Chapter 15
VALENTINA
The bag of bread sat between us, already half-empty. Lucia was tearing little chunks off with all the seriousness of a six-year-old on a mission, her tiny fingers working carefully before tossing each piece into the water.
“Not the big ones,” she instructed, watching as a fat mallard snatched a piece before the others. “The little ones need food too.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah? What should I do about it—tell him to share?”
She gave me a look that told me she wasn’t here for my sarcasm. “You could try.”
“Lucia, I can barely get people my own size to listen to me.” I ripped off a piece of bread and lobbed it into the pond, watching as the same greedy duck darted forward again. “See? He’s an asshole.”
Lucia gasped. “Tía!”
I sighed and made a face, knowing exactly what was coming.
“That’s a bad word,” Lucia said, her chubby little cheeks puffing out in disapproval. “My teacher says it makes your brain rot.”
I smirked. “Your teacher sounds like she’s never had a bad day in her life.”
“She has,” Lucia said, nodding seriously. “One time Anthony brought a frog inside, and she almost cried.”
“Okay, well, remind me to never bring frogs to your school.”
Lucia grinned wide as she broke off another piece of bread and tossed in into the water.
She was wearing a puffer jacket—the kind that made her arms stick out like a little marshmallow—and her curls bounced every time she moved.
She had Isabel’s eyes, already filled with too much knowledge for a kid her age.
I looked away, letting my gaze drift across the pond.
It was cold. Not bone-chilling, but that February kind of cold that blew in the air. The kind that seeped into your skin no matter how many layers you had on.
Still, I was here.
Lucia had called me this morning asking if I’d take her to feed the ducks.
Isa was hesitant, which I expected. She’d probably be a hundred times more hesitant if she knew her recovering alcoholic of a sister was the one responsible for her daughter near a freezing pond.
But Isa didn’t know that yet. Small mercies, right?
For the first time in months, I’d said yes to Lucia without hesitation. I didn’t have excuses this time. It wasn’t like there was anything better to do, and I’d been avoiding this for so long.
Ever since deciding to take myself somewhat seriously, my days were mostly the same.
I’d wake up, do something that felt productive, even if I was pretending.
I’d attend my AA meetings—I hated going to them but still went—and when it was all done, I’d go home, stare at my ceiling, and wonder how much longer I could keep playing by Max’s rules before I’d lose my mind completely.
I wasn’t drinking much anymore, which was half my problem and half my solution. I was a seesaw, balancing the act of bad decisions and fragile hope, never sure which side I’d land on.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want a drink, because believe me, I did. It was because, for once, it felt like I was actually trying. Trying to do what Marco had told me to do anyhow.
Stay clean. Keep my head down. Make myself look like less of a problem.
It was working—at least on the surface.
Max had been off my back lately. Not completely, but enough that I could breathe without him checking in every five minutes. I was still waiting for him to pick out someone for me to marry. He wasn’t pushing it yet, which told me I wasn’t sober enough.
I didn’t want another marriage, but I did want my money. I wanted to keep this act up, because for the first time in a long time, it felt like I actually stood a chance at getting something for myself, even if there were strings attached.
I turned back to Lucia just in time to see her frowning down at her hands.
“What?” I asked.
She wiggled her fingers. “I got crumbs all over me.”
I grabbed the napkin from my bag and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wiping her hands. Then, after a pause: “Tía, do you have a boyfriend?”
I blinked. “What?”
She looked back up at me, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Do you have a boyfriend?” she repeated.
“Where is this coming from?”
Lucia shrugged. “Mommy says people should have someone to take care of them.”
“She tell you to ask me that?”
Lucia shook her head. “No. I just wanna know.”
Finally, I said, “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“And why not?”
“Because I don’t want one.”
Lucia frowned. I guess that answer didn’t make much sense to a kid—not to the kind who believed in charming princes anyway.
“But who buys you flowers?”
I smirked. “I buy my own flowers, kid.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s not the same.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t tell her that most of the men in my life weren’t the kind who bought flowers. They were the kind who made women disappear when they talked too much.
Or the kind who stood too close. Watched too carefully. Told you to stay out of trouble while pulling you into it at the same time.
