16. Adriana
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Adriana
We’re at a café near my new college when Rafael finds us.
It’s a small place, tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat. Not a place anyone from our old world would be caught dead in. Which is exactly why I like it. The coffee is decent, the pastries are fresh, and nobody here knows who the Costas or Vitales are.
Enzo’s across from me, scrolling through his phone while I pick at a croissant. We’ve been here for an hour, not really talking, just existing in the same space. It’s comfortable. Easy in a way I never had with Rafael. The text from Viviana did bother me for a bit, but I decided to ignore it.
His foot is hooked around my ankle under the table.
I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.
He does that a lot now, finds some small way to stay connected to me without making a thing of it.
A hand at my back. His knee against mine on the couch.
Like part of him needs to know I’m still there even when his eyes are on the room.
I’ve started doing it too. That’s the part I notice. Reaching for him without deciding to.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up.
“I’m not staring.”
“You’ve been looking at me for the past two minutes.”
“Maybe I like looking at you.”
He glances up, and there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
“Yeah?” he says.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
I throw a piece of croissant at him. He catches it without seeming to try and pops it in his mouth, grinning, and I think, not for the first time, that I could get used to this.
That I already have. Two weeks ago I didn’t know what an ordinary morning was supposed to feel like.
Now I’ve got one in my hands and I keep waiting for someone to take it away.
This is what we’ve become. Easy. Comfortable. Real.
It terrifies me.
The bell over the door jingles. I don’t look up. Why would I? Nobody I know comes to places like this.
“Adriana.”
The voice hits me like ice water.
I look up and Rafael is standing there, three feet from our table, looking like hell warmed over.
He’s thinner than the last time I saw him. His cheekbones are sharper, his clothes hanging loose. There’s stubble on his jaw, not the artful kind, the kind that says he hasn’t bothered to shave in days. His eyes are bloodshot.
He looks terrible. He looks broken.
Good.
“Rafael.” My voice comes out flat. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you.” He sways slightly. Is he drunk? It’s two in the afternoon. “I went to Enzo’s building but you weren’t there, so I started checking places near the college, and…”
“How do you know about the college?”
“I asked around. Someone mentioned seeing you.” He runs a hand through his hair. It’s greasy. Unwashed. “Can we talk? Please? Just five minutes.”
“No.”
“Adriana…”
“She said no.” Enzo’s voice is cold. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t stood up, but there’s something dangerous in his stillness. “You should leave.”
Rafael’s jaw tightens. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“She’s with me. Everything about her concerns me.”
“She’s my wife.”
“Not for long. Sign the papers.”
They stare at each other. The tension is thick enough to choke on. A few other customers are starting to look over, sensing drama.
“I just want to talk to her,” Rafael says. His voice cracks. “Please. I need to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” I stand up, grabbing my bag. “We’re leaving.”
“Wait.” Rafael reaches for my arm and Enzo is on his feet instantly, putting himself between us.
“Don’t touch her.”
“I wasn’t going to…” Rafael steps back, hands raised. “I just want to talk. That’s all. Please, Adriana. I’m begging you.”
He looks pathetic. That’s the only word for it. The golden boy of the Vitale family, the one who could charm his way out of anything, reduced to begging his almost-ex-wife in a cheap café while reeking of alcohol.
Part of me wants to walk away. The smart part. The part that knows nothing good can come from this conversation.
But there’s another part. The part that spent seven months trying to make a marriage work with this man. The part that needs to understand.
“Five minutes,” I say.
Enzo’s head snaps toward me. “Ana.”
“Five minutes. Then we leave.”
He doesn’t like it. I can see it in every line of his body. But he doesn’t argue. Just steps back slightly, giving us space while making it clear he’s not going anywhere.
I sit back down. Rafael slides into the chair across from me, the one Enzo just vacated. Enzo stays standing, looming behind me like a bodyguard.
“Talk,” I say. “You have five minutes.”
Rafael takes a breath. Lets it out. His hands are shaking.
“I fucked up,” he says.
“Astute observation.”
