21. Amalia
Ilook up at the residential complex and draw a slow breath.
Come on, Amalia.
Technically, I shouldn’t be here. Practically, the only thought I’ve had is seeing him again, somewhere that doesn’t make what’s happening between us feel forbidden or judged, and the part of me that’s exhausted from always doing what’s right and proper made the decision before I could stop it.
The security guard lets me through because I’m apparently on Silas’s approved visitors list, and when I step inside the building, ay Diosito Santo.
I know Silas has money. It’s fairly obvious from the clothes he wears, from that vintage watch on his wrist that you don’t need to be an expert to recognize costs more than our house, but this is beyond anything I would have expected.
The lobby alone is enough to make me feel underdressed.
Tawny marble floors stretch from wall to wall, polished to a mirror shine, and above me the ceilings soar high enough that the light fixtures hanging from them look like sculptural installations rather than something anyone actually bought with a budget in mind.
A low arrangement of fresh orchids sits on the reception desk, the kind that gets replaced weekly, not because they’ve wilted but because someone here simply prefers them perfect.
When I reach the top floor and stop in front of his door, a thread of doubt works its way in.
What if I’ve misjudged him? What if to him I’m just some unfulfilled fantasy? Oh my Thales, what am I even doing here?
Before I can turn the thought over any further, the door opens, and Silas meets me, dressed entirely in black as usual, but in place of chinos or dress trousers, he’s wearing sweatpants.
His hair is slightly disheveled, those rectangular glasses giving him a more serious look than usual, and I can’t stop the butterflies when I catch his sleeves pushed up to the elbow again.
What is this man’s thing with showing off his forearms?
“Amalia, when you’re done staring at my hands, come in,” he says, and I feel the blush take over what might actually be my brain at this point.
When the door closes behind me, I take a few seconds to take in the apartment.
Everything is in tones of brown and green, the kitchen looks genuinely used, judging by the visible spices and utensils, the living room wall is lined with full shelves of books, and in one corner there’s an electric fireplace.
On the opposite side sits a poker table, which earns a slight raise of my eyebrows.
The entire apartment looks out over La Condesa Park, and I know my eyes are bright when I hear him behind me.
“I don’t know how you drink that sweet poison of yours, but I followed the instructions as best I could,” he says slightly tentatively, his hand moving to the base of his neck.
That’s when I notice that in front of the couch, on a coffee table that appears to be a cross section of a tree trunk, sits a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.
I can’t hide my smile picturing Silas, who seems like the kind of person who survives entirely on clean food and aggressively green drinks, carefully mixing my hot chocolate and crowning it with a generous swirl of whipped cream.
His blood sugar probably spiked just reading the back of the package.
“Thank you,” I say, a little embarrassed, and move toward the coffee table.
I take the hot chocolate from the table and settle in front of his windows.
Outside it’s overcast, a promise of rain hanging low in the sky, and yet something about this place settles over me like a quiet exhale. His apartment shouldn’t feel this easy to be in. But it does.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him settle to my right, his own mug in hand.
“That’s one of the reasons I chose this apartment. There’s so much green outside that I forget I’m trapped between four walls for ninety-five percent of my time.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him honestly, because I can already picture pulling a book off one of those shelves and stepping out onto the balcony with the whole park laid out in front of you and the full expanse of the sky within a single glance.
Up here, you exist somewhere between earth and sky, the canopy of trees spread below like a living floor and the open sky stretching endlessly overhead.
“It is,” he answers, but when I turn toward him, his gaze is on me, not the view we were admiring.
He sighs, and I find a small comfort in the fact that he doesn’t know how to approach this any better than I do.
He takes the armchair, leaving the couch for me. Something about the gesture makes my heart beat a little faster.
Because he’s giving me space and letting me choose how close I want to be.
I could sit in the far corner, or I could sit in the one that would put him right beside me, and when I look at his eyes waiting for my choice, I already know what I’m going to do.
Something close to satisfaction moves through his expression when I settle next to him with my hot chocolate.
