Chapter 12
TWELVE
Vaeda
The penthouse feels cavernous now that the guests are gone.
The jazz trio’s instruments have been packed away, the chatter and clinking glasses replaced with silence that settles heavily over the space.
I’m alone. Even Gerardo, ever the social butterfly, has gone out dancing with a few friends, his parting kiss on my cheek a reminder that he’s always the one to extend the night.
I stayed behind. My excuse had been exhaustion, the weight of hosting a party this grand, but the truth is, I’m not tired. I’m restless, my thoughts tangled and uneasy.
I watched them leave. Mateo and Yvonne. She’d looped her arm through his, her laugh light and carefree as they stepped into the elevator with Adam and Kari, but it was his gaze that lingered, his eyes locking with mine for a moment too long as the doors slid shut.
There was something in his expression that sent a shiver down my spine.
He let his guard down, just for that moment, and I saw the feral need emanating from his eyes.
I lean against the closed door, the last few stragglers having just left, their laughter echoing faintly in the hallway before fading completely. The lock clicks into place, and I let out a long breath, pressing my forehead against the cool wood.
What am I doing?
The question circles in my mind, a relentless whisper that refuses to be silenced.
I’m married. I’m his instructor. I’m supposed to be a professional, someone who holds herself to a standard.
Yet every time Mateo looks at me, every time we’re in the same room, it’s as though the ground shifts beneath my feet.
The memory of his touch, the accidental brush of his lips earlier at the party, is still fresh. My skin tingles where his hands steadied me, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks even now. How did I let it get this far? How did I let myself…
A loud knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. My heart jumps, the sound reverberating through the quiet. For a moment, I straighten, staring at the door as if it might open on its own.
Another knock, firmer this time.
I swallow hard, my pulse racing as I push away from the door and reach for the handle. When I pull it open, the breath catches in my throat.
Mateo stands there, his suit jacket gone, the crisp white shirt he’d worn earlier now slightly rumpled.
His tie is loosened, and his dark hair is mussed, as though he’d run his hands through it one too many times.
His cheeks are red from the cold and his expression is unreadable, his dark eyes shadowed in the dim light of the hallway.
“Mateo,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. “What are you…”
“I needed to talk to you,” he interrupts, his tone quiet but resolute. “And luckily, you don’t live too far from me.”
I glance down the empty hallway, my mind scrambling for an explanation, an excuse to send him away, but when I look back at him, the intensity of his gaze roots me to the spot.
“It’s late,” I say, though the words feel hollow even as I speak them.
“Where’s your husband?” He’s still standing on the threshold, not quite inside but refusing to back away too. I wonder what he would do if Gerardo was home. Would he continue to stand there, invading every one of my senses?
“He went out with a few friends. He’s always been a bit of a partyer.” The explanation falls from my lips to fill the nervous space between us. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” he replies, stepping forward just enough to close the distance between us. “But I couldn’t sleep without saying this.”
“Mateo…” I start, but he shakes his head, cutting me off again.
“Please.” His voice softens, the vulnerability in it making my chest tighten. “Just let me say this.”
I hesitate, my hand still gripping the edge of the door. Then slowly, I step back, allowing him to enter. He moves past me, his presence filling the room in a way that feels far too significant. I close the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should.
He turns to face me, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders stiff. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he admits, his eyes steady on mine. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”
My heart pounds inside my chest, the weight of his words settling heavily between us. “Mateo,” I groan, forcing my voice to remain calm. “There is no ‘us.’ This can’t… It can’t happen.”
“Why not?” he asks, his tone tinged with frustration. “Because of Gerardo? Because you’re my instructor? If he truly is your person, our feelings wouldn’t have happened. You being my instructor was fate.”
“Stop,” I grind out firmly, crossing my arms over my chest as if to shield myself. “We can’t let this go any further. I love Gerardo, and I love teaching you, but whatever is building between us stops tonight because it’s wrong.”
He takes a step closer, and I feel the pull of him like gravity, impossible to resist. “It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It feels real, and I think it feels real to you too.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes, but the denial feels weak and half-hearted. “You don’t understand,” I beg, my voice trembling. “This isn’t about what feels right or real. It’s about what’s practical, what’s ethical. I can’t… I won’t cross that line.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might argue, but then he takes a step back, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out, his features saturated in pain. “I didn’t mean to…” he trails off, running a hand through his hair.
“You should go,” I press, though the words feel like they’re cutting me as I speak them.
He nods, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment longer before he turns and heads for the door. I follow, my steps faltering as he reaches for the handle.
“Happy birthday, Vaeda,” he says softly, glancing back at me.
I don’t respond, my throat too tight with emotion as I watch him leave. When the door closes behind him, the silence feels deafening. I press my palms to my face, exhaling shakily as I try to steady myself.
Whatever this is, whatever we’ve become… It’s dangerous, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to continue fighting it.
