Chapter 22
Music is already playing in the living room when Martina Valcárcel refills several wine glasses from the bottle someone has left open on the table.
The celebration has been underway for a while, and the apartment is filled with voices, laughter, and the constant clinking of glass as they make impromptu toasts.
The air smells of freshly served food and perfume mixed with the soft scent of the candles Julia has placed on the shelf to create a warmer, cozier atmosphere.
Martina moves among the guests with a smile she’s trying to make look natural, though inside she feels that every step takes an enormous effort.
On the dining room table are several trays of empanadas, a warm salad that Julia prepared with care that afternoon, a couple of tortillas that Cora brought, and a cheese board that someone has placed in the center, which looks delicious.
Bottles of wine are piling up next to the open beers, and in the kitchen there’s more food waiting to be brought out once the first round is gone.
Conversations easily overlap, creating a tapestry of sound that fills the room.
Cora is chatting animatedly with Ariadna near the sofa.
Ariadna’s friends—Naima, Eva, and Zule—are listening, laughing, to a story that seems to have become increasingly exaggerated as it unfolds.
Near the window, Tomás, a former coworker of Martina’s, is discussing movies with Lucía, a photographer whom Julia has invited because she works with her on some projects.
And among them all is Rebeca.
Martina tries not to stare at her, but finds it almost impossible.
She’s leaning against the wall next to the bookshelf, listening to Ariadna while holding a glass of wine in her hand with an elegance that suits her perfectly.
She’s wearing a simple T-shirt that shows off her figure beautifully, and black pants that Martina can’t wait to take off.
Her posture is relaxed, almost languid, and it inevitably draws Martina in.
Every time their eyes meet, even if only for a fleeting second, Martina feels a heat coursing through her, burning all over her body. A heat that has nothing to do with the wine or the temperature in the room.
She quickly looks away and takes a small sip from her glass, pretending that the taste of the red wine interests her more than the woman who occupies all her thoughts.
“It’s obvious from a mile away that you’re totally hooked on her,” Cora’s voice suddenly whispers in her ear, warm and conspiratorial.
Martina jumps slightly, nearly spilling the wine.
She turns toward her, glass still in hand, her heart pounding.
“What?” she replies, trying to sound nonchalant.
Cora raises an eyebrow with a smile.
“No need to deny it, sweetie. It’s obvious you want to devour her.”
Martina takes another sip of wine, trying to buy some time while she searches for a response that won’t make her cheeks flush any more. The warm liquid slides down her throat.
“I could say the same about you and Ariadna, couldn’t I?” Martina retorts, changing the subject.
Cora lets out a little laugh.
“That’s absolutely true,” she admits without a trace of shame, and her eyes sparkle for a moment as she glances toward the sofa where Ariadna is laughing with the others. “But I’m not married.”
She leans slightly toward her and strokes her arm with a calm, almost maternal gesture.
“I’m not holding it against you,” she adds, lowering her voice to a whisper that only the two of them can hear. “But you have to be aware of your situation. This isn’t a game. And especially not with her.”
Martina knows exactly what she means. Her situation and that desire that seems to grow more intense with every passing minute, like a flame no one could extinguish.
Cora gently squeezes her arm before stepping away to return to Ariadna, leaving behind a faint trail of her perfume.
Martina stands still for a few seconds, taking a deep breath, trying to put her hostess mask back on. And then she looks across the room.
Julia is near the dining table, pouring wine for Tomás while saying something that provokes several laughs.
She moves with charming ease among the guests, as if this house were the perfect setting for her personality.
Her dark blue dress fits her figure elegantly, and her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, brushing her skin with every movement.
She speaks with ease, listens, jokes. She leans in to hug the guests when they thank her for the meal, and the gesture is so warm, so genuine, that Martina feels a pang of guilt in her chest.
Martina watches her with a mix of emotions that are hard to sort out. Because that’s just how Julia is. Attentive. Warm. Charming. And for a long time, that was enough.
But now…
Something has changed. Irrevocably.
As she watches the scene, she sees Julia approach Rebeca.
The two begin to talk. She can’t hear what they’re saying from where she is, but their gestures seem almost conspiratorial.
Rebeca smiles at something Julia says—a slow smile, the kind that leaves an almost invisible dimple on her left cheek—and Julia responds with a laugh as she raises her glass, accidentally brushing against the other woman’s arm.
The knot Martina feels in her stomach tightens sharply, like a rope someone is pulling from the inside. She takes another sip of wine, a longer one this time, and feels the alcohol begin to cloud her thoughts.
Then she decides to make a move. She needs to bridge that distance, even if it’s with empty words.
“Well,” she says, raising her glass as she approaches the group, forcing a cheerful tone, “thanks for coming. I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much.”
