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His words hang at the tip of his tongue, never making it past his mouth when a woman’s voice comes from behind us. “Mateo, there you are! Your father asked for me to come get you. He is making a very important toast.”
My eyes meet my mother's green ones, as she tucks her long flowing hair behind her ear. “You should come inside anyway; you'll catch your death in this cold.”
I shake my head. “I doubt I'll be that lucky. I'll be right in, just let me say goodbye to my new friend first.”
She peers around my shoulder, her pale green eyes widening. “What friend? Looks like whoever it was is already gone. Now come, before your father grows more impatient.”
Oh no, we don't want that. I turn around with the stranger's coat moving against my shoulders, and sure enough, there's no one there. All I’m left with is the sharp, masculine scent from his jacket, mixed with a hint of peppermint. The one thing proving this wasn’t all in my head. He was real. His presence was both terrifying and intriguing. I couldn’t decide if I should run away or lean closer. He was nothing like the other guests here. A plain black V-neck sat under his dress coat and he wore a pair of dark blue jeans, along with black Adidas. No, he didn't fit in with the rest of us and that made me want to be around him more.
I walk back inside, the heavy jacket sagging over my slender body.
“There you are, mi amor. Where did that jacket come from? It's like two sizes too big. Let me help you get it off.” I clasp tightly onto the jacket, preventing Santiago from tugging it off my body. “I can take off my own jacket, thank you. I'll just go hang it in the coat closet. I won't be long.”
“That's what you always say, until you disappear again. Be true to your word this time, or I'll come find you myself and trust me, mi amor, you don't want that.” His nose flares as his eyes darken. I hate the way his hand tightens around my arm, holding me in place.
Swallowing hard, I tug my arm away. “That won't be necessary.” I hate him. His scent, the sound of his voice cutting into my ears like glass every time he speaks and the way his touches always leave me cold.
I hurry off to the stairwell, and when he's out of sight, I rush up the steps to my room, making sure my feet are light against the marble, afraid to draw attention to myself. I slide off the jacket, and something light hits the wood beside my feet. It's a white rose. Bending down, I grab it from the floor and bring it close to my face. The strong, sweet scent tickles my nose. Flashbacks of running through the garden when I was younger enter my mind.
I'm clipping a few flowers wanting to surprise momma with a beautiful bouquet to stop her from crying. She's been sad for a while now and stays up late, watching the door until my father comes home from work. He's been coming home later than usual, and I can see her breaking a little more inside every second she waits in that chair. I don't know what's happening between them but it scares me sometimes.
Rushing toward the house, I nearly trip on my new shoes on my way inside. Momma hangs up the phone, walking my way. “There you are, hijo. Where have you–” Her eyes widen and she rips the flowers from my hand. She's angry. Why?
“What have you done to my garden?” her voice is louder than before.
“I picked them for you, Momma.”
Her hand lifts and she strikes my cheek, causing my eyes to water. What did I do wrong? I just wanted to give her a gift. I hold my hand to my burning skin. “I'm so-rry. I thought they'd make you smile.”
“You thought tearing up my flowers would make me smile? How? Look at the mess you made. They are probably all ruined now.” She tosses them in front of my feet, her facing turning bright red. “You're nothing but a burden to me like your father. Go to your room.”
I hadn't touched a flower since. Not until now. Holding it away from me, I examine it as if expecting something to crawl out and attack me. I twirl it between my fingers, dropping it to the floor when a small thorn at the end pricks my skin. Shit. Shoving my bleeding finger in my mouth, I suck it clean while staring at the flower next to my feet. Even the prettiest things in life can hurt you when you least expect them to.
They were what caught my attention the most. Never can I pass a silk ribbon or an item made with lace without touching it first. Flowers used to be no different. Now I only admire them from a distance. Except this one. I can't help but feel like this one's meant for me and me alone. I consider adding it to my other joys I keep hidden from everyone, but maybe I should take the prick as a warning sign and return the rose with the jacket.
Kicking the rose under my bed, I toss the jacket on top, wondering if the man from earlier is still around and looking for it. If it was so important he wouldn't have taken off without it. Unless he knew he'd see me again before the night was over.
Why was he so quick to leave when my mother showed up? He said he wasn't invited but not just anyone would have been allowed on my father's property. Someone let him in. Doesn't necessarily mean he was supposed to be here. Half the people downstairs probably weren't. I don't feel like I am either.
“I'm here for you, Mateo.” His words replay in my head and my ears buzz all over again. It was the first time I heard anyone say that tonight. Everyone else was only here for themselves. I'd barely been acknowledged the last few hours, spending most of my time in corners of the house alone. Then a stranger takes me by surprise, making me feel seen for the first time. He was also a very pretty thing my hands itched to touch–one I also wanted to keep hidden for myself.
“Mateo!” a loud, deep voice laced with annoyance calls from below the stairs. The voice that constantly reminds me that my life doesn't belong to me. I walk toward it, taking a deep breath, wondering how much longer it will be until it's my last.
Two
Gabriel
He wasn't what I expected. He appeared nothing like his father. He was small, with a head full of soft curls spiraling against his head. They were falling into his face, grazing his defined cheekbones. His lips were red, probably from the combination of the champagne and cold air.
His voice was soft and delicate. No sign of the maliciousness his family or fiancé held.
His fiancé.
The man made my skin crawl and I couldn’t help but clench my jaw at the mention of his name. Santiago Morales was a damn leech, always waiting for the right moment to pounce and take what wasn't his. Once he married Mateo, he would take from him too.
Not if I take it first.
Walking back inside the house, I glance around the crowded spaces. No one looks in my direction once, all too busy wrapped in conversation and whatever else they're doing. Whatever Miguel is whispering in his wife's ear has her expression tensing. I turn my attention away from them when Mateo rushes past them, heading toward the table full of desserts. He looks so uncomfortable and out of place. Shoving a brownie in his mouth, he glances around, his eyes stopping once met with mine. Chocolate hangs at the corner of his mouth and I can't tear my eyes from the way he swipes his tongue against it.
