirror, drawn there against my will, wanting to see how Javier responded to having my private life laid open like this. But the man had crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Utterly indifferent.

　　"But why not? Dating is wonderful—you get to hold someone close, to be kissed … oh, have you ever actually been kissed?" Adriana pressed on, with no particular awareness of where a boundary might be.

　　I went still. My tongue would not form an answer quickly enough. If asked in strict, literal terms, then no—I had never shared that kind of physical closeness with any man in the waking world. But in my dreams? In my dreams, I had done it countless times, and with her fiancé, no less—had gone far beyond a kiss, into territories far more intimate and consuming than anything a simple question could contain.

　　"No," I said finally, keeping my voice short and offering nothing more, hoping it would be enough to close the subject.

　　"Once I've introduced you to my friends, you'll get to experience all of it. They're genuinely lovely people—don't worry," Adriana replied, capping it with a bright little laugh.

　　I chose silence, with no intention of engaging further. But then a low, deliberate clearing of a throat from the back seat pulled my gaze back to the mirror against my will. Javier had opened his eyes. And in that small rectangle of reflected glass above the dashboard, his sharp, hawk-dark stare collided directly with mine—steady, dense, and utterly arresting, as though it could pin me in place from across the car.

　　"Stop prying into other people's private lives, Adriana," Javier said, quietly. The words were few and level, but they carried an unmistakable weight of finality beneath them.

　　Adriana immediately pouted, tightening her hold on his arm in protest. "Darling, I'm only trying to help Camila enjoy her life the way we enjoy ours. I just want her to know what it's like—to date someone, to be kissed, to be—"

　　Whatever word Adriana had been reaching for dissolved into a coy, breathless laugh as she buried her face against Javier's chest. I never did find out how that sentence was meant to end. What I did know was that the air inside the car had grown suffocating, the space shrinking around me with every mile. Every word out of Adriana's mouth sent my mind somewhere I refused to let it go—somewhere filled with quiet rooms and closed doors and the things two people did when no one else was watching. Jealousy twisted through me. Grief. A hurt I had no right to claim. They stripped away what little remained of my composure, layer by careful layer, for every kilometer of road that carried us beyond the city and deeper into the day.