Chapter 35
Katarina
I rub the sleep off my eyes and squint to get them to focus. The sun filters through the window grime in weak rays, hitting the wooden table in front of me, where Julian had left a can of sausage and crackers he had for dinner last night.
I’m still in the armchair, my body frozen in its posture from not moving for hours.
Julian is sleeping on the floor beside me, still snoring.
I refused to take the bed in the back room last night and told him to sleep there, but he still ended up sleeping on the floor. When I try to stretch out, the chair creaks loudly, waking Julian.
He groans and stirs before turning towards me.
“Buen día.” I smile politely.
“Buen día, did you manage to sleep?” He yawns as he stretches on the floor, and it’s only then that I notice he is shirtless, muscles flexing in every part of his torso. When I realize I’m staring, I get up way too quickly, my shoulder protesting in the process.
“Ouch.”
“What’s wrong?” He’s in front of me in no time, trying to help me up.
“I’m fine, just stiff,” I say.
“Here,” he murmurs, then all of a sudden, my feet are in the air. He did it so fast I had no time to oppose.
“Julian!” I gasp as he lifts me to his arms. Then he takes big steps towards the front door, asking me to turn the knob, and walks us out.
The heat of the sun and fresh air hit me, and I inhale what seems to be the first breath I’ve taken since running from the villa.
Jullian walks towards the edge of the cliff and sets me down.
The turquoise ocean glistens as the sun hits its surface. The waves are calm, and the sun is glaring down on us, almost like a summer day.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Yeah? That shit scares me,” Julian says, placing both hands on his hips, staring down the cliff. “Look at that, it’s so deep,” he adds, taking a step closer to the edge, shaking his head at the rugged limestone beneath.
“I love the ocean,” I say, following his line of sight.
He smiles, slinging an arm over my shoulder with an easy familiarity.
“I know. That’s why I know you will love Tulum.” He grins .
I smile, not really having much to say, as I feel the heavy burden I placed upon his life.
“Gracias por todo, Julian.”
“Anything for you, Kat.” He murmurs before ruffling the hair on top of my head.
I brace myself for the phantom weight of him pinning me to the mat, waiting for that suffocating spike of panic from two days ago. But it doesn’t come. Instead, the stifling air that’s been hanging between us starts to thin out.
“I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says and leaves to go inside the cabin.
I linger by the cliff, listening to the waves and savoring the sun’s heat. I prop myself on the stone and watch the waters crash onto the sharp cliffs below, as birds chirp in the background.
Soon, my mind wanders off. I’m back in the bed we share, and Damiano has his arm around me, pinning me to his chest. Whispering, he’ll never let me go. Promising me that nothing bad will ever happen to me again. The stab in my chest feels physical as my heart breaks from the memory.
I bite my lower lip, desperately wanting to keep from crying again.
There’s no point. He played me well.
If I’m lucky, I’ll never have to see him again. I just need to survive a few more days and figure out the rest of my life with the help of Julian.
“Kat, food’s ready!” Julian yells from the cabin, his voice cutting through my thoughts. I hadn’t realized I had been out there for so long that he had already finished cooking.
I walk back to the cabin, the smell of fried eggs and coffee wafting. Julian is standing by the small stove, now wearing his familiar muscle shirt.
“Ven a comer conmigo.” Eat with me, he says.
He walks over to me and hands me a mug of black coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs, with thick slices of bread fried in olive oil and salt. He presents it with a steady hand and a smile on his face, as if we’re just on a picnic and not running from the mafia.
“You have to eat something. I don’t want you to get sick.”
I look at the bread, and my stomach turns. “I can’t.”
“Try, you already lost a lot of weight,” he says in a soft command, then sits on the chair opposite me and leans forward. “I promise you, in three days, we’ll be on a beach in Tulum, and all you need to do is bathe in the sun.”
I offer him a small smile, even though there’s not a part of me that is excited to be in Tulum. I break a piece of bread and try to eat. Julian watches me closely as if he’s afraid I’ll choke on something.
He watches me eat until I finish the plate, my stomach hurting at the end of it. But he’s right, if I am going to survive this, I need to be strong.
The rest of the day drags, and the wind moans through the gaps in the stone walls as a storm comes.
I can hear the big waves crashing against the rocks below the cliffs.
Inside the cabin, Julian tries to fill the emptiness with small talk.
He finds an old deck of cards and clears a space on the table.
