Chapter 5 #2
Yvonne, with her easy confidence and playful demeanor, had no hesitation in inviting Mateo out for drinks.
The way she leaned toward him, smiling like he was her next conquest, made my teeth clench.
Not because I care, well not like that, but because it’s reckless.
She doesn’t know anything about him, about the demons he’s fighting.
My steps echo against the sidewalk as I make my way home.
I’ve seen many women like Yvonne flirt before; it’s harmless and part of their charm, but Mateo is fragile, whether he wants to admit it or not.
There’s something in his posture, in the way he carefully avoids meeting my eyes too long, that screams he’s holding on by a thread.
Yvonne’s casual advances could unravel that thread, and I won’t let her risk it for the sake of a fleeting crush.
The studio wasn’t without its usual challenges tonight either.
Mateo stumbled slightly during the second run of the Cha-Cha sequence, his foot slipping off rhythm.
Yvonne laughed it off, brushing his arm and offering encouragement, but the exchange grated on me.
Encouragement isn’t what Mateo needs; he needs discipline.
He needs structure, not soft smiles and flirtatious glances.
I’ll have to speak to her in the next class.
Nothing dramatic, just a quiet word to pull her aside and remind her to keep things professional, and if she presses, maybe I’ll mention Mateo’s history.
Not the details, it’s not my story to tell, but enough to make her think twice.
The last thing he needs is distractions or complications.
Grey may see him as our star dancer, but I still see a risk.
By the time I reach the penthouse, my irritation has settled into a simmering frustration.
Gerardo greets me at the door, his broad smile like a cooling balm over my mood for a moment.
Until I remember my discarded lingerie bag in the corner of our closet.
I wanted to wear it for him the same night I brought it home, but he was late getting in and groaned with exhaustion as he dragged himself into the shower.
The frustration I felt that night returns twofold as I step inside, forcing a smile to my lips. He’s dressed casually, his hands dusted with flour, the scent of fresh bread wafting from the kitchen. My stomach growls with hunger as I swallow down the ire growing inside me.
“You’re home late,” he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. His touch is warm, familiar, but tonight it feels more grating than comforting.
“Long class,” I reply, slipping off my shoes and hanging my coat by the door.
“How did it go?” he asks as he heads back to the kitchen. “Are they improving?”
“They’re fine,” I force out the pleasantries, following him. The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t correct myself. I’m too wound up to soften my edges.
He glances over his shoulder, sensing more than I let on. “Who’s causing trouble now?” he teases, his tone light but curious.
I sigh, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.
“Yvonne,” I admit. “She asked Mateo out after class. It’s unprofessional.
” When his features flick with confusion, I take a deep breath to stave off the anger and remind myself he doesn’t know everyone in my classes.
“Yvonne is in the Advanced Class and partners with Mateo.”
Gerardo pauses mid-knead, tilting his head toward me. “She asked him out? Like on a date?” His grin only fans the flames burning inside me as I rub at my temple.
I nod, crossing my arms. “She’s too flirty and reckless. Mateo doesn’t need that kind of attention. He’s complicated.”
Gerardo’s lips twitch into a small smile as he resumes his work. “She’s young. Let her have her fun.”
“It’s not just fun,” I insist, stepping into the kitchen. “For one, it’s unprofessional, and two, Mateo isn’t like the others. He doesn’t need distractions with his checkered past.”
Gerardo picks up the dough and slaps it down on the counter with a thud. “Or maybe he does,” he suggests mildly. “Just because he had a slipup in the past doesn’t mean he needs to be micromanaged now, Vaeda.”
The calm in his tone fuels my frustration. “You don’t understand,” I snap. “I’ve seen people going through what he is before. He’s not ready. If Yvonne pushes too hard—”
“And if he surprises you?” Gerardo interrupts, his voice still maddeningly even. “If he’s stronger than you think?”
I press my lips together, unwilling to give in. “I don’t trust him. He’s not here because he wants to be. He’s here because he needs something. An escape or a distraction. That’s dangerous.”
“Maybe or maybe not,” Gerardo concedes with a shrug. “But you’re not always right, Vaeda.”
I narrow my eyes, his casual dismissal like a stone in my shoe. “This isn’t about being right. This is about protecting the studio.”
“And by doing that, you’re alienating Mateo?” Gerardo counters, his tone calm but pointed. “Maybe you should think about that before you push too hard. You don’t want to be the reason he relapses.”
He studies me for a moment longer, then puts the new loaf into the oven and leaves the kitchen, his usual warmth replaced by quiet detachment.
I know I’ve pushed too hard, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m right.
Mateo’s future at the studio, his future period, is too precarious to leave to chance.
Left alone in the quiet, I lean against the counter, my hands gripping the cool marble surface.
The night stretches outside my floor-to-ceiling windows, the surrounding buildings alight with life.
The frustration bubbles up and I push it back down, concentrating on the ambient noise of the city below, muted as though the world itself is holding its breath.
I glance toward the living room, the glow of the city lights filtering through the tall windows.
Gerardo’s touch is everywhere in plants I never remember to water, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, and a throw blanket draped over the couch.
The warmth of his personality stands in sharp contrast to my need for order.
It’s a balance we’ve always had, but tonight it feels like a divide.
With guilt burning its way from my stomach up into my throat, I head toward our bedroom with the intent of making up with him.
We don’t find ourselves at odds often, and when we are, it’s the worst feeling in the world.
He’s always been there for me, no matter what, and doesn’t deserve the attitude I bring home after a hard day at work.
I make my way down the hallway toward our bedroom when I notice the door to his office is ajar, casting soft, golden light onto the tiled floor.
Inside, I hear muffled voices and music, and curiosity gets the better of me.
With a slight push, the door opens a little wider, and I find the TV on, the image on the screen taking my breath away.
It’s me and Gerardo during our final competition, a month before our lives changed forever.
He’s spinning me across the floor during a Paso Doble, his strong steps full of passion and testosterone as my full red skirt flares out around my hips.
We look regal, and in all honesty, at the time, we were.
We dominated the competitive circuit, and the sight of us in our glory twists the knife in my chest deeper.
It’s a punch to the gut to see him being nostalgic for the life we once had. In my mind, he was content being married to me and living a life away from the pressure of competing and keeping that number one spot. Clearly I was wrong.
Gerardo lifts a crystal tumbler of whiskey to his mouth, his back to me, while he sits on the couch and watches us on the screen.
The guilt I was feeling a few moments before becomes a boulder-size weight on my chest as I back out of the room and head to our room, my hand slapping over my mouth to hold in the sob that’s working its way up my throat.
As soon as I’m in our bedroom, I uncover my mouth and let the cries break free.
It’s rare for me to lose control like this, to give in to the buried pool of despair and set the tidal wave free.
I scramble into our closet and shut the door as I crawl into the corner and drag my knees up to my chest, rocking back and forth as tears stream down my cheeks and drip from my jaw.
It’s my fault we no longer have champion titles, and it’s me who stripped Gerardo of the chance to have more. He made the choice to leave with me, but it’s because of me he even had to.
My eyes skip to the bag beside me as a fresh sob slips from my mouth. The lingerie bag will probably never be opened, and that beautiful red outfit will never kiss my body like I bought it for.
Everything feels like it’s crumbling around me as my control slips, and I curl into a ball and force myself to feel before I shut it all down for good.