Chapter 8: A Dance Uninvited
1695 Words
Lantern light swayed gently above the Monteverde gardens.
Music drifted through the evening air while laughter and conversation mingled beneath old acacia trees. Don Alejandro’s birthday celebration had settled into comfortable elegance—the kind old families perfected through generations of entertaining.
Yet beneath the polished atmosphere, tensions quietly gathered.
Gabriel stood near the bar with whiskey in hand.
And watched.
He disliked admitting it—even privately—but Matteo Arrieta annoyed him.
Not because the man had done anything offensive.
Matteo was perfectly respectable.
Polished.
Successful.
Confident without arrogance.
Which somehow made him more irritating.
Especially when he stood beside Lola with such effortless familiarity.
Across the garden, Matteo and Lola spoke near the dessert table while Bella hovered nearby, clearly entertained.
Bianca approached carrying champagne.
“You’re doing it again.”
Gabriel glanced at her.
“I’m drinking.”
“You’re monitoring.”
He exhaled slowly.
“This conversation is repetitive.”
“So is your staring.”
He ignored her.
Bianca followed his gaze.
Matteo laughed at something Lola said.
And surprisingly—
Lola laughed too.
Not loudly.
But genuinely.
Gabriel noticed immediately.
The sound reached him through music and conversation.
And something tightened inside him.
Bianca noticed that too.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“You know what I think?” she asked.
“I suspect you’ll tell me regardless.”
“I think you dislike competition.”
Gabriel frowned.
“There is no competition.”
“Then why do you look personally offended?”
He took a sip of whiskey.
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
She lowered her voice.
“And before you deny it—I’m your fake girlfriend. I’m practically employed to notice things.”
He almost smiled.
Bianca tilted her head.
“You’re intrigued by her.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“No,” she said. “This is.”
She gestured toward Matteo and Lola.
“You keep watching a woman you allegedly do not want.”
Gabriel remained silent.
Because the truth felt inconveniently complicated.
He did not want marriage.
He certainly did not want arrangements.
And yet—
Lola Santillan disturbed his equilibrium.
Not romantically.
At least not yet.
But mentally.
She interested him.
And intelligent curiosity had always been difficult for him to ignore.
Across the garden, Bella watched Matteo with theatrical suspicion.
“You know,” she murmured to Lola, “Gabriel looks mildly homicidal.”
Lola nearly laughed.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I survive through drama.”
Matteo smiled.
“What are we discussing?”
“Nothing dangerous,” Lola said.
“That sounds disappointing.”
He handed her a small plate.
“Mango tart?”
She sighed softly.
“You are persistent.”
“I prefer determined.”
Bella smirked.
“And conveniently wealthy.”
Matteo bowed slightly.
“I try my best.”
Lola accepted the tart mostly to prevent further persuasion.
Matteo had courted her for nearly a year.
Politely.
Respectfully.
And unsuccessfully.
He knew her answer.
Yet he remained strangely hopeful.
“You’re staying in Manila next week?” he asked.
“For meetings.”
“Then dinner?”
Lola looked at him calmly.
“You ask this every month.”
“And one day you might surprise me.”
“I dislike disappointing optimists.”
“I survive.”
Her smile softened faintly.
Matteo was kind.
That made refusal harder.
Unfortunately—
kindness and affection were not identical.
Before conversation could continue, Alejandro’s voice carried through the garden.
“Music!” he announced cheerfully.
The small orchestra adjusted instruments while guests applauded.
Bella whispered dramatically,
“Ah. The dangerous portion of society.”
Dancing.
Couples slowly moved toward the temporary dance floor beneath lantern light.
Old standards filled the air.
Matteo immediately looked toward Lola.
And Gabriel—
watching from across the garden—
somehow knew what was coming.
“May I?” Matteo asked.
Lola hesitated.
Not because she objected.
But because dancing carried memories.
Too many.
Ballrooms.
Festivals.
Winter halls.
Hands she no longer remembered clearly.
For a second, old lives brushed against the present.
Then she smiled politely.
“One dance.”
Matteo’s face brightened.
And somehow—
that irritated Gabriel far more than it should.
Bianca looked beside him.
“Oh dear.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
He nearly choked on whiskey.
“That is absurd.”
“Is it?”
He watched Matteo guide Lola toward the dance floor.
She moved gracefully beneath lantern light, midnight-blue silk catching soft evening wind.
And then—
they danced.
Not intimately.
Not scandalously.
Simply well.
Too well.
Gabriel frowned.
Bianca folded her arms.
“You hate this.”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
He looked away.
But his eyes returned moments later.
Annoying.
Because Lola looked different while dancing.
Softer.
Not careless—
she never seemed careless—
but lighter somehow.
As if music loosened something carefully guarded.
And suddenly he wondered—
How many versions of her existed beneath that composure?
The thought arrived quietly.
And stayed.
Meanwhile, Lola moved through familiar rhythm with practiced ease.
Matteo danced well.
She appreciated competence.
“You seem distracted,” he said.
“I’m dancing.”
“You’re thinking.”