“I know. I know I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Adriana. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to believe anything.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” His voice is raw. “When Viviana showed up that day, I wasn’t thinking. She was just there, and we have history, and…”
“And what? You tripped and fell into bed with her?”
He flinches. “No. I made a choice. A stupid, selfish choice. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Have you?” I lean back in my chair. “Because you keep dragging this out. Stalling, begging me to meet, finding reasons not to just let me go. That’s not what regret looks like, Rafael. That looks like a man who wants to keep me on a string.”
“I don’t want Viviana.” He says it like it costs him something. “I thought I did. For about five minutes. But then you were gone, and I realized…” He breaks off, shakes his head. “I realized how badly I screwed up.”
“So you don’t want Viviana. Great. That’s not really my problem anymore.”
“I want you.”
The words hang in the air. I wait to feel something. Triumph, maybe. Or satisfaction. Or even a flicker of the feelings I used to have for him.
Nothing. I feel nothing.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “Because I don’t want you.”
“Adriana…”
“You had seven months to want me, Rafael. Seven months of me being your wife, living in your house, trying to make something out of the mess our families threw us into. And you never once…” I stop. Take a breath. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Sign the papers and move on with your life.”
“I can’t move on. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He laughs. It’s a broken sound. “You’ve changed. You never used to talk to me like this.”
“I never used to have a reason to.”
“That’s fair,” he mumbles. “That’s fair. I deserve that.” He keeps saying it, fair, deserve, like the words are a script he memorized on the way over and can’t stop running.
He picks up the little paper cup of water the barista left and drinks it like his mouth’s gone dry, and I notice the tremor in his hand he can’t hide.
The Rafael I married would have died before letting anyone see him like this, rumpled and shaking and three sheets to the wind in a café full of strangers.
Whatever’s happening to him at home, it’s worse than the gossip knows.
For half a second I almost feel sorry for him. Then I remember the bedroom, and the feeling goes away.
He’s quiet for a moment. Staring at the table. When he looks up again, his eyes are wet.
“I miss you,” he says quietly. “I miss the piano. I miss coming home and hearing you play. I miss the way you’d look at me like I wasn’t completely worthless.”
“You’re not worthless, Rafael. You’re just not my problem anymore.”
“I could be. If you gave me another chance…”
“No.”
“Just think about it…”
“I said no.” My voice is sharp enough to cut. “I’m with Enzo now. And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t go back to you. Not after what you did.”
He looks at Enzo. Something ugly flickers across his face.
“Him,” he says. “You left me for him.”
“I left you because you cheated on me. Enzo was just… there. When I needed someone.”
“He’s using you. You know that, right? He’s only with you to get back at our family. That’s all he’s ever cared about, making our father miserable.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Or maybe he actually gives a shit about me. Either way, it’s more than you ever did.”
Rafael flinches like I slapped him.
“Your five minutes are up,” Enzo says. His hand settles on my shoulder, warm and grounding. “Time to go.”
I start to stand, then stop. There’s a thing I should say, a thing that’s been nagging at me since Viviana ambushed me outside the building.
“Rafael.”
He looks up, hope flickering in his bloodshot eyes.
“Whatever happens with Viviana,” I say, “try to be a good dad. The kid deserves better than what we got from our parents.”
The hope dies. Confusion replaces it.
“Dad?” he says. “What are you talking about?”
I freeze.
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know Viviana is pregnant.
She didn’t tell him. After everything, the ambush, the screaming, throwing it in my face, she didn’t tell the supposed father of her child.
“Adriana.” Rafael’s voice sharpens. Some of the drunken haze clearing. “What are you talking about? Dad of what? What kid?”
I should tell him. It’s not my secret to keep. He has a right to know.
But something stops me. Maybe it’s petty. Maybe it’s self-preservation. Maybe I just don’t want to be the one to deliver more bad news to a man who’s already falling apart.
“Nothing,” I say. “Forget it.”
“No, you said…” He grabs the edge of the table, like he needs it to stay upright. “You said be a good dad. What does that mean? Is Viviana… is she…”
“Ask her yourself.”
