Chapter 15
The moment Eva shouts Cora’s name seems to split time into two imperfect halves.
On one hand, the bar continues to pulse with a life of its own: the music vibrating through the floor, laughter erupting from scattered groups, bodies brushing against each other on the dance floor without asking permission or offering explanations.
On the other, there is that small, suspended, almost unreal space where Martina and Rebeca’s gazes meet for the first time in earnest after what happened at the latter’s apartment.
A meeting of eyes that lasts barely two seconds and yet is enough for the noise of the bar to become a distant hum.
Martina freezes. The glass she holds in her right hand stops halfway to her lips.
For a moment, everything else loses its sharpness: Cora’s hand resting on her waist, the citrus scent of her cologne, Eva’s enthusiastic voice that keeps talking nonstop.
Only Rebeca remains on the other side of the room, silhouetted against the brick wall, illuminated by the amber light streaming from the spotlights.
She sees her, and her chest tightens with a mixture of hunger and panic.
Rebeca looks stunning. The dark green of her blouse hugs her shoulders with a delicacy that contrasts with the black leather jacket, which seems to have been cut to highlight the perfect curve of her neck.
Her loose hair falls in waves that catch the light every time she turns her head, and her minimal makeup—just that thin line of eyeliner and the warm gloss on her lips—makes her look more dangerous than ever.
Martina feels the air catch in her throat.
She’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. “Damn.”
A spontaneous smile threatens to appear on Martina’s lips, but it dies before it’s born when she remembers she’s not alone. Next to Rebeca is the woman from the café, and in that moment she remembers how they laughed and shared that intimate space.
Eva continues talking enthusiastically, oblivious to the undercurrent that has just been unleashed.
“Girls, meet Cora,” she announces, turning toward the rest of the group with open arms. “We ran into each other a few weeks ago at work. I can’t believe we’ve met here!”
Cora responds with an elegant smile and plants a million kisses on their cheeks while Eva continues chattering, though her gaze instinctively wanders to Martina, because she knows exactly how she feels.
“We were at the same roundtable, and when you talked about queer fiction, I almost fell off my chair from the excitement.”
The rest of the conversation is drowned out by the noise of the music and overlapping voices.
Because Martina and Rebeca keep looking at each other.
There’s something in that look that neither of them knows how to interpret.
Too many things left unsaid. Too many questions swirling around them, and neither dares to answer.
Martina decides to break the silence. She takes a step forward, moving away from Cora, who continues chatting with Eva, pretending not to notice.
“It seems Santander isn’t as big as I expected,” Martina remarks, with a hint of amusement in her voice. Though inside, she’s so tense she can barely bring herself to speak.
Rebeca keeps her gaze fixed on her for an eternal second before answering.
“No… I guess not.”
Beside her, Ariadna clears her throat discreetly, a small but deliberate sound that reminds her they aren’t alone. Rebeca blinks, as if returning from a place far away.
“Martina,” she says quickly, almost hastily, “this is Ariadna. My editor.”
She makes a small gesture with her hand.
“And the one who’s kept me from going crazy since I arrived in the city.”
Ariadna raises her hands in a defensive gesture, smiling mischievously.
“Don’t be silly. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. It’s just that you like to dramatize things.”
She approaches Martina naturally and gives her two kisses on the cheeks, quick but warm.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. Rebeca has told me so much about you.” Rebeca glares at her, and Ariadna flashes an amused look.
Martina responds politely, though her attention remains fixed on Rebeca. Then she lowers her head slightly as a discreet, almost guilty smile forms on her lips. She says nothing. But something in her expression reveals that she liked those words. Very much.
For a few seconds, the group continues to exchange casual remarks, but Martina’s attention remains fixed on Rebeca. There’s too much electricity floating between them to ignore. Every time one breathes, the other feels the movement of the air.
Finally, Martina tilts her head to one side and then gestures toward the bar.
“Why don’t we grab a drink together?”
She says it in a casual tone. But they both know this isn’t just any invitation. It’s a door opening, even though neither is sure she wants to walk through it.
