31.
DANTE FERRAZ
Aurora kissed me.
I repeated it throughout the night.
Not because it transformed anything into reconciliation.
It did not.
But because it happened.
She chose it.
And I nearly lost control inside a car outside a police station.
The most difficult part had not been stopping.
It was returning home and behaving normally in front of the children.
Elisa ran toward Aurora.
Tomás came to me.
Cecília embraced both our legs at once.
“You took long.”
“Work,” Aurora answered.
Her voice was normal.
Her lips were slightly swollen.
I could not look at them.
“There’s dinner,” Mrs. Lurdes said. “And three children who insist they are not tired.”
“I’m not,” Tomás declared, yawning.
Aurora took them to bathe.
I offered to help.
“No,” she answered too quickly.
Mrs. Lurdes looked from one of us to the other.
She noticed.
Of course.
The woman noticed everything.
“I’m going home,” she said. “My knee demands a bed.”
“The driver will take you,” I offered.
“I know how to walk.”
“It is late.”
“Don’t boss me.”
Aurora almost laughed.
“He never learns.”
“I’m learning,” I said.
She did not look at me.
Mrs. Lurdes left with the driver.
I remained in the living room while Aurora handled bath time.
I heard water.
Shouting.
Elisa singing.
Tomás complaining.
Cecília requesting her cloth.
Everything normal.
My body was not.
I still felt Aurora’s mouth.
Her hands on my shirt.
The way she said she wanted to continue.
I could not act.
Not that night.
álvaro’s death was too recent.
She was vulnerable.
Even if she had chosen, I needed not to turn one kiss into access.
When the children appeared in pajamas, I sat on the floor.
Elisa pointed at my face.
“You’re red.”
“It’s warm.”
“It’s not.”
Aurora entered behind them.
Our eyes met.
Then moved away.
Elisa saw.
“You fought?”
“No,” Aurora answered.
“Then why not look?”
Three-year-olds were dangerous.
“We’re tired,” I said.
“Me too.”
“Then we should sleep.”
“Want story.”
Aurora picked up a book.
I stood.
“I’m going home.”
All three protested.
Aurora also seemed surprised.
“You’re not staying?”
The question held more than one meaning.
“It is better if I don’t.”
She understood.
Her face closed.
“All right.”
A mistake.
Perhaps it sounded like rejection.
I knelt in front of the children.
“I’ll return tomorrow, if your mother allows.”
“I allow,” Aurora said dryly.
“At nine?”
“Eight.”
I looked at her.
“All right.”
I kissed the children.
Cecília held my shirt.
“Don’t go mad.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Mommy is.”
Aurora closed her eyes.
“I’m not.”
“She is.”
“A little,” she admitted.
Cecília looked at me.
“You did it?”
“Maybe.”
“Say sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
Aurora stared at me.
“Do not apologize without knowing why.”
“I know why.”
“Then say it.”
Not in front of them.
“Later.”
“You talk loud?” Tomás asked.
“No,” I said.
I left.
The following morning, I arrived at eight.
Aurora opened the door.
The children were still eating breakfast.
“We need to speak,” she said.
“I know.”
“After school.”
“All right.”
Her coldness hurt.
But I could not demand warmth.
I took the children with her.
The routine was tense.
Elisa sang.
Tomás argued about the car seat.
Cecília noticed.
“Mommy mad at Daddy.”
“No,” Aurora answered.
“She is.”
“It is an adult matter.”
“You kiss?”
The car nearly left the road.
“What?” Aurora asked.
“Mrs. Marlene says adults fight and kiss.”
“Mrs. Marlene should not say certain things near children,” I replied.
“You kiss?”
“Elisa,” Aurora said.
“Just asking.”
“No.”
Aurora answered quickly.
Falsely.
I looked at her.
She looked back, challenging me.
I would not correct her in front of the children.
“Adults have private conversations,” I said.
“What’s plivate?”
“Things children do not need to know.”
“I need.”
“You don’t.”
“Mommy knows?”
“Yes.”
“Then me too.”
“No.”
She pouted.
At school, the children left us.
We returned in silence.
As soon as we entered the studio, Aurora crossed her arms.
“You left.”
“Yes.”
