Chapter 11
The words danced on the paper, but nothing made sense.
I jotted down every point discussed in the meeting, every number presented, every projection for the coming months, but everything seemed blurry. My fingers gripped the pen tightly, as if that could keep my mind focused.
But it was impossible.
Fernando was there, just a few feet away, surrounded by advisors and politicians, listening intently to the marketing team's analysis. His expression was serious, focused, as always. But I knew every detail of that face now. I knew when he was just listening and when something actually hit him.
And that's why I noticed.
I noticed when the poll was presented.
“The good news is that the governor's image continues to rise,” said one of the analysts, adjusting his glasses as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.
“Especially among female voters. His widower status is still working in his favor. Many women see him as a strong man who overcame a personal tragedy, someone worth protecting… or loving.”
The silence in the room was almost palpable.
Fernando didn't react immediately. I did.
I hated that narrative. I hated that they used his pain as a campaign strategy, that they reduced his story to a favorable statistic. As if grief were something to exploit, as if his loneliness were a political banner.
Squeezing the pen between my fingers, I took a deep breath and kept writing. It was my job. Just work.
“Does that mean a first lady could be detrimental before the reelection?” asked one of the advisors.
“Yes, it would be a strategic mistake,” the analyst continued. “Right now, the governor is seen as an available man, and that, believe it or not, carries weight. A woman by his side would change that perception. But if he runs for president in the future…”
“He'll need one.” The words came without hesitation, and everyone nodded.
My heart beat faster.
“Not just anyone, though,” added another advisor. “Ideally someone with a strong profile, someone who represents a cause. A feminist, politically engaged, someone who brings new meaning to his image.”
My throat went dry.
Fernando remained silent for a long time before finally speaking:
“So my personal life needs to be planned around political strategy?”
“Yes,” they responded almost in unison.
Fernando laughed, but there was no humor in his tone.
“Like I'm a character to be constructed.”
No one responded.
No one needed to.
Because everyone there knew that's exactly what he was.
And I, sitting on the other side of the room with my notepad full of words I could no longer see clearly, realized what that meant.
I could never be that woman.
It didn't matter what I felt. It didn't matter what we had together.
There was no place for me in his future.
I sat there, motionless, while the meeting continued, while they discussed the next steps, the next public appearances, how to construct the perfect narrative for a man who, in the end, didn't even have the right to his own feelings.
When it was all over, I stood up slowly, every muscle in my body heavy.
“Glória.” His voice stopped me before I could leave.
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to control the wave of emotion threatening to spill over, and then I turned around.
Fernando looked at me as if trying to understand what was going on inside me. As if he, too, was trying to process all of it.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
“Of course.” I forced a smile. “Just a little tired.”
He took a step forward, closing the distance between us.
“You know this doesn't change anything… between us.”
I laughed, a weak, joyless sound.
“It changes everything, Fernando. You know it does.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair.
“I don't want to play this game.”
“But you're already playing it.” My voice trembled.
Because that was the truth.
He could hate that game. But he would never stop playing it.
And me? I was just a disposable piece.
Fernando raised his hand, as if to touch me, but hesitated. We stood there, frozen, looking at each other, until he murmured:
“Meet me tonight.”
Was it a request or a plea? I didn't know.
Maybe it was just desperation.
Maybe it was just a way to forget, for a few hours, that the world around us was ready to tear us apart.
I should have said no.
I should have walked away in that moment, let that feeling die before it was too late.
But instead, I nodded.
And I left without looking back.
Night fell over the city like a thick, suffocating blanket. Outside the hotel window, the lights blinked lazily, indifferent to what was happening inside.
Fernando arrived shortly after me. No smiles, no formal greetings. As soon as the door closed behind him, silence settled in, heavy with everything we couldn’t say.
He took a step forward, and my body reacted before I could even think. My heart raced, my palms went clammy.
“You came,” he said quietly.
“I came.”
For a second, his gaze wavered, as if searching for something in me. As if trying to find an opening, a sign that there was still hope.
But there wasn’t.
I had already made my decision before even walking in there.
“I can’t be your weakness, Fernando.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath and said it all at once, before I lost my courage:
“I want this to be just sex.”
His expression hardened, and I saw anger flash through his eyes before being replaced by something more dangerous: hurt.
“Just sex?” he repeated, taking a step back, as if he needed distance to process what I had just said.
“Just sex,” I confirmed, trying to keep my voice steady. “No promises, no expectations.”
Fernando ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“You think you can do that?”
No.
I was already destroyed inside, just imagining that this would be the only thing left between us. But I preferred to cling to this than watch him slip away completely.
So I lied.
“Yes.”
Fernando stared at me for a long moment, his dark eyes scanning my face, as if trying to decipher every lie I was telling.
Then he closed the distance.
And when his lips claimed mine, there was no more room for words.
There was no more right or wrong.
Just the two of us.
Just the voracious desire, the urgent need to lose ourselves in each other.
His fingers traced a feverish path across my skin, drawing out sighs, undoing any resistance that still remained. I surrendered without reservations, without barriers, without thinking about what would come after.
I wanted Fernando.
Even knowing that in the end he would never be mine.