The invitation came two days later.
Mateo was stretched out beside me on the couch, one arm draped lazily around my shoulders, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on my arm. The quiet between us felt earned.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
I lifted my head slightly. “That sentence never leads to anything casual.”
He smiled. “I promise not to propose. Or move in. Or introduce you as my wife.”
“That’s… comforting,” I replied dryly.
“There’s a charity gala next week,” he continued. “Team event. Sponsors. Cameras. Fancy people pretending to enjoy small talk.”
My body stiffened immediately.
He noticed.
“Hey,” he said gently, kissing my temple. “This isn’t a trap. No one’s waiting behind a curtain with a microphone.”
I exhaled despite myself. “That was my mental image.”
“I