“Come on,” he says, flashing that easy smile of his. “One game of Truco. For old times’ sake.”
He leans back, a nostalgic smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth when he says, “I remember that night in Puerto Madero. When your brother decided he was a world-class negotiator.”
I let out a huff of a laugh, the strain in my shoulders dropping an inch. “What happened?”
“Mateo was convinced the woman was overcharging us for those empanadas because we looked like ‘clueless tourists.’ So, he pulled me aside and said, ‘Watch this, Jules. I’m going to use my charm to get us a dozen for the price of two.’”
I lean on the coffee table, resting my face on my arms as I watch him tell the story, a genuine smile appearing on my face.
“Mateo doesn’t have a negotiating voice. He only has an I’m-offering-you-a-bribe voice.” I chuckle.
“Exactly! He walks up to this tiny, unimpressed abuela and tries to speak with an accent. He tells her—with a straight face—that we are famous food critics from Rome and that if she gives us a discount, he’ll put her on the front page of a magazine that doesn’t exist.”
“And?” I grin, remembering how silly Mateo can be at times.
“And she didn’t blink. She just looked at him, looked at his expensive watch, and told him in perfect, flawless English: ‘For you, the price just doubled because your accent is an insult to my ears.’”
I burst out laughing, picturing Mateo’s offended face.
“But the best part?” Julian continues. “Mateo was so offended that he tried to argue about the ‘purity of the pastry crust’ to prove he knew his stuff. He reached for a napkin to demonstrate something, accidentally knocked over a massive jar of chimichurri, and spent the next twenty minutes trying to blot a green oil stain out of his three-thousand-dollar suede loafers.”
Julian shook his head, laughing. “He looked like a frantic cat. I just stood there eating my empanada, watching him get defeated by a condiment jar.”
When our laughter dies away, leaving a sudden, deep silence in its wake. My chest aches with the memory of Mateo’s voice—a sound that is becoming harder to summon every day.
“I miss him, Julian,” My voice falters, the grief sudden and harsh. “I miss him so much it feels like I’m breathing underwater every day.”
Julian’s face softens. He tucks a lock of hair behind my right ear, his touch warm and gentle.
“I miss him too,” he murmurs, his forefinger wiping a tear from my cheek. “But you’re not alone. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your life, Julian. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.” I whisper the words I’ve been wanting to tell him.
He shakes his head before reaching over to touch my knee, saying, “You didn’t make me. I chose this. I chose you.” His words are sure as he locks eyes with me. My breath catches as I scramble for words to respond with, but I find nothing.
I offer him a sad smile instead, my sight blurred with tears. He looks at me with such tenderness, and for a moment I feel like unraveling.
When he leans in, I don’t flinch. His brown eyes dance between my own and my lips. This time, I look at him.
Really, look at him.
I see a man who dropped everything and followed me despite knowing the danger that awaited him. A man who has done his best to take care of me without anyone asking him to. A man who stayed and watched me fall in love with another despite his feelings.
I don’t pull back.
I tell myself this is what I need.
I tell myself to accept the warmth, to let the comfort of a good man drown out the cold.
When his lips meet mine, I lean into him. I grip his shoulders, forcing my body to respond, desperate to feel something. Something real. Anything that can bury every other thought running in my head.
But there is nothing.
Even as he holds me, the memory of Damiano’s eyes burns in my mind. His shadow is there, like a relentless burden in my chest that refuses to move.
I pull away, my breath coming in shallow, uneven hitches. Julian looks at me, his eyes glazed.
“I... I can’t,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry.” I can’t look at the hurt I know is etched on his face, so I look away.
“I can wait until all the pain is gone. I’ll be patient.” He whispers after a beat.
And all I could do was nod.
“I’m going to sleep in the backroom,” I say, already backing away.
I turn and leave before he can reach for me again. As I closed the door of the small, cramped room, the click of the latch felt like relief.
I sit on the edge of the narrow cot, my lips stinging cold from the kiss I know meant a lot to him but only pain and guilt to me.
I should be thankful I have him. There’s no reason I shouldn’t fall in love with him.
But I am hollowed out and numb.
I stare at the ceiling as the darkness stares back, while midnight falls, and the storm outside grows angrier.
After some time of lying there, I feel Julian open the door.
I freeze and shut my eyes as I feel him walk closer to me. When he leans down and kisses my forehead before leaving, I find my clarity.
Damiano has ruined me for other men.