Chapter 5-Maya
It all happens in a blur.
One second, I’m standing outside one of those old gothic-looking churches—stone walls weathered by decades of rain, ivy climbing the cracks, a cross silhouetted against the New Jersey sky.
They’re everywhere in Jersey and New York, little pieces of history you barely notice until you’re standing in front of one, about to make the biggest mistake— or maybe the biggest decision —of your life.
The next, I’m inside the rectory, the smell of old wood and candle wax wrapping around me.
The priest’s office is cramped, lined with shelves of leather-bound books, but it doesn’t matter.
All I see is paper.
Documents.
Lines where I’m supposed to sign my name.
A pen in my hand.
Am I really doing this?
Don’t ask me how this all happened so quickly.
I know the world moves differently for the rich and famous— doors open, red tape vanishes, signatures appear where there should be weeks of waiting.
But Rico doesn’t know how I know that.
Not really.
At least he didn’t.
Not until he takes my phone from me— quick as a thief —and pries off the little magnetized wallet on the back.
My ID slips free.
So does my black American Express card.
He pauses, his intelligent dark eyes narrowing as he reads the name.
Maya Constanza Blanco Gold.
My full name.
And worse— my father’s address. A condo on Central Park West.
I see the storm gathering in Rico’s gaze.
Questions. Accusations. The truth about who I am hanging in the air between us.
But he doesn’t ask.
Not yet.
Instead, he tucks the cards away and says, “I need a moment with my bride.”
Preacher gives a knowing smile, gathering the papers.
“Sure. I have to make copies, anyway.”
He leaves with Chuy in tow, shutting the door behind them.
Suddenly it’s just us.
“Rico, you don’t even know it—” I start, desperate to put space between us, to explain, to breathe.
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
The sharp edge in his voice makes me freeze.
He’s not playing.
There’s something predatory in his gaze, the kind of look that pins me in place, that makes me feel hunted.
Not scared exactly. But not not scared.
My blood runs hot under his stare, prickling along my skin, and before I can stop it, moisture gathers between my legs.
Shit.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Not now.
Hormones, I tell myself. Just hormones.
“I know you ran,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and we’ll get to why. But you know me, Maya. I told you about how I grew up. About my father. And I can’t fucking believe that didn’t mean anything to you.”
The words cut deep.
Because he’s right.
I do know. I remember him telling me about the bastard who denied his name, denied his mother.
I remember what he told me about the boy he used to be— angry and ashamed and determined to make something of himself.
I remember swearing to myself I’d never hurt him like that.
And yet— I did.
My chest tightens as I see it now, the hurt in his eyes.
The betrayal.
My betrayal.
“Rico, you don’t have to—” I start, but of course he ignores me.
He always does when he’s already decided. And maybe I deserve that.
“So this is what we’re going to do,” he says, every word final. “We’re getting married. Right now. I’m going to make sure you and the baby are safe. And he or she?—”
“He,” I whisper, cutting him off.
Rico inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring.
For a moment, I think he might break—his dark eyes glisten, just faintly, with unshed tears.
Then he nods, voice rough when he continues.
“ He will have a name, Songbird. He will have my name . Understood?”
I nod, blinking through my own tears, swiping them away quickly. “I understand.”
“We’ll figure everything else out after.”
“Okay, Rico,” I whisper.
Because the real truth is this. I’m still in love with him.
And being on my own? It’s terrifying.
So much scarier than I ever imagined. The nights are long, the mornings are lonely, and every decision feels heavier when you’re making it alone.
Having someone to share this with might be nice.
And why not him?
We were friends once, weren’t we? Kind of. Sort of.
Maybe we can find our way back to that place, where the music came easy and laughter wasn’t so rare. Maybe it will all work out.
No one says he has to break my heart.
“Okay,” he says, then turns to the door. “You can come back in.”
“Are you both ready?” Preacher says, looking at me with concern.
I nod.
My breath feels stuck. Like my lungs are too tight to get any oxygen, but that’s not good for the baby.
So, I force my throat to relax. I breathe. Slowly. Counting the seconds.
I watch my soon to be husband.
And Rico nods, too.
“Do you take this man,” the priest starts, and Rico clasps my hand.
I don’t hear anything after that. I just say I do when Rico squeezes, and I watch in awe as he does the same when it’s his turn.
And just like that, I’m married to the rockstar.