CHAPTER FOUR
1166 Words
LIKE THE WIND
Mathilda’s POV
The farther I get from him, the heavier my chest becomes as if my heart is dragging behind me, begging me to turn around. It’s ridiculous. It was one night. One hot, reckless, unforgettable night… but still just one night.
I release a long sigh and push the thought away, forcing myself to focus on the chaos at the ferry terminal. People are everywhere, buzzing with excitement, voices overlapping into a warm, festive hum. Even though it’s only the first week of December, the Christmas spirit is already spilling into the air like glitter sparkling, contagious and impossible to ignore.
Spain is alive.
Alive in a way I’ve missed.
Clutching my ticket tightly, I weave through the crowd, praying the ferry doesn’t leave without me. Missing this ride is not an option, not when Mamà is waiting and this will be our first real Christmas together in four years.
God, I hope I get home before she goes to Fira de Santa Llúcia. She always insisted on going early, even when her health wouldn’t let her enjoy it properly. And I really hope she managed to get us something for Palau de la Música, she missed out on so many concerts while she was sick.
The warm exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours finally catches up to me.
I sink into the worn ferry seat and let my eyes fall shut.
Maybe once I’m home, surrounded by family and Christmas lights and Catalan carols, I’ll forget the way he kissed me.
The way he filled me.
The way he looked at me like I belonged to him.
Maybe.
But somehow, deep down, I doubt it.
Lorenzo’s POV
The first thing I feel when I wake is… cold.
Cold sheets and the cold space beside me where her warmth should still be.
I don’t move at first. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to be wrong. Maybe she’s in the shower. Maybe she went downstairs. Maybe she…
No. She’s gone.
The realization rolls through me like a storm. My jaw clenches. She really thought she could slip away like the night never happened. Like I didn’t spend hours inside her, listening to the way she moaned my name, taking everything she gave and more.
Like she wasn’t mine.
I sit up, and that’s when I see it.
A small folded note on the pillow.
Pathetic attempt at an escape.
I snatch it up with two fingers.
‘Thanks for last night,best time of my life, safe journey, bye’
Bye.
I almost laugh,
She thinks this is over?
She thinks she can disappear into Spain and pretend nothing happened?
Not a chance.
I grab my phone and dial Rafael. It rings twice before he answers with his usual cheer.
“Hello, big boss.”
“Did you send the documents?” I don’t have time for pleasantries.
“Not yet,” he says. “If you can give me anything besides her name, I’ll find her faster. Maybe an occupation?”
“She’s a lawyer.” The words bite out of me
She mentioned it yesterday afternoon, yelling at those useless train staff with enough fire to burn the whole station down. My woman has a temper and I like that.
“Perfect,” he replies. “I’ll run it now and send everything soon–”
“Before one p.m.,” I cut in. “No excuses.”
I end the call.
I shower quickly, pack, and call the driver. He meets me outside minutes later, and we drive toward the port. I’m heading to Ibiza Town, Abuela first, then Miguel for business. Expanding my reach into Spain is overdue, and Mamà’s heritage makes blending in easier than most men in my world.
Let her run. Let her think she got away.
I enjoy the chase.
When we pull up to Abuela’s home, I find her sitting on the porch, a tiny woman in a rocking chair, wrapped in one of her heavy scarves.
“You are here, mi querido niño,” she beams.
She’s the only person alive who can call me that and breathe freely afterward.
I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Hola, Abuela.”
She fusses over me, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulders, checking if I’ve eaten, asking if I’ve slept. The usual. I indulge her because she’s earned it. Then she sends me to Fira de Santa Llúcia to pick up some handmade items she claimed to “forget” to buy earlier.
Walking through the market, surrounded by decorations, music, and the smell of roasted chestnuts, I should feel relaxed.
But then… something shifts
A pull.
Like my body recognizes a presence before my eyes confirm it.
And there she is.
Mathilda.
Laughing, with three women and a man. My eyes locks onto the man instantly, and a violent, territorial rage sparks in my chest.
Mine.
She hasn’t even noticed me yet. But I notice everything. The slight bags under her eyes. The way her shoulders slump with exhaustion but her smile seem too genuine
She didn’t sleep after leaving me. Good.
She should feel the weight of it.
As fate, or maybe the universe, would have it, they walk straight toward me. I clear my throat deliberately. She freezes mid-step, turns, and her eyes widen.
An “oh” slips out of her.
Good.
“Hi,” I say, voice low. “Remember me?”
“Uhmm… hi… Lorenzo.” She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
One of the older women, her mother, clearly steps forward with a warm smile.
“Mathilda, won’t you introduce us to your friend?”
My lawyer looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
“Ma, this is Lorenzo. A… friend from work. Lorenzo, meet my mom, my two sisters and my brother-in-law.” She gestures to the man beside her.
Friend from work.
I let her have that lie. For now.
I shake hands, polite enough. Her mother insists I attend Mathilda’s welcome-home gathering, and before Mathilda can object, I say:
“Yes, ma’am. I’d be honored.”
The glare Mathilda sends me could kill a weaker man.
I enjoy it.
Her mother forces Mathilda's phone into my hands so she can give me the address and even a blind man can see Mathilda hates every second of it.
But I love every second of it.
This is happening sooner than I planned, but I wasn’t going to let her go anyway.
An hour after I’m back at Abuela’s, a message pops up her street and number.
At the same moment, Rafael calls.
“Boss, the documents are ready.”
I smile.
Life is handing everything to me today.
I grab my coat, tell Abuela I’ll be back for dinner, and head out.
I’m going to see my woman.
And this time?
She won’t escape like the wind.
- Writer
