CHAPTER 24
WHAT WE’VE ALWAYS BEEN
Barbara
There’s something dangerous about being right. Something that doesn’t comfort you, but instead stirs you up inside and shakes everything you thought was settled.
As the boat slowly returns to port and the deep hum of the engine mingles with the gentle lapping of the water against the hull, I can’t stop replaying the conversation Lidia and I had.
Every one of her silences. Every evasive answer she gave whenever the conversation started brushing against what we truly feel, what matters, what still… exists between us.
I rest my elbows on the railing, my gaze lost on the horizon slowly filling with color.
The truth is, I’m not paying attention to the scenery.
All I can see is her face at the exact moment I asked her whether what happened between us was a mistake.
That split second of doubt that flashed through her eyes and how, despite it, she pulled away and put distance between us as if fear weighed more than anything else.
Yes, I know I hurt her, that not choosing her over my work and my professional ambitions was enough to make her feel small.
But I loved her; she was an essential part of my life, and that’s why I thought she’d understand.
That’s why I thought she’d sacrifice everything she had to stay by my side and help me achieve that dream I ended up living with Ingrid.
I’m not stupid; I know all of this terrifies her.
That after everything that happened, after the way the magic ended, it’s hard to believe one night of sex can change anything.
But that’s exactly how I feel. Something shifted inside me; I’m no longer the same woman who left London and was on the verge of throwing up on the ferry.
I’ve tried not to look for answers as to why she flat-out refuses to go through this again, but the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes.
I don’t want to think about Alex, about the possibility that they’re together.
I don’t want to become that jealous, resentful person I’ve always hated.
But I already am, because on the way back I couldn’t stop imagining them together, enjoying that peace and security she never had with me.
I sink down onto the bench, crossing my arms tightly as I try to focus on the lively conversation between Pablo and Miriam, who keep laughing as if the world were a simple, carefree place.
As if love were easy and didn’t come with all this weight attached to it, all this history that never seems to end.
But I can’t do it. Every time I look up and see her, all I want is to kiss her again.
“Kiss her? As if a kiss could fix all my mistakes, as if it were enough to erase the years, the doubts, and the silences that have piled up between us,” I think.
The return to the resort passes without incident.
Everyone seems wrapped up in their own world, and mine is an absolute chaos of emotions I can barely contain.
I try to keep my composure, answer when someone asks me something, smile at the right moments, and even force myself to laugh when Pablo makes one of his ridiculous comments.
But it all feels like I’m acting in a play where I don’t belong.
I don’t know when we got in the car or when we arrived back at the resort.
I only know that one moment the sky is streaked with sunset colors as the sun slowly disappears behind the palm trees.
It’s beautiful. Really beautiful. The warm breeze brushes against my skin, and the salty scent of the sea mixes with the fragrance of the flowers lining the path.
But I can’t enjoy any of it. Because Lidia is only a few steps ahead of me, because I feel her presence like an electric current running through my entire body no matter how hard I try to ignore it.
Because I’ve spent the entire trip holding back something I know is going to explode at any moment.
Miriam and Pablo fall behind, and in the end, we’re alone again.
Once more. I don’t know if it’s coincidence or if fate insists on putting us in each other’s path, but I stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago.
My steps quicken slightly until I’m walking beside her.
My heart pounds hard against my ribs, and then I do it:
“Lidia.”
She turns her head toward me, her hair still damp and falling over her shoulders.
“What?” she replies in a neutral, distant tone that irritates and upsets me equally.
“Are we really going to keep pretending nothing happened?”
She frowns slightly, and that familiar crease appears between her eyebrows.
“It’s the only reasonable solution we have,” she replies, gesturing toward her father. “He invited us to his wedding. It would be cruel to ruin it now just because we can’t control ourselves.”
I look at her in disbelief, frustration rising in my chest.
“You know there’s another solution,” I retort, fully aware that I’m digging my own grave. “And it’s not that complicated.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” that little voice inside me screams.
“No, Barbara. And we’ve already talked about this.”
“No.” I shake my head, the words tumbling out too quickly. “We talked about it, yes, but it’s easier to dodge the issue and say it can’t happen than to face what we really feel.”
Lidia stops abruptly in the middle of the path. I stop too, and the air between us seems to freeze, thick and heavy.
“What exactly do you want me to say?” she asks, crossing her arms defensively. “That everything has been wonderful and we should do it every night? That I miss you so much I’m dying to fuck you again? Because that’s not going to happen again, Barbara. It can’t happen.”
And yes, I know it can’t happen, but something inside me snaps at the exact same moment a rage so intense rises inside me that I can’t control it.
“Sure,” I reply with a smile that looks more like a grimace. “That makes perfect sense.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I take a step toward her, closing the distance between us a little more.
“That there has to be a reason why you don’t want to try again and are so desperate to slam the door shut.”
“Like you did, remember?”
Her eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that burns me.
“Don’t start with that.”
