Page 75 of Sweet Heart

Her lips curl up now, and she nods, almost as if she can hear my thoughts, and presses her palm against me. My hips jolt up, and the seat belt snags at me again. I desperately try to hold her gaze while she increases and decreases the pressure. The sound of my panting slams into the windows until I can no longer hold it and throw my head back with a soft cry.

“Cat, more… please.”

She gives it to me, but brings her lips close to me. They brush the shell of my ear, and somehow, that feeling is even more electrifying. I grip the car seat and pull my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from crying out at her whisper.

“Katherina,” she growls softly, almost a warning.

The next press hits me just right, and a tear slides down my cheek as I start to shudder. Her name falls from my lips like a prayer.

“Kat—he—ri—i—ina,” I comply, and I feel her grin against the strained muscles in my neck.

“Así, así, mi amor.”

***

My dress is a little rumpled when I step out of the car. I do my best to smooth it out, but unlike my makeup, which I touched up in the car, there is no quick fix for wrinkled fabric. Cat just gives me a smirk that is somewhere between proud and fond, and offers me her arm.

She looks absolutely stunning in her tapered black slacks, a creamy blouse that falls wide, showing a bit more of her chest and neck than usual, and her signature heels. But my favorite part is that her hair is cascading down over her shoulders. The dark strands are soft against her skin, instead of in her usual tight bun. And even after our unexpected adventure earlier, not a single hair is out of place. Rude.

“You are staring,” she mumbles under her breath as the valet takes her keys.

“You are gorgeous,” I whisper back, as if that settles it all.

There is a little scoff, but when she looks at me, I see her cheeks have a little more color than usual.

We walk toward the entrance, and when we reach the door, she holds back a little so that I can go in first, her hand dropping from my side to the small of my back. Her touch is an anchor, and I lean into it when we enter the venue. It is almost luxurious. There is soft carpet on the floor, crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and there are large round tables with crisp white linen. Soft music plays in the background, but it is nearly drowned out by the droning of voices. The ballroom is already spilling with people. Each and every one of them looks like they stepped right out of a magazine. Sharp suits, thick cotton dress shirts, and soft flowing fabrics move around us like a sea of fashionable choices.

I reach for Cat’s hand when I notice that most women wear plain colors like black, indigo, tan, and the emerald green of my dress stands out like a sore thumb.

“You—you didn’t tell me the dress code was—”

“Gala. The dress code is gala, and you are looking the part.”

Her lips are close to me, reassuring me.

“But the other women, they—”

“They aren’t you.”

She stops now and turns me so that I face her. Her thumb softly brushes my cheekbone.

“Maria, you are not like them.”

She pauses for a moment to let the words land. They do. A little sharper than I know she intends them. I’ve heard I’m different my whole life, and people have done nothing other than try to make me conform to what they thought my life should look like. It’s only brought me misery and heartache. So I shake my head. No, I’m not. Cat dips her chin.

“You are vibrant, full of life, and adventurous,” Cat continues, her eyes sparking a little now. “I love that wherever we go, you see something of beauty and your whole face just lights up. Or when inspiration hits you and you practically bounce to tell me about it. You, amor, have depth. And this dress,” she drags her gaze over me again, and she licks her lips, “perfectly resembles that.”

I can’t hold back the nervous grin that breaks out on my face. Receiving a compliment is a challenge on its own, let alone one coming from her. But when my gaze drops, her fingers slide from my cheek to my chin. Lifting it, she looks me in the eyes and briefly raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t have to say a thing. That one look is all it takes. I nod again, and she smiles, satisfied, lowering her hand to offer me her arm again.

“Let’s go see about getting something to drink.”

Cat guides me further into the ballroom and grabs two glasses of champagne from a tray held by a young waiter. She hands one to me and then lets her hand slide back to the small of my back. As soon as she does that, I can see a few people turn their heads, before turning back. That’s when the whispers start. They don’t even need to have their eyes on us for me to feel they are talking about us, and I feel my stomach twist.

The feeling is heavy, almost like a stone weighing me down, and I recognize it for what it is. Guilt. Not once during my whole breakdown did I think of the repercussions it would have on Cat if she brought me into her professional life. Her reputation means everything to her, and she is usually so composed that I doubt any of these people have actually seen her smile. Of course they would talk.

But when I glance over, her gaze is on me. It’s that same soft one that she had in the car. It is guarded a little more now that there are other people around, but it still holds the same intensity. Nothing indicates that she is regretting this, or that she doesn’t actually want me here.

“You knew they would talk,” I whisper, and her lip ticks up in a crooked smile.