Now’s the time, I guess. I lean back against the wall, exhaling hard, my palm dragging over my face. The short, rough bristles of my stubble scrape my fingers, a reminder of how she tasted last night. It’s etched into me now—carved into memory, not just remembered but branded—and I’m not hoping, no, praying we get to do it again.
I’m trying my damnedest not to let my gaze wander, but it’s impossible. Every curve sings my name. Each slope of her body is a road with no return. I’ve always known it, but last night made it undeniable: I fucking love her body.
“Focus!” she snaps, her fingers cutting the air like a whip and pulling a smile from my lips.
“Sorry. Sorry.” I raise both hands in surrender, but my chest pounds. “Don’t be mad at me, but…Violeta didn’t break things off. I did.” The confession comes easier than I thought—less like ripping skin, more like shedding dead weight, like I can finally breathe.
Her brows knit together, confusion clouding her face…confusion I placed there with my little white lies. “Wh-what do you mean? You bought the ring.”
I nod slowly. “I know. Then I looked at the ring…and at the woman I bought it for…and I couldn’t do it. I drove all the way to her house, ready to take her to the dinner I reserved for us, and I froze. I stood on her doorstep, staring at her—beautiful, yes, but not the woman I loved.
The ring was wrong. The house was wrong. The lifewas wrong. But my heart?” I press my fist against my chest. “My heart was right. I just had to finally listen.”
A shiver rolls visibly through her body, goosebumps prickling her wet skin. I step forward, twisting the faucet off, then grab her bathrobe. Draping it over her shoulders, I smile softly.
“Come on.” She slips her arms into the robe, following my unspoken command, and I guide her out, leading us into the bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed, motioning for her to join me.
“Daisy…” My voice roughens, but if there’s a time when I need her to know I’m serious is now. “I told you last night. I love you. I always have. I just wasn’t brave enough—or honest enough, with myself or with you—to admit it.”
“You…you still feel that way?” Her voice trembles, and tears shimmer at the edges of her mossy green eyes, threatening to spill. I hope they’re joyful tears and not sadness. I don’t think I can bear it. I don’t think I can bear her being upset or sad over something I did.
“What part ofI’ve always loved youdo you not understand? Come on, Daze. It’s not that complicated.” I brush my thumb across her cheek, tender, but she flinches, recoiling as if my touch harms her.
“Well, maybe the part of me that never knew. That part just watched you all cozied up with your ex.”
“An ex I left because I realized I never loved her.” My voice sharpens then softens, pleading. I don’t want to scare her. I want her to understand. “You know the difference between a sensual touch and a friendly one. Which do you think that was?”
She only shrugs, defensive walls rising, completely getting into her irrational but beautiful brain. I’ve seen itbefore, when she doesn’t want to admit defeat, but it’s still infuriating all the same.
“You know…” I sigh, shaking my head. “For someone as brilliant as you, you sure can act oblivious sometimes."
Her brows snap together. “Are you calling me ignorant?”
“No.” I lean closer, determined. “I’m saying you’re letting your emotions fog your judgment. And I’m here, trying to tell you—it was never her. Never anybody else.”
My nose flares as I try to contain my emotions. “They were notyouso it was always going to be wrong.”
Daisy’s eyes bounce between mine, and her hands intertwine.
“It was always you. I was just too blind, too damn stubborn, to see it.”
Her voice is small when she whispers, “So you two were not…” She trails off, her eyes dropping to her knees.
“No.” I pause then force myself to continue. “I was actually asking her why she treated you so harshly for no reason. And she started crying because—” I hesitate. I hope Violeta forgives me for telling her secret, but this isn’t just anybody. This is the love of my life. “Because she’s pregnant. Emotional. Scared.”
Her head snaps up, her green eyes wide. “She’s pregnant?” A second passes, and then she muttersfinallyunder her breath. We both laugh, the tension finally breaking. Everyone knows Violeta has always wanted kids.
“She’ll be fine,” I assure her. “And I hope she apologizes, because you didn’t deserve that.”
“It’s okay. She doesn’t have to.”
“No, Daze. You didn’t deserve the hurt she caused. She knows that now. I just hope she actually does the right thing.”
“She’s pregnant, Mateo! Her hormones are everywhere—cut her some slack,” she says, her heart so big, it nearly bursts from her chest. God, another reason I love her.
“Can we stop talking about my ex now?” I grip her hands, grounding us both. “I’d rather focus on what actually matters.” I hold her gaze, memorizing the moment—tucking it away for the day our children ask when I first told their mother she was the love of my life, or for when we’re old and gray and this memory is one of the few still clear. I hope it stays that way forever.
“What is that?” She bites her lower lip, eyes searching mine with desperate hunger for answers, answers I hope are as clear as my love for her.
