29. Zane Ortiz
29
Zane Ortiz
Pearl doesn’t hate me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I could sense it in the way her pulse quickened under my touch on her wrist and the way her breath caught in anticipation. The moment lingered, and I could tell she wanted the kiss as much as I did. If she had wanted to reject me, she would have done so swiftly. The expectant look she gave me is all that’s consuming my mind right now.
As I watch her dance with one of the groomsmen on the dance floor, she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but in his arms.
“You know, you could just go and ask her to dance,” Coach says, nudging me with a grin. I’m sitting with him and his family, as the only people I know here are in the bridal party—everyone else seems to be a rabid fan.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, shifting my eyes to glance at the couple on the dance floor. How could he tell who I was looking at? Duke cradles Kate’s head, and they both look like they’re in their own world .
“If I was blind, I probably wouldn’t be your coach.” He chuckles softly. “But seriously, get your behind out there and ask her to dance. She’s clearly suffering with that young man.”
“What makes you think she won’t suffer through dancing with me?” I ask, attempting to mask my growing nerves. I haven’t yet confided my interest in Pearl to anyone except Tyler and Carson, and they wouldn’t have spilled the beans to Coach.
“I think she’s behind the new Ortiz we’ve been seeing for the past two weeks,” Coach remarks, his hand rubbing his freshly trimmed chin.
“Of course. She sent me to a counselor, and it’s been really helpful,” I dully respond, bringing the glass of lemonade to my lips. I’ve met with Dr. Lawson a few times, and we’ve also had some sessions over the phone. While we haven’t made significant strides yet, he’s been instrumental in guiding me through the stress of the season’s end. I’ve talked to him a bit about my journey, and during one session, I shared that I had accepted Jesus Christ. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear about it.
“I think she did more than that. You know it too.” He gives me a knowing look, indicating he’s not joking. It’s a side of Coach I’ve never seen before. Why would he suddenly be interested in my dating life?
Then it hits me—Pearl is like his daughter. By sending me out there, he’s giving me his blessing to pursue her.
I smooth down my pants and rise up, feeling a bit self-conscious since I usually try to keep a low profile in large gatherings. This isn’t something I’d usually do, but then again, Pearl has a way of making me do things I’d never do in another context. And it’s not like I haven’t been photographed since I arrived—every flash seems to catch me—but I’ve been avoiding direct eye contact with any camera, pretending not to notice. Even the wedding photographer seems to favor our side of the guests.
But now, all eyes will be on me as I approach Pearl. Whether she accepts my invitation to dance or sends me back to my seat is bound to make some headlines. But for Sweet P, I’m willing to take the risk.
As Pearl and her dance partner look like they’re about to step away, I seize the moment, stepping up from behind her and gently reaching out my hand. “I think I’ll take it from here,” I say softly, catching Pearl off guard. She turns, a hint of surprise flickering in her eyes. But the guy easily lets go, he doesn’t even flinch; instead, he simply nods and seems content to return to his seat.
I slip my hand onto Pearl’s waist, gently turning her to face me. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, trying hard to sound annoyed.
“What does it look like? I’m dancing with you.”
“But...”
“But what? You said you came here to mingle. Let’s do that.” Despite my invitation, her feet remain rooted to the spot.
“Is everything a competition to you?” she asks, lifting her brow.
“Sweet P, don’t pretend you were having a blast with what’s-his-name over there.” A huff escapes my lips as I nod toward the guy she was dancing with .
“Edwin,” she blurts out, pretending to be upset with the most adorable pout.
“With Edwin,” I repeat, “I’ve been watching you two since he asked you to dance. He was boring you to death.”
“I think Kate asked him to keep me company, so he has duty written all over his face and moves.” She winces.
“Well, Coach only asked me to ask you for a dance because I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” I say, with a little bow and extending my hand to her once more. Perhaps she didn’t appreciate the surprise of me grabbing her hand without consent. While some women may swoon at the command to dance with me, Pearl might be different. She deserves to be treated like royalty if she so wishes. So, with all the flair I can muster, I add, “Would you do me the great honor of gracing me with this dance, my sweet Pearl?”
When she blushes and offers a shy smile, I pull her closer to me, and we sway slowly to the rhythm of the song. Every point of contact between us sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I can feel my heart racing with each gentle movement.
Our pace synchronizes, each movement tentative yet perfectly coordinated. With each sway, we draw closer, the space between us diminishing until I feel Pearl’s shoulder relaxing against me. Our dance evolves into a wordless conversation.
She finally allows her head to rest on my chest.
There’s something here.
There’s a connection between us, an electric current that crackles in the air, and I need to know if Pearl feels it too .
Throughout the second song, we share fleeting glances. Pearl’s rainforest eyes are practically sparkling with this new intensity.
She’s never allowed our eyes to search each other’s depths for this long. I catch a glimpse of a vulnerability she’s fully concealed beneath layers of distance and avoidance.
