30.
AURORA VALEN?A
Dante brought the dinosaur at eight in the morning.
Tomás ran toward him.
“You stole.”
“You forgot it.”
“Was at my house?”
“At mine.”
“Then stole.”
“All right. I’m sorry.”
Tomás took the toy.
“Don’t forgive.”
“That’s all right.”
Elisa appeared.
“Mommy sad.”
I closed my eyes.
“Elisa.”
“She is.”
Dante looked at me.
He did not ask in front of them.
“Let’s go to school,” I said.
Routine saved me.
Uniforms.
Backpacks.
Shoes.
Tomás attempting to hide the dinosaur inside his trousers.
Cecília searching for the cloth already in her hand.
Elisa wanting to wear the paper crown.
Dante helped.
Without speaking about my parents.
Without mentioning Otávio.
After dropping off the children, we returned to the studio.
“Did Miguel find álvaro?” I asked.
“No.”
“Otávio?”
“No.”
“Your father?”
Dante breathed.
“I requested access to old personal and corporate records.”
“Who knows?”
“The legal director and federal investigator.”
“The board?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because there may be participants among them.”
I nodded.
“You did the right thing.”
The sentence seemed to surprise him.
“You trust the decision?”
“Yes.”
“A little?”
“Do not ruin this.”
“All right.”
We worked.
Me on the panel.
Dante on his computer.
It was strange sharing silence.
Not uncomfortable.
He made quiet telephone calls.
I heard names.
Accounts.
Dates.
At some point, he brought coffee without asking.
He placed it far from the artwork.
Correct.
“Is it cold?” he asked an hour later.
I picked it up.
“Yes.”
“You forgot it.”
“I always do.”
“I can make another.”
“No need.”
I drank it cold.
Dante smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re remembering.”
“Some things.”
“Don’t use them.”
“I’m not.”
I returned to work.
At noon, Miguel called.
álvaro had been found.
Dead.
His body was inside an abandoned vehicle on the road toward Teresópolis.
The news removed the air from the room.
“And the notebook?” I asked.
“It was not there,” Miguel answered.
“It was Otávio.”
“Probably.”
“He killed álvaro?”
“We don’t know.”
“You do.”
“I suspect.”
Dante stood.
“Where is Miguel?”
“Heading to the police station.”
“We’ll go.”
“No,” I said.
He stopped.
“The children leave in thirty minutes.”
The priority reorganized everything again.
“We collect them first,” he agreed.
During the drive to school, my hands trembled.
Dante noticed.
He did not touch me.
“álvaro may have been killed because of the notebook,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Otávio is close.”
“Security has been reinforced.”
“I don’t want the children at home.”
“My house.”
That time, I did not refuse.
“Yes.”
Dante looked at me.
“Are you certain?”
“No. But it is safer.”
We collected all three.
We told them they would spend the afternoon at Dante’s house.
They celebrated.
The bad house was no longer bad.
Elisa wanted to draw on the wall again.
Tomás searched for toy cars that did not exist.
Cecília asked for the mattresses.
Mrs. Lurdes came.
So did Marta after school.
We left the guards.
Dante and I went to the police station.
álvaro’s car had been found without documents.
No telephone.
No notebook.
There were signs of violence.
Miguel showed photographs.
I did not look for long.
“He called Otávio before he died,” he explained. “The provider confirms it.”
“Then you know where Otávio is,” Dante said.
“The telephone was disposable. It has been switched off.”
The federal investigator met with us.
He asked questions.
About the notebook.
About my parents.
About Ant?nio Ferraz.
Dante answered everything.
He did not protect his father.
Did not minimize anything.
When asked whether the Ferraz Group could have been used to transport illegal artwork, he said:
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
The word could destroy his company.
He did not hesitate.
We left at dusk.
It was raining.
Again.
We entered the car.
Dante did not start the engine.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Do you want to return to the children?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
“But I cannot enter like this.”
My hands trembled.
álvaro’s death.
Otávio.
My parents.
The notebook.
Everything accumulated.
“Like what?”
“Afraid.”
“They do not need you to hide every fear.”
“They need me to be safe.”
“You can be safe and afraid.”
Perhaps the sentence came from therapy.
Or from me.
“I do not want them to see.”
“Then we remain here for a few minutes.”
Rain struck the roof.
Dante waited.
He did not attempt to fill the silence.
That allowed me to break.
Tears came.
First silently.
Then violently.
I covered my face.
“I don’t know who my parents were.”
“They were your parents.”
“That does not answer anything.”
“No.”
“If they knew…”
“We don’t know.”
“And if the entire museum was built on theft?”
“Then you discover it and decide what to do.”
“I lose everything again.”
“No.”
“How not?”
“Because this time you do not lose yourself.”
The sentence made me look at him.
Dante was close.
Dark eyes.
No control.
No ready solution.
“You cannot guarantee that.”
“No.”
“Then stop talking as though you can.”
“All right.”
