Chapter Ten
1149 Words
It started with the scent of cinnamon and rum punch, the laughter of old tías echoing against the courtyard walls, and the undeniable warmth of a Parisian night saturated with Carribean joy. Yesenia had just stepped away from Maya’s dance circle, heart still echoing the rhythm of merengue and the feel of Javier’s hand around her waist. She needed a moment—a breath—before the weight of eyes and whispers pulled her under again.
She didn’t make it far before she was surrounded.
Maritza, Dulce, and two other girls from high school clustered around her with the practiced ease of those who’d made gossip a sport. Their perfume was heavy, their earrings louder, and their curiosity sharper than ever.
"Well, well, look who glowed up," Maritza said, eyeing Yesenia’s silk dress. "Still making sweets and stealing hearts, huh?"
Yesenia took a sip of punch and offered a polite smile. "Only the hearts that deserve it. The rest get burnt sugar."
Dulce leaned in, eyes sharp. "And Javier Santiago? Dancing like that? People are talking."
Yesenia tilted her head, unbothered. "Are they now?"
"They say you’re still sweet on him," one of the others added, twisting a gold hoop between manicured fingers. "That you never got over it."The group burst into giggles, high-pitched and juvenile, like a memory turned sour.
But something in Yesenia’s chest clenched.
She forced a slow breath, keeping her tone light. "Funny," Yesenia replied, voice low, sweet. "I was just wondering the same thing about him." That earned a pause. A flicker of something between awe and resentment.
Dulce recovered quickly, her lips curling in amusement. "You always did have a sharp tongue—and a sharper presence."
"Always folding under pressure—loud, dramatic, and gone the second things got too hot to handle." The laughter came then, sharper, less rehearsed. She felt it now—that burn under her skin. Not from their words. From the weight of his gaze. She didn’t have to look to know. She could feel him watching. Every inch of her body was aware of him, of the slight change in the air, the charge between them like a current. Her heart thudded a little harder in her chest.
They moved on to safer topics, easier memories. But not for long.
“It’s a shame what happened to your brother,” Maritza said suddenly, her voice coated in faux sympathy. “He used to be so full of life before... everything.”
The air shifted.
“And Zenaida,” Dulce added. “She just left. Didn’t even look back. I heard she hasn’t stepped foot in the neighborhood since his funeral.”
Yesenia’s glass paused mid-sip. From the corner of her eye, she saw Javier talking to Analucia—smiling, relaxed, nothing out of place. There was nothing between them, and she knew it. But still, the sight struck a nerve. Not because she suspected anything—no, never that—but because after all these years, after everything, he’d never really let her move on. And deep down, maybe she hadn’t wanted to. Maybe the problem wasn’t that she was still chasing him. Maybe it was that he’d always made it impossible to let go.
Jealousy rose, quiet but sharp.
She faced the girls fully, voice steady.
“Zenaida did what she had to do,” she said. “Grief doesn’t wear the same shoes for everyone.”
“Well, sure,” Maritza pushed, “but abandoning her family? Her roots?”
“You call it abandoning,” Yesenia said, meeting her eyes. “I call it surviving. And no one gets to judge what that costs a person.”
A hush settled. The kind that happens when truth bites down hard.
“She loved Ricardo,” Yesenia added, softer now. “She just couldn’t save him.”
No one had anything to say to that.
The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of roasted pork and crushed gardenia. Laughter floated across the courtyard like the ghost of something easier, something lighter. But within this circle, a hush clung to Yesenia’s skin like humidity—too close, too heavy.
She excused herself a few minutes later, chin high, breath shallow, slipping through the crowd with the precision of someone trying not to splinter. She wasn’t sure if she needed air or just distance from the part of herself that still ached.
But distance was a myth.
He was already there.
Javier stepped into her path with the ease of a man who knew he didn’t need permission. Two glasses in hand, smile effortless—too effortless—but his eyes? Those held questions, sharp and unspoken.
He offered her a drink. She took it without hesitation.
“I’m fine,” she said, before he could get a word in.
“I know,” he murmured. His voice had that low, slow rhythm—like something meant to be listened to with your eyes closed. “But I know what you sound like when you're lying.”
He stood too close. Always too close. And her body responded like it hadn’t learned a single lesson. Her skin buzzed beneath the weight of his nearness.
“People talk,” she muttered, trying for nonchalance, swirling her drink.
“They do,” he said, gaze steady. “But most of them just talk to hear their own voice. Doesn’t mean they know shit.”
She glanced sideways toward the patio. “Apparently, there’s a wager now. On when you’ll make an honest woman out of me.”
His lips quirked, slow and deliberate. “That so?”
“Mmhmm.” Her tone was casual, but her heart stuttered. “Supposedly, it’s written in the stars. Javier Santiago—fated to domesticate the neighborhood scandal.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound low, edged with something darker. "That’s what they think?"
“Some of them,” she said, chin raised, eyes glinting. “Others think I’m still chasing you—like I’ve never known when to stop.”
His smile dipped, shadowed with something heavier. "If I’ve stayed, it’s because I never wanted to run—not from you."
Her throat tightened, but she didn’t let it show.
He leaned in slowly, deliberately, until his voice grazed her ear. “And for the record,” he said, his fingers brushing the inside of her wrist, “you’ve been a woman since the day I realized I couldn’t look at you without wanting more. You’ve been mine long before either of us had the courage to admit it. Doesn’t mean I deserve you.”
Yesenia’s breath caught, sharp and involuntary.
She turned away too quickly, but his presence stayed. A question in the air. A dare beneath her skin.
“And if we’re talking fate?” he added, voice softer now, meant only for her. “I don’t bet.”
- Writer