She smiled faintly.
“That too.”
His voice softened.
“You avoid me expertly, you know.”
“I avoid many people.”
“But not equally.”
The honesty made her laugh.
Matteo studied her face.
“You never give anyone real hope.”
There was no accusation.
Only truth.
Lola looked toward the lanterns.
“That’s kinder.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Because false hope wounded more deeply than rejection.
She had learned that long ago.
Matteo sighed.
“One day, someone will make you reconsider.”
The words stirred unexpected memory.
A different life.
A harbor.
A promise she once believed forever.
Lola pushed it away.
“This isn’t philosophy hour,” she said gently.
“No?”
“No.”
He smiled.
Then his gaze shifted beyond her shoulder.
And amusement flickered there.
Lola followed his eyes.
Near the edge of the dance floor—
Gabriel stood watching.
Their eyes met.
Briefly.
And something strange happened.
He did not look away.
Neither did she.
The orchestra continued playing.
Lanterns swayed overhead.
And for one suspended moment—
the distance between them felt unexpectedly noticeable.
Then Matteo turned her gently and the moment dissolved.
Gabriel disliked the sensation immediately.
Bianca appeared beside him again.
“You could ask someone else to dance.”
“I’m not twelve.”
“No,” she said. “Twelve-year-olds are less obvious.”
He ignored her.
Yet his gaze drifted back.
And then—
something reckless surfaced.
Not jealousy.
Certainly not.
But challenge.
Because Lola looked entirely comfortable.
Entirely unaffected.
And absurdly—
he wanted to disrupt that calm.
Dangerous instinct.
Before he could reconsider—
the music changed.
A slower piece.
Couples shifted.
Matteo leaned closer to Lola.
And Gabriel suddenly moved.
Bianca blinked.
“Oh no.”
Too late.
He crossed the garden with measured confidence.
Lola noticed him approaching before Matteo did.
Her brows lifted slightly.
Interesting.
Matteo turned.
“Gabriel.”
The greeting remained polite.
The atmosphere—
less so.
Gabriel looked at Lola.
“May I borrow her?”
Silence.
Very brief.
But noticeable.
Matteo blinked.
Lola looked equally surprised.
And Bella—watching nearby—nearly inhaled dessert.
How entertaining.
Matteo smiled politely, though disappointment flickered.
“That depends on Lola.”
Good answer.
All eyes shifted toward her.
And suddenly—
Lola understood.
This was not merely dancing.
It was male territory disguised as courtesy.
Challenge.
Ego.
Possession, perhaps.
A familiar game.
One she had seen across lifetimes.
Her gaze moved between them.
Then settled on Gabriel.
And she noticed something unexpected.
He looked calm.
But beneath the calm—
restless.
Curious.
As though waiting to see what she would do.
Interesting.
Unfortunately for everyone involved—
Lola disliked being treated like territory.
The orchestra played softly beneath lantern light.
She smiled.
Beautiful.
Polite.
And devastating.
“I think,” she said calmly, “I’d rather rest.”
Silence.
Bella nearly bit her lip.
Matteo looked surprised.
And Gabriel—
for perhaps the first time in years—
felt unmistakably dismissed.
Not cruelly.
Not dramatically.
Simply—
refused.
Lola stepped back from the dance floor.
“Excuse me.”
And just like that—
she walked away.
Leaving two wealthy, accomplished men standing awkwardly beneath lantern light.
Bella followed seconds later, hiding laughter.
Matteo cleared his throat.
“Well.”
Gabriel looked toward the direction Lola disappeared.
Something inside him felt unexpectedly sharp.
Not anger.
Though irritation existed.
No—
something stranger.
Because rejection rarely unsettled him.
But this—
This felt different.
Perhaps because Lola had not rejected him personally.
She had rejected the game itself.
And somehow—
that intrigued him more.
Bianca joined him moments later.
Her expression radiated satisfaction.
“You deserved that.”
He looked at her.
“For asking someone to dance?”
“For assuming.”
He frowned.
“I assumed nothing.”
“You assumed she would say yes.”
He said nothing.
And that silence answered enough.
Meanwhile, Lola stood alone near the eastern garden beneath sampaguita vines.
The music sounded distant there.
Cool wind moved through the trees.
Bella approached grinning shamelessly.
“You wounded two men in under thirty seconds.”
“I declined dancing.”
“You declared independence.”
Lola smiled softly.
“Dramatic interpretation.”
Bella linked her arm.
“You know he looked offended.”
“Who?”
“Gabriel.”
Lola looked toward the lantern-lit garden.
And unexpectedly—
she remembered his expression.
Not angry.
Only surprised.
As though he had encountered resistance he did not entirely understand.
A strange feeling stirred briefly inside her.
Not guilt.
Not attraction.
Only awareness.
And somewhere beyond the music and evening laughter—
Gabriel Monteverde stood watching the garden once more.
Quietly realizing something inconvenient.
Lola Santillan was no longer merely interesting.
She had become a challenge.
And Gabriel—
for better or worse—
had never walked away from one.
- Writer