MATEO
The elevator chimes softly, the glow of the floor numbers flickering as I wait.
My hands are shoved deep into my pockets, my heart still hammering from the exchange with Vaeda.
The taste of her proximity, the near kiss.
All of it is seared into my mind. I glance back at her door, my chest tightening with fear.
It’s been my constant companion since the day I woke up in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling and realizing I’d almost thrown my life away.
I’ve been so damn afraid of making a mistake, of letting people down, of losing control again.
Every step since has been cautious, calculated, like I’m walking on a tightrope above a pit I’ll never escape if I fall.
But I’m tired of being afraid and fearful that my inhibition is stealing my second chance at life.
The elevator arrives, but I don’t get on. I push through the stairwell instead, needing the burn in my legs to distract from the ache twisting inside my chest. By the time I reach the bottom, my legs are trembling and my forehead is lined with sweat.
I push out of the doors, regretting leaving my jacket at home and knowing I risk catching a cold, but I throw the worry away as I curse under my breath.
I’ve been so damn fearful since I woke up in that hospital bed.
The city is hushed this late, its sounds muffled by fresh snow and the pounding of my heart in my ears.
I walk the few blocks home, every step pressing Vaeda deeper into my thoughts.
She’s becoming a problem.
Not because of what she is, my instructor, a married woman, someone entirely off-limits, but because of how she makes me feel.
I’m supposed to be clean, clearheaded, in control, but when I’m around her, the urge to spiral is almost too tempting to resist, and I can’t tell if that’s terrifying or addictive.
I reach my building and climb the ladder to the fire escape, my palms absorbing the sting of the frigid metal. Once inside my apartment, I close the door softly behind me and lean against it, the echo of tonight still ringing in my ears.
I’ve fought so hard to stay balanced, to be seen as trustworthy again, but the way my heart races when she’s near, the way I crave her attention like it’s oxygen, feels too close to how I used to crave the numbness of a high. When I would become reckless and dangerous.
Only this time, the high has auburn hair and a voice that unravels me with syllables.
I sink onto the edge of my couch, elbows on my knees, running a hand through my hair. This can’t happen, it shouldn’t, but the thought of walking away from her… It makes my chest hollow.
There’s a fine line between love and addiction. Between beauty and destruction. I’ve danced along that edge before and almost didn’t survive it, and now I’m doing it again, only this time it’s Vaeda I can’t stop reaching for.
I sink back, staring at the ceiling, forcing my breath to steady. Tomorrow, I’ll pretend I can handle this. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to being her student, but tonight, I admit the truth to myself: I’m not sure if I want to be saved from her.
The city is hushed beyond the glass, its skyline softened under the shroud of a winter night.
I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, barefoot on the warm hardwood, pressing my hand to the pane.
The party ended hours ago, but sleep hasn’t come.
It won’t. Everything feels too loud inside my head.
The silence out there, in the city that never sleeps, is deceptive, because inside me, there’s noise. Her voice. Her face. The way she looked at me before I left.
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the glass, letting the cold bleed into my skin.
My body still craves her scent, her nearness, the melody between us that keeps getting louder no matter how many times we try to deny it.
There’s a weight on my chest that won’t ease.
A need that has nothing to do with pills or powder.
I push off the window and head to the kitchen, needing something to ground me. As I open the fridge, my phone buzzes on the counter, and I glance at the screen.
Voicemail. From my father.
My stomach knots. I don’t play it right away. Instead, I open a bottle of water and take a long sip, trying to steady myself. Then I tap the screen and hold the phone to my ear.
His voice is as cold as ever, clipped and direct. “Mateo, your mother says you’ve been doing well. I hope that’s true, but remember why we sent you to New York. Stay focused on the promises you made. Don’t get distracted by old habits. Call me.”
That’s it. No warmth. No questions. Just warnings.
It sounds like he doesn’t know I’ve gone back to dancing yet. My mother must be waiting to break it to him, and that makes me more nervous, but he knows me well enough to suspect, and that suspicion feels like an impending storm, threatening to disrupt everything I’ve built.
I set the phone down and return to the window, the water still cool in my hand. The city sparkles faintly under the low clouds, and I stare out at it like it might have answers. Like it might tell me who I’m supposed to be.
Should I quit? Should I walk away before I lose everything again? Because I can feel how much she means to me already, and it’s too much, too fast, and too dangerous. She could be the reason I spiral, but she’s also the reason I feel alive.
Vaeda doesn’t offer me anything toxic and doesn’t encourage my weaknesses, but the way she sees me, the way she challenges me?
It lights something inside me I thought I lost. I press my palm to the window, hoping the chill brings me back to reality, and breathe deeply.
My chest hurts. I don’t want to let go of this, of her, of the studio, but if I keep holding on, it might break me.
I close my eyes and whisper into the night, “What the hell am I doing?”
The answer doesn’t come, and only the ache remains.