“After kissing me.”
“You kissed me.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you were vulnerable.”
“Do not use that.”
“Aurora…”
“I was afraid, sad, and confused. Even so, I chose.”
“I know.”
“And you turned my choice into a mistake.”
“No.”
“It felt that way.”
“I left because I wanted more.”
She became still.
“Much more.”
The confession changed the air.
“And I did not trust myself to stop again if I stayed.”
“Then you do not trust yourself.”
“I trust myself to respect no. I did not know whether you would say no.”
“That is my problem.”
“Not if you might regret it.”
“Again, deciding what I will feel.”
“Yes.”
The word surprised her.
“I did that. I was wrong.”
“And now?”
“Now I ask what you wanted me to do.”
Aurora bit her cheek.
“Stay.”
My body reacted.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need more.”
“You always do.”
“This time, yes.”
“I wanted you close. That’s all.”
“Without touching?”
“Maybe.”
“Without sex?”
She turned red.
“I did not say that.”
“I need to understand.”
“You do not need a contract.”
“I need not to hurt you.”
Her anger diminished.
“I also don’t know what I want.”
“Then we can do nothing until we know.”
“That sounds easy for you.”
“It isn’t.”
I took one step closer.
“I’ve been thinking about the kiss since it happened.”
Aurora breathed.
“So have I.”
“I wanted to take you to my bed.”
Her eyes darkened.
“Dante.”
“You requested honesty.”
“Not details.”
“That is the minimum.”
She looked away.
“But I don’t want you waking tomorrow believing I used your grief.”
“And if I say I won’t?”
“You do not know.”
“Neither do you.”
“Exactly.”
Silence settled.
“Then what do we do?” she asked.
“We go slowly.”
“I hate that expression.”
“So do I.”
“It sounds like a self-help book.”
“I’ve read several.”
She laughed.
The tension eased.
“I have therapy today,” I said.
“Will you mention it?”
“The kiss?”
“Yes.”
“If it is relevant.”
“Of course it is.”
“Are you jealous of the psychologist?”
“No.”
“Your voice changed.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t begin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop.”
“All right.”
We approached without noticing.
Or while noticing.
Aurora looked at my mouth.
“Is this slowly?” she asked.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re thinking.”
“Very much.”
“So am I.”
“May I kiss you?”
The question remained between us.
Aurora took time to answer.
“You may.”
I touched her face.
Slowly.
I gave her time.
She did not retreat.
The kiss began differently from the first.
No desperation.
No tears.
Still intense.
Aurora held my waist.
I kept one hand on her face.
The other on her back.
When she deepened the kiss, I answered.
But I did not pull her closer.
She noticed.
She withdrew slightly.
“You’re controlling yourself.”
“Yes.”
“It’s irritating.”
“I can stop.”
“No.”
She kissed me again.
Her hands moved over my chest.
My body hardened.
Aurora felt it.
Air escaped her.
“Going slowly is terrible,” she murmured.
“I agree.”
She laughed against my mouth.
The sound almost destroyed my control.
I stopped.
My forehead against hers.
“We need to collect the children in one hour.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Aurora.”
“I know.”
She moved away.
Hair disordered.
Lips red.
I wanted to place her on the table.
I would not.
“This also changes nothing,” she said.
“All right.”
“We are not together.”
“All right.”
“It does not mean forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“And don’t tell…”
“The children. I know.”
“You say ‘I know’ too much.”
“All right.”
She smiled.
The telephone rang.
Miguel.
I answered on speakerphone.
“They found the notebook.”
Aurora went still.
“Where?” I asked.
“In an apartment rented by álvaro. But Otávio removed pages.”
“Which pages?” Aurora asked.
“The ones related to the Ferraz Collection.”
My body went cold.
“And the others?”
“Intact.”
“I want to see them,” she said.
“The police will send a digital copy.”
“When?”
“Today.”
The intimacy disappeared.
The investigation returned.
Perhaps it was for the best.
I did not trust what I might do with another hour.
Aurora fixed her hair.
“Let’s collect the children.”
“All right.”
Inside the car, we did not touch.
But when Elisa asked us to sing, Aurora began.
I joined.
She did not laugh at my voice.
Much.