Several eyes turn toward her. Tomás raises his beer, and Cora raises her glass enthusiastically.
“To the birthday girl!”
“To Martina!” Julia adds, and the glasses clink in a toast that should cheer her up.
Only it doesn’t.
For a few minutes, Martina manages to get swept up in the celebration.
She serves more food, chats with Lucía about a recent photography exhibition they’ve both seen, and talks animatedly with the rest of the group.
But even as she participates in the conversation, her mind seems to constantly drift back to the same place.
Toward the woman who holds the key to her thoughts.
Every time she looks up, she finds Rebeca somewhere in the room.
Sometimes talking to someone, sometimes simply watching with those dark eyes that seem to read her perfectly.
And each of those glances has something that seems to pierce her from the inside.
As if the space between them were charged with electricity, with that desire and that love that has been beating silently between the two of them for weeks.
After a while, Martina realizes she has barely touched her food.
Her body is tense, her shoulder muscles stiff, her jaw clenched…
Her mind wanders. Desire pulses inside her with an intensity she’s starting to find hard to hide: a damp heat that settles between her legs every time Rebeca unconsciously runs her tongue over her lower lip, or when she crosses her arms and her T-shirt tightens across her chest.
She needs air. She needs to get out of this atmosphere thick with laughter and the constant presence of the woman she shouldn’t desire.
“I need to breathe,” she tells herself.
No one seems to hear her as she sets her glass down on the table and heads toward the balcony.
The night air greets her with a breeze that brushes against her warm skin.
She rests her hands on the iron railing, feeling the cold of the metal against her palms. The street is quiet at this hour, lit by streetlights that cast golden circles on the asphalt.
From inside the apartment come the muffled voices of the party, like a distant echo.
Martina closes her eyes for a moment. She takes a breath and tries to calm the whirlwind inside her.
But then she hears Julia’s voice through her bedroom window, which is wide open.
“Honey, I already explained it to you the other day, I can’t keep making excuses all the time, I’m at Martina’s birthday party right now,” Julia says in a low voice.
Martina frowns and freezes, her heart racing.
“I had such a great time with you here the other day…” Julia continues, letting out an intimate laugh that pierces Martina’s chest. “Yeah… I’m dying to see you too and devour those lips I love so much…”
Martina trips over something and a noise is heard. A sudden silence falls over the bedroom.
Martina can barely breathe, and the blood is pounding in her ears.
Then she hears Julia’s voice, quieter and more hurried.
“…I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
Martina’s mind goes blank. For a few seconds, she can’t think clearly. The pieces don’t quite fit together. Her heart pounds hard in her chest, and finally she moves, stepping back into the living room with trembling legs.
The music is still playing. The conversations continue. But everything seems distant, as if it were happening behind a glass wall.
Cora is the first to notice her. Her eyes widen slightly as she notices how pale Martina looks.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, approaching quickly. “Martina, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Martina doesn’t answer. She walks past her without stopping, almost pushing her unintentionally. She crosses the living room, feeling all eyes fixed on her back. She opens the front door.
And she goes out.
The stairs seem endless as she descends, and the steps blur beneath her feet. Her breathing becomes irregular, ragged. When she finally reaches the street, the cold night air hits her face like a slap. She brings her hands to her head, tangling her fingers in her hair.
Tears begin to well up in her eyes, hot and treacherous.
She doesn’t understand why it hurts so much, especially since she, too, has crossed that line.
Because she, too, has cheated on Julia with Rebeca.
But even so… the feeling that settles into her chest is devastating, as if someone had ripped something vital from her.
The building’s door opens behind her, and Martina doesn’t turn around until she hears footsteps behind her.
“Why did you leave like that?” Rebeca asks, surprised by Martina’s state. “What’s wrong?”
Martina looks at her. And suddenly, all the restraint she’s held onto all night breaks at once. She takes a step toward her and hugs her tightly, burying her face in her neck. The connection is immediate. Necessary. Rebeca’s body is warm, solid, and the refuge she’s needed all these years.
“I think… I think Julia has been cheating on me too…”
The words come out in broken gasps.
Rebeca stands still for a second, her arms wrapping around her even tighter.
For a moment she says nothing, just breathes close to her ear, and then she answers.
“I know…”
Martina pulls away slightly, her reddened eyes searching Rebeca’s in disbelief.
“What?”
Rebeca looks at her. Her hands are still on Martina’s waist, and her thumbs gently stroke the fabric of her blouse.
“I saw her the other day…” Rebeca confesses without looking away. “Leaving a building downtown with a woman. They kissed at the door before parting. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you these past few days, and I… Wait!”
Martina doesn’t give her a chance to say more. She runs back up the stairs and heads for the elevator, her heart racing, the world reeling beneath her feet.