“No, let me finish,” I insist, feeling jealousy push me to say things I probably shouldn’t. “You don’t want to because you already have someone else, don’t you? Someone who makes you feel safe.”
Her expression changes instantly. She visibly tenses, her shoulders stiffening.
“Excuse me?”
“And let me guess…” I continue, ignoring the voice inside me begging me to stop before it’s too late. “Alex?”
The silence that follows is brutal. Thick. Sharp as a blade.
“Don’t drag her into this,” she finally says, with a calmness more dangerous than any scream.
“Why?” I shoot back, unable to stop myself. “Because it’s true?”
“Because it’s none of your business, Barbara.”
“Oh, right.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “But sleeping with me was, wasn’t it? That was your business.”
It’s a low blow. I know it the second the words leave my mouth. And I see it reflected in her eyes, in the way they darken for an instant.
“Don’t get confused. That was a mistake.”
The words cut through me like a knife, and it hurts far more than I’m willing to admit right now.
“Well, it didn’t seem like one when you were moaning my name,” I murmur, my voice low and dangerously close to her ear.
“Things aren’t always what they seem,” she replies without looking away.
“Then what was it for you?” I ask, unable to stop the flood of words pouring out of me. “Because for me, it wasn’t just sex, Lidia. It was so much more. It was like coming back to us, like coming home after all this time.”
Her breathing quickens visibly. Mine does too, as if we’re still in sync even in the middle of a fight.
“That’s your problem,” she says in a tone that tries to sound firm. “You think the doors will always stay open for whenever you decide to come back.”
“And yours,” I reply without hesitation, “is that you’re incapable of accepting that what’s happening between us is exactly what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”
We stare at each other defiantly, wounded, standing too close together. The space between us feels charged with electricity.
“You have no right to question my life,” she adds, her voice lower but just as firm. “Or to jump to conclusions about Alex or about what I do or don’t do.”
“Well, I will if it has anything to do with what’s happening between us,” I insist.
“This,” she repeats, emphasizing every syllable, “doesn’t exist anymore. It’s over.”
The sentence falls between us like the slam of a door. And yet… I don’t believe it. Not after what I felt the other night. Not after the way we devoured each other without limits or conditions.
“You’re lying,” I say quietly, almost a whisper.
“No.”
“Yes.”
I take another step. There’s almost no space left between our bodies.
“Because if it didn’t mean anything… you would’ve run away the second I told you to come into my bungalow.”
Her gaze wavers for a second. Just one. But it’s enough for me to notice.
“It was a mistake,” she insists, trying to sound convincing.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” I repeat, closer now, firmer, my heart pounding in my ears. “It was everything we’ve always been whenever we’re together.”
The air between us turns electric, tense, almost impossible to breathe. The evening breeze no longer cools anything; it only feeds the fire growing inside me.
“Stop doing this,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move an inch.
“I don’t want to.”
“I do.”
“Then walk away right now.”
She doesn’t. Neither of us moves, and that says everything.
“We’ve always been like this…” I murmur without taking my eyes off her lips. “Pure intensity. Constant collision. Fire that consumes everything.”
“And destruction,” she adds, her voice barely audible.
“And something we’ve never found with anyone else. Something that’s still there, beating beneath all this fear.”
Silence wraps around us, but this time it burns. Because we both know it’s true. Even if it hurts. Even if it complicates everything we’ve built separately. Even if it doesn’t fit into any of the orderly lives we try to live.
“This can’t work,” she says, almost to herself, as though she’s trying to convince herself.
“It worked once before,” I reply softly but firmly.
“And look how that ended.”
“Because we didn’t know how to do it right. Because we were afraid and let that fear destroy us.”
“Or because there simply was no right way to do it,” she insists.
I slowly shake my head, feeling the weight of every year that separates us and binds us together at the same time.
“I don’t want to believe that.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you still standing here so close to me? Why haven’t you walked away yet?”
The question tears through every defense she’s built so far. I can see it in the way her eyes widen slightly, in the way her breathing falters.
“Because…” she begins, but the words die in her throat.
She doesn’t need to finish the sentence.
In that instant, everything either falls apart or falls back into place.
I don’t know how else to explain it. I only know that I take that final step, erasing what little distance remains between us.
That my hand cups her face. That her breath mingles with mine.
And that when her lips finally brush against mine… everything else stops mattering.
It isn’t a gentle or restrained kiss. It’s violent. Necessary. A collision that sweeps away everything we were trying to hold together. Her hands grip my waist with the same desperate urgency with which I pull her closer, tangling my fingers in her damp hair.
For a few seconds that feel endless, only we exist. No filters. No walls. No fear.
But even in the middle of that deep, consuming kiss, something beats painfully in the center of my chest. A clear, brutal certainty.
This isn’t the beginning of anything. It’s something far more complicated.
Far more dangerous. And yet… neither of us stops.
Neither of us wants to be the first to pull away.
Because right now, the only thing that matters is that we’re here.
Together. Again. Even though we both know tomorrow everything will become complicated again.
Even though we know this fire could end up burning us both.