Chapter 20
“Don’t forget to come back soon, or I’ll have a heart attack.”
Bruno utters the phrase with such theatrical exaggeration that his voice echoes in the building’s small landing.
He’s leaning over one of his suitcases, checking for the umpteenth time that the zipper is securely closed, while casting a look at Rebeca filled with the humor that has defined their friendship for years.
His eyes sparkle with the same mischief as always, though beneath the joke lies a deep, almost protective affection.
“Remember, it’s your fault for moving,” he adds.
Rebeca, leaning against the doorframe of her apartment, raises an eyebrow and watches him with amusement.
Morning light streams in through the landing window, casting a pale strip across the floor and partially illuminating the suitcases Bruno has left by the elevator.
The air still holds the night’s chill, and she crosses her arms to retain a little warmth.
“That’s not true,” she protests, though there’s more affection than anger in her voice. “You were the one who convinced me I needed a change of scenery, remember? ‘Santander will be perfect for you,’ you told me. ‘You’ll finally be able to settle down there.’”
Bruno straightens up and winks at her.
“And I still think it was a brilliant idea. Look at you: you’ve got color in your cheeks now, and you’re even smiling without realizing it thanks to certain reunions,” he teases mischievously. “I’m just the messenger of fate.”
Rebeca pouts slightly, exaggerating the gesture as if to show she’s not entirely convinced. Then she raises her hand and slaps him on the arm.
“You’re such a pain. You always have to have the last word.”
At that very moment, the door across the hall opens, and the sound of the lock causes them both to turn their heads at the same time.
Martina appears in the doorway. She’s dressed with a simple elegance that nevertheless catches the eye immediately.
She’s wearing light-colored pants that flatter her figure, paired with an ivory-colored long-sleeved blouse whose sleeves are slightly rolled up to her forearms, revealing the pearly skin dotted with freckles that Rebeca never tires of counting.
A light knit jacket rests on her shoulders, and her hair falls loosely around her face, slightly wavy, as if she had left the house in just enough of a hurry not to worry too much about it.
Rebeca stares at her intently.
She feels that familiar reaction in her chest, that immediate mix of attraction and dizziness that seems to kick in every time she sees her.
Her heart races without permission, and a treacherous heat spreads from the pit of her stomach to the base of her neck.
It’s as if her body remembers every caress, every whisper, every forbidden touch in the darkness of the beach and her apartment before her mind does.
Martina also pauses for a second when she sees her.
Then she smiles calmly, though her blue eyes betray a deep gleam.
“Good morning.”
Rebeca takes a moment to respond.
“Good morning.”
But Bruno has already taken a step forward, oblivious to the feelings filling the space between them.
“Nice to meet you,” he says with complete ease, extending his hand. “I’m Bruno, Rebeca’s best friend. The one who puts up with her when she gets dramatic and the one who carries her bags when she goes overboard with shopping,” he jokes.
Martina accepts the greeting with a smile.
“Martina.”
The handshake lasts barely a second before Bruno, with his usual spontaneity, leans in to give her two quick kisses on the cheeks.
“Rebeca has told me a lot about you. Too much, I’d say. And all good things, of course.”
When Bruno turns away, the look Rebeca gives him could have frozen the entire Cantabrian Sea.
“Really?” she mutters under her breath.
Martina lowers her gaze slightly and a smile appears on her lips, though Rebeca can’t quite see it from the angle she’s at.
Bruno lifts one of the suitcases again with some effort.
“Anyway,” he says, looking at Rebeca, “I’ll let you know when I get there. And don’t forget to listen to your mom about the food—I know you.”
He moves a little closer to her and lowers his voice, though not quite enough.
“I hope the translation meeting goes well. And remember to take the weekend off, or you’ll have me to deal with. No staying cooped up correcting the text until the wee hours.”
Rebeca rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but smile.
“Okay, okay, you pain in the neck. I already told you I would.”
She doesn’t realize she’s smiling until Bruno wraps her in a quick, warm hug.
“Take care, okay?” he whispers against her hair before pulling away.
Then he heads toward the elevator, dragging his suitcases. The doors close soon after, and his figure disappears.
Silence returns to the landing.
Rebeca stands for a few seconds staring at the closed elevator door, trying to catch her breath.
When she turns back around, she realizes that Martina is still standing motionless. As if she’d been waiting to see if she’d say something. Martina seems to quickly grasp the situation and moves, as if she’s about to leave.
Rebeca takes a step toward her, driven by something stronger than caution.
“Wait a moment.”
Martina stops, her hand still on the doorknob.
“Well… if you have time,” Rebeca adds, and the words come out with a certain caution, as if she didn’t want to impose. Her heart is pounding against her ribs.
Martina watches her for a few seconds, her eyes scanning Rebeca’s face with an intensity that makes the air between them feel more electric.
“I was going to grab a quick breakfast at the corner café,” Martina replies, giving her a small smile. Then she gestures toward the stairs. “It’s a beautiful day to sit outside for a while. Want to come?”