I never dared to hope for this—despite the unanswered calls, the ignored texts, the distance—but Pearl has been hiding her feelings for me.
Why? All I’ve done is show her that I’m interested in her.
Did she doubt it? Does she not know I would literally move mountains for her?
Pearl lifts her head, tucking her chin into the hollow of my chest, I instinctively lower mine to meet hers, aiming to gently tip our foreheads together.
But she suddenly halts, saying, “I need some air.”
I desperately hope this is her way of signaling that our first kiss shouldn’t happen in public and end up in a headline. There’s probably a camera lurking somewhere, waiting to capture this moment.
I follow her, matching her steps, but she turns and looks surprised, “You need air too?”
I realize my assumption was wishful thinking.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight looking like that.”
She frowns and keeps walking.
We get to the patio adjacent to where the ceremony took place, a spacious area overlooking the golf course that could easily accommodate an outdoor reception. The gentle glow of low lights bathes the surroundings, while the distant sounds of children playing outside remind me of my childhood aversion to weddings—being forced to sit with Dad was always a punishment. Above us, the moon hangs in the sky, adorned with a sprinkling of stars.
“Men can be so superficial,” Pearl scoffs, her words accompanied by an array of animated gestures. “So this dress I’m never gonna wear again is making you follow me all night. And this heavy makeup. Is that why you’re looking at me like that? This isn’t my real face, you know.”
Despite her dramatic gestures, I know she knows this isn’t why I’m here. Why does she keep fighting this? Fighting us?
“Unless you’ve forgotten, you once called me a stalker, and you’ve already warned me about the way I looked at you at their engagement party,” I counter, pointing toward the reception hall where Kate and Duke are now dancing with their parents. “And I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing this dress and had less noticeable makeup then.”
She turns her face away, remaining silent.
I remove my jacket and approach her, gently placing it over her shoulders. The day began with warmth, but now a gentle breeze stirs, and her sleeveless dress, while stunning, leaves her vulnerable to the chill. I want to admire her, but not at the cost of her comfort. Normally, Pearl carries a cardigan or sweater, but today, she’s without one, much like at the engagement party.
She looks at me and mouths a “thank you,” without making a sound.
“Listen, I think you’re beautiful. Like, out-of-this-world kind of beautiful,” I say, my heart thudding, hoping she hears my sincerity. “The very first time I laid my eyes on you, it was as if time itself paused, just like in those Hollywood movies, and everyone else in that coffee shop blurred.”
I reach out for her hand, our fingers intertwining effortlessly. “But that’s not all. You are kind, you are extremely caring, you live out your faith in the way you care about people. You’re a joy to be around, and you have this amazing way of really listening to me without any hint of judgment.”
“You really think all that about me?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
“And so much more, Sweet P,” I reply, now trailing my fingers over her arms as I pull her closer.
“I have to confess something. I never just wanted to be friends with you.”
She giggles and playfully rolls her eyes.
What a beauty!
“Now that I’ve come clean, would you let me kiss you?”
Hesitation flickers across her face, and when she shakes her head, a sharp pain shoots through my chest. But then, with a barely audible voice, she whispers a shy yes , sending a rush of relief flooding over me. I almost want to double-check if that’s really what she means because in my world, shaking your head signals “no.” But there’s no time for overthinking when her eyes are shining like puppy-dog’s and her eyelashes are fluttering shut.
I gently cradle her head and lean in to claim her lips in a kiss that feels like it could last a lifetime. She doesn’t wait to mirror back all the emotions I’ve been feeling. They’re strong, intense, and I can tell Pearl isn’t holding back. She hasn’t said it with words yet, but it feels like she’s claiming me too.
I have to pull back. Not because I want this moment to end, but because we can’t kiss as if we’re already something more when she hasn’t even expressed her feelings. Maybe she hasn’t even told herself the truth.
I need to tell her how I feel, that four-letter word I’ve never uttered to anyone before. I hope it doesn’t scare her away but rather encourages her to open up as well.
“Pearl, I—” I start, but she interrupts me.
“I don’t think this was a good idea,” she breathlessly says.
“What wasn’t a good idea? Me kissing you, or you kissing me back with the same fervor?” If not more, if I do say so myself.
I had to hold the fort for both of us, to not get carried away in what I now know would be dangerous territory. Oh, right, I still need to tell her my testimony. One thing at a time. She needs to admit she has feelings for me.
“I made a mistake. I didn’t mean to lead you on. We can’t be together.” Her voice is trembling and her eyes are brimming with tears. She puts a hand on her mouth and rushes back inside—with my jacket.
Losing the jacket is nothing compared to the pain I feel in my chest.
I stay rooted to the spot where she left me, gazing up at the sky. I raise both hands, intertwining my fingers behind my head. Where does one go from here ?
I’ve fallen for a woman who considers her feelings for me a mistake.
Ouch , that stings.