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Heat flames in my cheeks, and I cough out a “Love you” before she’s embracing Agustín. I give Diego a brief, awkward hug, which he seems genuinely pleased about.

Agustín’s hand slips into mine, and we start walking down the quiet, tree-lined street. I love this about us—how we always seem to be so in sync. We don’t need words. My stomach dips as I wonder if that will apply to other parts of our relationship. I think about what Agustín’s skin on my skin would feel like and my stomach gives a violent shudder as heat flares between my thighs.

My previous experiences with sex are all kind of vague and blurry in my mind. But the thought of intimacy with Agustín is crystal clear, images thrown into sharp relief, etched against the darkness of my imagination.

“You’re very quiet,” Agustín observes.

“Mm,” I say, wondering if he can hear the nerves jangling behind the sound. I know there’s no rush. I know that Agustín would wait a year if I asked him to.

But I don’t want to wait a year.

And we have this giant bed. And no dogs around to ruin the moment.

My palms start to sweat as the Wheel spins. I’m glad we’re walking. Movement is good. Keeps me from spiraling. Okay, keeps me from spiraling too hard. I’m certain he notices but he doesn’t say anything or suggest we take an Uber. We just keep walking, back toward the Four Seasons. It’s a long walk.

I try to force the Wheel to land on one of my happy slices, Rachel or Dogs, but Rachel just makes me think of her text at the end of dinner and Dogs makes me think about how they’re not here to interrupt any potential romance this evening.

Instead, the Wheel lands firmly on I Will Be So Bad at This and Ruin Everything. Because how will I not be bad at this? I have next to no experience. I panic sweat at even the thought of intimacy. No one has seen me naked in years. I’ve never given much thought to my body. Is it … I don’t know … good?

Will Agustín find me attractive?

What if I do the wrong thing? What if I accidentally laugh at his dick again?

I blink and realize we’re waiting for the elevator at the hotel. A forty-minute walk, over in seconds. As soon as we step inside, Agustín gathers me in his arms.

“Will you please tell me what you’re thinking?” he murmurs in my ear, sending spirals of want through my system. “Before I go insane?”

Hm. Apparently, my silence was noticeable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Are you worrying about the wedding? Or did I do something wrong? Did you not like the restaurant? Or …”

I silence him with a kiss, because I cannot have this incredible person thinking for one single second that he is the problem. He kisses me back eagerly. The elevator doors open, and we walk to our room.

When we get inside, the curtains to the balcony are open, letting in a bright slice of moonlight, falling in an almost too-perfect-to-be-true fashion directly onto the bed.

Our bed.

And when Agustín reaches for the light switch, I grab his hand to stop him.

“No,” I whisper.

The door falls shut behind us. The darkness of the room makes the moonlight shine even brighter. Agustín goes very still as my fingertips trace over his chest, then his collarbone, exploring the tender dent at his throat before bringing his mouth to mine. This time, when I press my body against his and feel him grow hard, I don’t laugh, and I don’t pull away.

Our kiss deepens, becoming almost frantic. I simply cannot get enough of him. The room is so quiet, so tranquil. I can hear his heart beating. Or maybe that’s my heart. It’s hard to tell the difference.

His arms are locked around me like a cage, but it’s not tight enough. Somehow, somewhere along my panic-spiral walk home, I’ve allowed a part of me to break free. A part of me that isn’t constrained by anxiety. Because it’s primal. It’s natural.

And because I know I’m safe.

The moment I slip my fingers under the hem of his tee, Agustín freezes.

“El,” he says, and my skin shivers. “Are … are you sure?”

I gaze up at him, his beautiful features half dipped in silver, his eyes dark with want.

“I’m sure,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes. In one swift movement, Agustín’s shirt is on the floor, and I’m staring, awestruck, at the solid planes of his chest. He is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I reach out tentatively to touch him, the smoothness of his skin, the firm musculature beneath. My jaw tightens and my throat aches. How can this man be meant for me?