Chapter 40 Manuela
MANUELA
I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m already outside.
The night air knifes down my throat, entirely too sharp to swallow.
My hands are trembling, arms wrapped around myself like that can hold me together.
Behind me, muffled laughter spills out as the doors to the ballroom swing shut, the sound of clinking glasses still reaching me, cruel in its normalcy.
My heels click against the stone path as I walk fast, faster, not caring where I end up, just as long as it’s away. Away from her hand on his arm.
Away from the way his parents lit up like they’d been waiting for her.
I press a fist against my chest, trying to ease the ache. It does nothing.
The mountains loom dark around me, jagged teeth cutting into the night sky. The lake mirrors the resort’s golden glow, so beautiful it feels cruel. I follow the gravel path upward until it bends into a small clearing. A wooden bench waits there, angled perfectly toward the calm water.
When I sink down, the silence presses in, so thick I can hear my own heartbeat.
From here, the lake stretches wide, framed by ridges that feel impossibly familiar.
It’s not Tres Fuegos, but for a moment, I can almost trick myself into thinking it is—the same bite in the air, the same rough cut of the mountains against the sky. Home, except not.
The resemblance guts me.
I kick off my shoes, one after the other, and curl my legs under me on the bench. My chest aches, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out.
“No, por favor.”
The crunch of steps on gravel behind me makes me freeze. For a stupid, reckless second, I think it might be him.
But then I hear her voice.
“Manu.”
Camila.
She slips into the clearing, softer than usual, her perfume curling faintly in the air. She doesn’t sit right away, just stands there a beat, then lowers herself onto the far end of the bench. She’s kicked her shoes off too, her dress bunched at the knees so the hem doesn’t drag.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I whisper, folding my arms tight across my chest.
“I know.” She shrugs, leaning back against the bench slats. “But I didn’t feel like staying there.”
The lake glimmers below us, catching every light from the resort. The quiet presses too loud, and suddenly I’m unraveling.
“I don’t belong here.”
Saying those words out loud makes everything heavier, like I’ve given them a shape I can’t take back. Camila tilts her head, not surprised. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t rush to say of course you do. She waits.
“I mean…” My voice shakes, my fingers digging into my arms. “I’ve never belonged. Not here, not in New York. I thought leaving Tres Fuegos would make me more—bigger, better. But all it’s made me is homesick.”
The tears come fast, stinging hot. I swipe at them with the back of my hand, frustrated, but they keep falling.
“Every single day, I wake up and I wonder if I made a mistake,” I choke out. “In New York, I’m always the outsider. I don’t get the rhythm and the references, the… everything. People are polite, but it’s like I’m always five seconds behind.”
I laugh bitterly, a sound that doesn’t belong to me. “And it’s worse with these people. At least in New York, I can separate from them. They’ve known each other forever. It’s like I’m always the plus one that’s invited after the first round of RSVPs comes in. Like an afterthought.”
Camila leans forward, elbows braced on her knees, watching me with steady eyes. “You’re not an afterthought, Manu.”
“I am.” My voice cracks. “You saw it. The second she walked in—it was like I disappeared. Like I’d never existed at all.
And the worst part? I let myself believe.
For one second, I thought maybe… maybe this thing with him could mean something.
” My breath hitches. “But I was just the placeholder until Athena came back.”
The image flashes again—Athena’s hand sliding so easily onto his arm, his mother’s delighted smile, the table erupting like they’d been waiting for her all along.
My chest caves just thinking about it. I press my hands over my face, trying to keep the sob inside, but it breaks through anyway, rough and ugly.
Camila doesn’t move at first. Then, slow and deliberate, she slides closer, her arm slipping around my shoulders. I collapse into her, forehead pressed to her collarbone, tears soaking into her dress. Her hand strokes circles on my back, grounding, unhurried.
“Manu,” she murmurs. “Vos estás lastimada. That’s all. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to miss home, even if you love your new life. You’re allowed to be both. Just because you made this choice for yourself doesn’t mean it hurts less.”
My chest twists. I left Argentina with my chin high, telling myself I was brave, that chasing my career in New York meant I was finally becoming the person I always wanted to be. But tonight, watching them fold her back into his life like nothing had ever happened, I’ve never felt smaller.
“I’m tired.” My voice is muffled against her shoulder. “I’m so tired of not fitting anywhere. Too… invisible. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”
She tips her chin against my hair. “Maybe it’s not about where but about who.”
Her words pierce deeper than I want them to. I squeeze my eyes shut, more tears slipping free.
“And you’re allowed to want more than being invisible,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare forget that.”
We sit there a long time, my breaths shuddering, her dress damp beneath my cheek. The lake laps faintly at the shore, and it’s barely audible from this high up. I can hear the bass of the music playing inside the ballroom a few hundred yards away, and it gives me pause.
Camila shifts, voice low. “You know he was looking for you, right? Right after you left the room.”
Something flickers in my chest, dangerous and bright, but I smother it before it can take root. Hope has only ever made me look foolish. I stiffen, pulling back enough to see her face. “What?”
She nods. “He came back into the ballroom like a man on fire. He was scanning the room, desperate.” Camila’s eyes search mine. “Manu, maybe you need to talk to him instead of assuming the worst.”
The words land heavy, tangled up with the ache still burning in my chest. I want to believe them. I want to believe he chose me, even if his world chose her.
My throat tightens as I whisper, “The thing is… with him, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I belonged.
Like I wasn’t just… watching life from the outside.
And it happened immediately the night I met him, years ago.
” My voice breaks, and I press a trembling hand to my lips.
“And now I don’t know if I imagined it all. ”
Camila squeezes my shoulder, steady and sure.
“You didn’t imagine that. I saw it. Everyone saw it.
I actually think Nicole tattled and told Athena to come to the wedding because she was definitely going to lose him.
Whatever this is—it’s real. And you owe it to yourself to find out where it goes. Not run before you even ask.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty. It hums with all the things I’m not ready to face, all the things I want too much.
Eventually, she shifts beside me, her hand squeezing once more at my shoulder. “We should head back,” she says gently. “Elle will notice if you’re gone too long.”
I swipe at my face, throat raw. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a bit.”
Her brows pinch, uncertain. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I manage a faint smile that feels brittle but true. “I just need a few more minutes. To… pull myself together. Elle deserves that much.”
Camila studies me for a beat, then nods, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Don’t stay out here too long, okay?”
“I won’t.”
She squeezes my hand before rising and making her way back down the path, her figure swallowed by the soft glow spilling from the ballroom.
I stay put, the bench cool beneath me, the mountains towering like sentinels around the lake. The silence steadies me just enough.
For the first time since I left Argentina, I let myself whisper it out loud.
“I want to go home.”
The words scrape raw against the dark, and no one answers.