Rebeca hesitates for a few seconds. Her hands clench around her leather jacket, but in the end she nods. Because she knows full well that she won’t be able to escape now.
“Sure. I’d love to.”
They step away from the group naturally, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. They walk toward the bar as they realize that the space between them is alive.
The bartender approaches, drying his hands on a rag.
“What can I get you?”
“A gin and tonic, please,” Martina asks.
Rebeca repeats the same order, almost in a whisper.
As they wait, an uncomfortable silence settles between them. Martina leans slightly against the bar, her forearms resting on the wood, while Rebeca remains standing, trying to find something to focus on without noticing just how beautiful Martina is.
It’s Rebeca who breaks the silence.
“Didn’t Julia come?”
Martina turns her head toward her, slowly.
“No. She stayed home to work.”
Rebeca nods slowly, her eyes fixed on the ice floating in the glass the bartender has just set down in front of her.
“I see.”
“Cora was able to leave the boy with his grandparents, so we decided to treat ourselves a little,” Martina adds a moment later.
For a second, it seems as though the conversation might stay on that superficial, comfortable, and safe ground. But they both know they haven’t come all this way to talk about other people’s children.
“About the other night…” Martina murmurs.
“It was a mistake,” Rebeca interrupts her, so quickly that her words almost overlap.
Martina frowns, and pain crosses her face like a shadow.
For a second she tries to find the right words, but Rebeca continues speaking before she can.
“You’re married,” she states firmly. “And to Julia, no less.” Her fingers grip the glass tightly. “I think… we just got carried away by memories. By nostalgia. By what we were in the past.”
Martina watches her. Something in her chest tightens with a mixture of frustration and sadness.
“It wasn’t like that for me,” Martina replies, and Rebeca can see in her eyes that she means it. “When I saw you that day on the landing,” she continues, “I realized something.”
Martina pauses briefly. Her heart is beating so hard she’s sure Rebeca can hear it.
“I realized I’ve never forgotten you.”
The air between them seems to thicken.
“That every time I think you’re just a few feet away from me, I feel like I can’t breathe.” Martina drowns her words in her gin and tonic. “And I also realized that I still remember exactly what your mouth tastes like. How your skin feels under my fingers.”
Rebeca closes her eyes for a moment, as if the words were physically painful to her.
“Martina, please.”
Rebeca forces herself to drink, in an attempt to stop the earthquake that has already taken hold inside her. But nothing seems to help.
“We can’t hurt each other anymore,” she says a moment later. “And above all… we can’t hurt Julia.”
Martina presses her lips together. For a moment, she watches as Rebeca avoids looking directly at her, as her fingers tremble slightly around the glass.
“My marriage isn’t as perfect as you think,” she confesses.
Rebeca looks up. Her eyes meet Martina’s, unobstructed. There’s something in that gaze. Something that truly burns. A flame she’d like to extinguish with her lips.
The noise of the bar seems to fade away around them. The music keeps playing. People keep dancing. But the space they occupy feels isolated, as if the rest of the world had stepped back a few feet to make room for them.
Martina can feel the heat radiating from Rebeca’s body at such close range. She can smell the soft perfume she had already recognized on the landing. That scent that always triggers an immediate physical reaction in her.
Rebeca feels it too. She feels Martina’s closeness like a constant pressure against her skin.
The memory of that night flashes through her mind with brutal clarity: Martina’s hands sliding over her body, the kisses that tasted of years of waiting, the hoarse sound of her voice as she said her name while coming with her.
She tries to push that thought away, but her body doesn’t seem willing to cooperate. Tension shoots up her back like an electric current, and her nipples harden beneath the silk, betraying her.
Martina leans a little closer. She doesn’t touch her. But the distance between them narrows enough that the air they share becomes almost tangible.
Her eyes scan Rebeca’s face with an intensity she makes no attempt to hide, and she observes every tiny detail as if she wanted to commit it to memory.
“Tell me something,” Martina murmurs, bluntly.
Rebeca feels her pulse quicken until it becomes a runaway drumbeat.
“Really…” Martina continues, staring at her, “that what happened the other night meant nothing to you?”