I thought about Marco then.
I hadn’t seen him since the party a week ago. Since he’d put me in his car and told me to make better choices. Since he’d looked at me like he was trying to figure out why he gave a damn at all.
“Tía?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you take me for ice cream?”
I sighed, glancing at my watch. “It’s cold, and it’s late.”
“But they have hot chocolate too.”
I looked at her little face—at the hopeful way she was staring up at me.
And against my better judgment, I smiled.
“Fine.” I stood, brushing crumbs off my lap. “But don’t tell your mom I let you have sugar this late.”
Lucia grinned. “Promise.”
After hot chocolate, we took the subway home.
Lucia swung her legs back and forth on the seat beside me, her small hands gripping the paper bag with what was left of her ice-cream cone.
She had chocolate on her face, and I didn’t bother wiping it off.
It was late. She was tired. Isabel would probably kill me for getting her sugared up before bed, but I figured that was a problem for future Valentina.
Honestly, future Valentina had a lot of problems to handle already, so what was one more?
I leaned my head back against the grimy subway window, watching the lights blur as we moved.
Lucia hummed softly beside me—some tune I couldn’t quite place.
I wondered if it was one of those cartoons she was always talking about—the ones I pretended to know but secretly Googled later so I didn’t look completely clueless.
Just as the doors were about to close, I saw him.
Marco.
Of course.
He loosened his tie and kept his eyes trained on the ground.
There was no running from him—not when he came up directly beside me. Still, he didn’t notice me, which was weird, because he always did.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t even say hi. He just stood there, his hand gripping the bar above him. His body was close enough to block out the space around me.
Lucia noticed him. She craned her neck, peering up at him with bright eyes.
Marco finally glanced down—first at Lucia, then at me. And—surprise, surprise—he didn’t smile. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if he even knew how.
He was definitely judging me. I could see the wheels turning behind those annoyingly blue eyes.
He probably thought Lucia was mine; that I was just another irresponsible twenty-something mom hauling her kid around the city way too late, high on sugar, ignoring all the responsible adult rules I’d clearly never bothered to learn.
I tried to focus on literally anything else—the grimy windows, the worn-out ads plastered on the subway walls, even the ancient gum on the floor. But no such luck.
It was impossible to ignore Marco.
It annoyed me how familiar he was becoming.
Not just the little details about him, but the fact he kept showing up.
It was one thing to brush off someone who hovered occasionally, but Marco?
He was everywhere, sliding into my disasters like it was his second job.
First at the park, pulling me out of that ridiculous standoff with Sasha, then keeping Max off my back.
I knew he wasn’t doing any of it because he cared.
Men like Marco didn’t help women like me out of kindness.
It was always obligation, business, or sheer annoyance.
But lately, every time something went sideways, he was there, reluctant, always acting as if it pained him to help.
And I was starting to realize I liked it far more than I should.
My gaze lifted again, sneaking another glance at him. He was tired. Or maybe annoyed. Possibly both. But even annoyed looked good on Marco. Better than it had any right to.
Lucia let out a huge yawn and slumped into my arm like a sleepy little doll. “Are we almost there?”
“Almost,” I murmured softly, brushing the messy curls out of her eyes, my fingers gentle against her forehead. She sighed contentedly, snuggling even closer.
Marco shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the rail. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I could feel his gaze lingering.
Watching.
Judging.
He smelled good, like cedar and smoke. It was something that was impossible not to notice when everyone else on the subway smelled like sweat.
I told myself I didn’t notice, but who was I kidding? I noticed everything. The way his fingers kept adjusting their grip on the rail. The precise cut of his suit, expensive and tailored in a way that highlighted just how annoyingly fit he was. The faint throb of his pulse at his throat.
When my stop came I stood quickly, trying not to overthink every step I took, and suddenly, I found myself directly beneath his raised arm. He shifted, his hand dropping instinctively to hover at the small of my back.
It was barely a touch, maybe an instinctive reflex, but it was enough to set every nerve ending in my body on edge. Warmth rushed up my spine, and my breath caught in my throat.
Neither of us moved away.
He stood still, but his fingers lightly grazed the fabric of my shirt.