“Adriana…”
“I’m done talking.” I stand up, let Enzo guide me toward the door. “Sign the papers, Rafael. Move on.”
“Wait…” He stumbles after us. “Please, just tell me…”
Enzo turns, blocking his path. “She said she’s done. Back off.”
“This is none of your business…”
“It became my business when you made her cry.” Enzo’s voice doesn’t rise at all, which is worse.
“Every tear she shed because of you, that’s on you.
And I don’t forget. So here’s what’s going to happen.
You’re going to sign those divorce papers.
You’re going to stop following her around like a pathetic drunk.
And you’re going to leave her alone. Permanently. ”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make your life very small.” Enzo says it calmly, almost bored.
“Just you. Not the family, not the name, none of that. You, personally. Everywhere you like to be seen, every room you walk into thinking you still matter, every person who still takes your call. One by one. I’m patient, and I hold a grudge, and I have nothing better to do. Try me and find out.”
Rafael’s face goes pale. Then red. His hands clench into fists.
For a second I think he’s going to swing. Part of me almost wants him to. To give Enzo an excuse.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, swaying, looking between us with something like hatred in his eyes.
“You think you’ve won,” he says to me. “You think this is some kind of victory. But Viviana’s lying about something. I don’t know what yet, but something’s off. And when I figure it out…”
“Goodbye, Rafael.”
I walk out. Enzo follows. The door swings shut behind us.
The afternoon air hits my face and I realize I’m shaking. Not from fear. From adrenaline. From the effort of staying calm when everything inside me wanted to scream.
“You okay?” Enzo asks.
“Yeah.” I take a breath. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You didn’t tell him about the pregnancy.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I think about it. Really think.
“Because it’s not my problem,” I say finally. “Viviana made this mess. She can clean it up.”
“Fair enough.”
We walk in silence for a minute. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. Solid. Warm. Real.
“He said she’s lying about something,” I say.
“I heard.”
“What do you think he means?”
Enzo is quiet for a moment. “Could be anything. Viviana’s not exactly known for her honesty.”
“No. She’s not.”
But something about it nags at me. The way Rafael said it. The look in his eyes. Like he was putting pieces together but couldn’t quite make them fit.
The pregnancy. That’s what he was chewing on, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
The same thing that’s been bothering me since Amelia and I talked it through.
The timing. How sure Viviana is, how settled, for a baby that’s supposed to be brand new.
It doesn’t sit right with either of us, apparently.
Rafael just doesn’t have all the pieces I have, and I’m not about to hand them over.
And underneath that, quieter, a part I like even less: if the timing’s wrong, then it’s wrong in a direction I haven’t let myself follow. I keep getting to the edge of the thought and stopping, because the next step is none of my business and leads somewhere I don’t want to go.
But that’s not my problem. Whatever the truth is, it belongs to the two of them now.
I push the thought away and focus on the feeling of Enzo’s hand in mine. On the afternoon sun warm on my face. On the life I’m building, piece by piece, without my family’s approval or Rafael’s presence.
This is what matters now. Not Viviana’s lies. Not Rafael’s regrets. Not the mess they’ve made of their own lives.
Just this. Just me. Just the choice I’m making every day to be someone different than the girl who let herself be handed off like a parcel between two families.
“Hey,” Enzo says.
“Yeah?”
“You handled that well.”
“You think?”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand. “You didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Didn’t let him make you feel guilty.”
“I almost did. When he started talking about missing me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I didn’t.”
We walk a few more steps. Then he says, quietly, “I’m proud of you.”
The words hit harder than they should. Nobody’s ever said that to me before. Not once in my entire life.
“Don’t get sappy on me,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But he’s smiling. And I’m smiling. And for the first time since I saw Rafael walk into that café, I feel like I can breathe.
Whatever Viviana’s lying about, whatever mess is coming, it can wait.
Right now, I have croissant crumbs in my bag and coffee on my breath and a man who thinks I’m worth being proud of.
Right now, that’s enough.