I wanted anger.
It was easier.
But he accepted every limit.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“What?”
“Staying.”
“Because I love you.”
The answer came quietly.
Without demand.
“Don’t say that.”
“You asked.”
“You could have lied.”
“Not to you.”
“You lied before.”
“I believed a lie. It is different.”
“Not to me.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
Finally, an answer that did not pretend understanding.
The rain intensified.
“I hate you sometimes,” I said.
“You have the right.”
“And sometimes…”
I stopped.
Dante did not move.
“Sometimes what?”
“Nothing.”
“Aurora.”
“Don’t say my name that way.”
“What way?”
“Like before.”
The air changed.
Dante breathed.
“I don’t know how to say your name any other way.”
My body reacted.
Hatred.
Desire.
Memory.
Fear.
All together.
“This is wrong.”
“What?”
“That I still feel anything.”
He remained still.
“It isn’t wrong.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“You destroyed me.”
“Yes.”
“I should not want to be near you.”
“Perhaps.”
“And I do.”
The words escaped.
I could not retrieve them.
Dante closed his eyes.
“Aurora.”
“Don’t say anything.”
“All right.”
“I have not forgiven you.”
“I know.”
“I do not completely trust you.”
“I know.”
“This does not mean we’re getting back together.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
“All right.”
The laugh came with the tears.
Small.
Broken.
Dante smiled.
It was too much.
I moved toward him.
I kissed him.
I did not think.
Did not plan.
I only crossed the space.
Dante’s mouth was warm.
Familiar.
Different.
He did not touch me immediately.
He waited.
I grabbed his shirt.
Pulled.
Then his hands came.
One around my waist.
The other on my face.
The kiss changed.
Four years entered it.
Longing.
Anger.
Hunger.
Dante said my name against my mouth.
I hated him for it.
I kissed him harder.
He drew back first.
His forehead rested against mine.
His breathing was heavy.
“Are you certain?”
The question nearly made me cry again.
The old Dante would not have asked at that moment.
Perhaps he would have asked before.
But after touching me, he would have assumed.
This man waited.
“No,” I answered.
He immediately removed his hand from my waist.
The absence hurt.
“Then we stop.”
I looked at him.
“I did not tell you to stop.”
“You said you are not certain.”
“I’m not certain about anything.”
“Aurora…”
“I want to forget for a few minutes.”
“I do not want you to use me to forget.”
The sentence struck me.
“Then why?”
“Because tomorrow you may look back and feel I invaded a moment of weakness.”
“You always think you can decide what I will feel.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“You’re right.”
“I chose to kiss you.”
“You did.”
“And I choose to continue.”
“Even without forgiveness.”
“Yes.”
“Even while angry.”
“Especially while angry.”
He looked at me.
“Tell me to stop if you want me to.”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
I kissed him again.
That time, Dante responded without hesitation.
His hands returned.
My body remembered every movement.
The way he tilted his head.
How he held the back of my neck.
How his chest hardened beneath my hands.
The seat was narrow.
Rain concealed the world.
Dante pulled me closer.
I climbed partially over him without thinking about the lack of space.
His mouth moved down my neck.
Air escaped me.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“I wasn’t telling you to stop.”
The sound he made against my skin moved through my entire body.
Four years without touch.
Without permitted desire.
Without being a woman before being a mother.
Everything returned.
My hands opened the buttons of his shirt.
Dante caught my wrists.
Not hard.
“We’re inside a car.”
“I know.”
“Outside a police station.”
I looked through the fogged window.
A laugh escaped me.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Extremely.”
“And your security guards?”
“They’re far away.”
“How far?”
“Far enough.”
“That doesn’t answer.”
“They are not watching.”
“Are you certain?”
“For once, yes.”
I laughed again.
The tension broke slightly.
Dante caressed my face.
The gesture was more intimate than the kiss.
“I do not want our first moment after everything to happen here.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve a bed, privacy, and time.”
“Do not turn this into romance.”
“I’m not.”
“It feels like it.”
“I want to do this correctly.”
“There is no correct way.”
“Then less incorrectly.”
I looked at him.
My body still burned.
But reason returned.
The children.
álvaro’s death.
Otávio.
The complexity.
I moved away.
Returned to my seat.
Dante buttoned his shirt.
He did not appear satisfied.
Nor did he appear frustrated with me.
He simply breathed.
“This did not happen,” I said.
“It happened.”
“It changes nothing.”
“All right.”
“Do not tell the children.”
He turned his head.
“Aurora.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I’m terrified.”
“So am I.”
“You?”
“Very.”
“Why?”
“Because it was the first thing you gave me that did not come from fear or the children.”
The sentence pierced me.
“It came from fear.”
“Not only.”
He was right.
I hated it.
Did I start the car?
No.
Dante did.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
Home.
He did not specify which one.
We returned to his, where our children waited.
During the drive, we did not touch.
But the kiss remained between us.
Alive.
Impossible to deny.