“Did you tutor Hugo?” he asks the moment I sit down, and I know he doesn’t miss the slight tension that crosses my face.
“Yes.”
“You know I’m going to fail him regardless of what he scores on that exam, so why are you putting yourself through it?”
“Because not all of us can afford to live in a penthouse above the city, Silas,” I say, more in a sigh than anything else.
Something softens in his features when I say his name, and that feeling, that I’m the one who melts that hard exterior of his, puts a strange warmth in my chest.
“You need money.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and even though I could deny it, I don’t see why I should. I’m not ashamed of our financial situation. We’re not poor, but money was never something we had to spare.
Lupe worked over the summers and always covered nights out when I ran low, tío Felipe worked overtime to cover his share of the scholarship fund, so now it’s my turn to help however I can.
“You know he doesn’t just want tutoring, Amalia,” he says, and I catch the indignation in his voice.
I almost choke on my drink, and I have to press my lips together to keep the laugh from spilling out.
“Be serious, trust me when I say nobody wants a girl who knows limits and derivatives.”
His entire body goes stiff beside me, and he says through his teeth, “I do. And trust me when I say you don’t see the way he analyzes your body, the way those blouses outline your waist, or the way your lips ask to be kissed after every single smile.
You don’t see how his eyes catch on your hair, on every strand, like his hands are itching to reach out and touch.
And fuck, Amalia,” his hands curl into fists at his sides, “there isn’t a formula on this earth that could replicate you. ”
“Silas...”
He takes the hot chocolate from my hands and sets it on the table while his face draws closer to mine.
“Tell me what you need to stop tutoring that idiot.”
“It’s not about?—”
He draws a slow breath and says, “Name your price, Amalia.”
“I need a lapt?—”
“Done. Latest generation. With all the necessary programs installed and licenses for anything else you might need.”
“And a Raspberry Pi 4 kit?—”
“Just tell me the brand.”
“Newtonstein,” I whisper, laughing without meaning to at how completely determined he is.
His eyes hold that same wonder and reverence when they look at my mouth, the butterflies in my stomach waking up and taking flight in swarms when I see it.
“I want one more thing,” I tell him quietly.
With his eyes still fixed on my lips, his hands settle at the base of my neck, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against my skin, and he answers.
“Anything.”
Euclid, protect me, what this man does to me.
“Kiss me, Silas.”
I don’t know where this boldness comes from. The old Amalia is clearly passed out in some corner of my mind, because I can feel the other one making herself known in every cell of my body.
Because I denied myself so many things during my life, but now the woman in me is telling me to stop thinking so much and just feel.
Our lips meet, soft and careful, like a question neither of us has the words for yet.
A shiver breaks across my skin because there’s something almost tentative in the way he approaches, his mouth barely grazing mine at first as if he’s afraid I’ll run, as if he’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I put my hands over his and deepen the kiss instead, tilting into him, because I don’t know how long I’ll have this, I don’t know if it’s going to last, but right now, in this moment, I want to memorize every second.
The warmth of his mouth, the steadiness of his hands, the way he kisses me like I’m something worth being careful with.
Because Silas Vaughn is the most interesting man I’ve ever met, and for reasons I still don’t fully understand, he’s drawn to me.
His fingers apply a gentle pressure at my neck, and when his tongue finally meets mine, slowly and deliberately, I can’t hold back a soft sound of satisfaction.
That’s the only signal he needs. His hands move to my waist, and in one fluid motion he pulls me into his lap.
I make a small sound of surprise when he lifts me, but when he settles me over him, warmth rushes up my neck and spreads across my cheeks, and I just know I have the most ridiculous smile plastered on my face.
“So do we have a deal?” he asks, much too close to my mouth, and at this point I’ve nearly forgotten what we were negotiating.
I just nod, and, fully aware of my reaction to how close he is, he smiles. I swear that if this man smiled more often, the entire female population of the campus would lose half their gray matter on the spot.
His lips play slowly with mine, kissing, biting gently, pressing softly.
My fingers move to his face, and tired of the teasing, I lean in and kiss him properly, sending every remaining thought flying instantly out of my head.