Rebeca thinks it over.
Not for long.
But long enough for a part of her mind to quickly run through the implications of continuing this game they’re both caught up in. Julia, the guilt, the unrelenting desire, the fear of breaking down again…
“Okay. Give me a second.”
She turns back to her apartment, quickly goes inside, grabs the purse she’d left on the entryway table and her keys, and heads back out, closing the door behind her.
The walk to the elevator is silent. Rebeca is aware of every little detail.
She inhales Martina’s perfume and feels that desire again, impossible to deny.
And her thoughts drift toward something that has nothing to do solely with what they feel.
Questions that have begun to form in her head over the last few days, doubts that are slowly making their way to the surface and that she still doesn’t quite know how to sort out: what does it mean to love her like this, knowing there’s another person involved?
How much longer can they keep up this lie without everything falling apart?
When they step out of the building, the fresh morning air envelops them, clean and salty from the proximity of the sea.
The corner café is just a few meters away.
It’s a small place, with a counter where several neighbors are already having breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the scent of the dishes being served.
They sit at a table by the window, from where they can watch the street slowly come to life.
A waitress approaches them right away with a friendly smile.
Martina orders a latte and toast with tomato and olive oil. Rebeca orders the same, though she adds a fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Two slices of toast with tomato, please,” Martina corrects her with a smile. “And bring some extra-virgin olive oil, if you don’t mind.”
As the waitress walks away, Martina rests her hands on the table. Her long, elegant fingers interlock before she looks at Rebeca.
“I think we need to talk,” she says.
Rebeca nods slowly, feeling her pulse quicken and her blood boil in her veins.
“Yeah… the other day I…”
“I’m going to file for divorce.”
The words come with such direct clarity that Rebeca’s sentence hangs in the air, and she stares at Martina, speechless.
Martina holds her gaze. She doesn’t seem to hesitate. Her blue eyes don’t look away for a single second.
“I don’t want to continue with a marriage that feels like a lie,” she continues, and Martina’s tone begins to take on a vulnerability that Rebeca rarely remembers seeing in her. “And, above all, I don’t want to keep hurting you. Not you, and not Julia. This isn’t fair to anyone.”
She pauses briefly, as if she needs to catch her breath.
“Every time I see you… every time we pass each other in the hallway, I have this crazy urge to kiss you. To touch you. To forget everything else. And it’s so unfair to put you in this situation, Rebeca. I don’t want you to be the other woman. I don’t want either of us to have to hide.”
Rebeca presses her lips together. Her heart is pounding so hard she’s afraid it will burst out of her chest.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs. “I thought that after what happened at the beach you were going to… I don’t know, and besides… the other day…”
The waitress arrives just then with the coffees, juice, and toast. They thank her with a smile, though neither of them takes their eyes off each other.
When they’re alone again, Martina continues speaking.
“Every time I see you, I forget everything I’m supposed to do. I just think about how you tasted that night, how your skin tingled under my fingers. And then I go home and feel… empty. As if I were living a life that no longer belongs to me. Maybe it never did, as bad as that sounds.”
Martina’s fingers tighten slightly around the cup, searching for something to hold onto.
“I’ll do it after my birthday party,” she adds decisively. “It’s this Saturday. I don’t want to ruin the party Julia’s planning, but I don’t want to keep putting this off either.”
Rebeca blinks, processing the words Martina has just spoken.
Martina’s gaze softens, and a smile appears again.
“I don’t know if you’ll want to come. I know it’s complicated, but… I’d really love for you to be there. Even if it’s just to see you for a little while among the crowd.”
Rebeca watches her for a few seconds. She knows that what’s happening is dangerous.
She knows that many things are still unresolved, but she also knows that there’s something inside her that doesn’t want to be away from Martina for even a second.
Something that’s been dormant for years and is now burning more intensely than ever.
She sighs and reaches out her hand across the table, almost touching her fingers.
“I’d love that too,” Rebeca admits, now more relaxed. “Even though I know it’s crazy.”
Martina smiles, and the gesture completely lights up her eyes. Rebeca looks down at her coffee, stirring the sugar with the spoon even though it’s already dissolved.
“I feel like what we’re doing is crazy…” she murmurs. “That we’re going to hurt each other again.”
Martina tilts her head slightly, looking at her tenderly, with a sincerity that leaves no room for doubt.
“But it’s a madness we can avoid, isn’t it?” she asks Rebeca, even though she already knows the answer.
Rebeca looks at her again.
She feels the heat slowly rising up her neck. She wants to deny it. She really wants to. But when her eyes meet Martina’s, she can’t stop her gaze from saying something very different.
Something that makes it clear, without the need for words, that the only thing she wants at that moment is to kiss her again. To lose herself in her mouth, in her hands, in that intensity that only she has known how to awaken. That, despite everything, she is willing to take the risk again.