I choose you

Chapter Ten -MATTEO

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since Andrés had moved into my house.

My house.

No.

Our house.

I still had to remind myself of that sometimes.

Two weeks of waking up in the same bedroom as my husband.

Two weeks of seeing his shoes beside mine.

Two weeks of finding his books in the library, his laptop on the dining table, his clothes hanging in the closet.

Two weeks of hearing his footsteps in the hallway.

Two weeks of watching him drink coffee in the morning while reading legal articles on his phone.

Two weeks of him barely speaking to me.

And somehow, I was still happy.

Pathetic?

Probably.

Crazy?

Definitely.

Did I care?

Not even slightly.

Andrés was here.

That was enough.

For now.

He had spent most of the last two weeks applying for jobs.

Not one or two.

Dozens.

He researched firms late into the night. He read about partners, cases, practice areas, requirements, salaries, internships, associate positions, everything.

He had gone to interviews.

Several of them.

And every time he left the house wearing one of his perfectly pressed suits, carrying his briefcase, I had to fight the ridiculous urge to tell one of my security men to follow him.

Not because I thought he couldn’t take care of himself.

Because I wanted to know he was safe.

But I didn’t.

I promised him freedom.

So I gave it to him.

Even if every instinct in me wanted to protect him.

That morning, I was already downstairs when Andrés came into the kitchen.

He looked tired.

Not exhausted.

Just tired.

His dark hair was slightly messy, and he wore a simple white shirt with black trousers.

He sat across from me.

“Good morning.”

I looked up from my coffee.

“Good morning.”

That was it.

Our morning conversation.

Three words.

I smiled anyway.

Elena placed breakfast on the table.

Andrés thanked her.

“Thank you, Elena.”

“You’re welcome, señor Andrés.”

Then they started talking.

About the breakfast.

About the weather.

About how Andrés had been sleeping badly because he’d been staying up late reading.

Elena asked him about his interviews.

Andrés actually smiled.

A real smile.

“I think the last one went well.”

“I told you it would,” Elena said.

“I wasn’t sure.”

“You were prepared.”

“I was.”

I listened silently.

Of course I did.

Because apparently my husband had enough words for everyone in this house except me.

Elena laughed.

Andrés laughed.

I stared at my coffee.

This was ridiculous.

I had negotiated with people who could have me killed.

I had sat across tables from men who controlled entire territories.

I had stared down politicians.

I had ordered executions without losing sleep.

And yet watching my own husband laugh with the housekeeper was somehow the thing that could irritate me.

Was I jealous of Elena?

No.

Absolutely not.

That would be insane.

I was jealous of anyone who got more than three sentences from Andrés.

That was different.

Probably.

Andrés reached for his coffee.

His phone vibrated.

He glanced at it.

Then stopped.

I watched his expression change.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

He unlocked his phone.

Read the message.

Read it again.

Then he looked up.

“I got it.”

I frowned.

“What?”

He looked at me.

For once, his eyes stayed on mine.

“I got the job.”

I put my coffee down.

“The job?”

“Yes.”

His expression was still controlled, but I could see the excitement underneath it.

“The firm called.”

“Which firm?”

He swallowed.

“Galicia.”

For a second, I just stared at him.

Galicia Abogados.

One of the major law firms in Mexico, headquartered in Mexico City, with a substantial corporate and M&A practice and work across administrative and constitutional litigation.

That wasn’t a small job.

That was an achievement.

Andrés had earned it.

Without my name.

Without my influence.

Without anyone knowing that he was my husband.

Exactly the way he wanted.

I smiled.

“Congratulations.”

His eyes softened.

“Thank you.”

“You earned it.”

“I hope so.”

“You did.”

He looked down at his phone again.

“They want me to start next week.”

“That’s fast.”

“I know.”

He smiled faintly.

“They said they liked my academic record.”

I almost laughed.

Of course they did.

Harvard.

Top of his class.

His résumé was impressive without a single mention of my family.

“They’re lucky to have you.”

His eyebrows rose.

I realized I had said it out loud.

He looked at me for a moment.

Then he gave me a tiny smile.

“Thank you, Mateo.”

My chest tightened.

Mateo.

He said my name.

Not because he needed something.

Not because I had asked him a question.

Just—

Thank you, Mateo.

I would have bought another house just to hear it again.

Instead, I simply nodded.

“I’m proud of you.”

He looked surprised.

I didn’t know why.

Maybe because he wasn’t used to hearing that from me.

Maybe because he still hadn’t figured out that I meant it.

“I’m going to work,” I said.

He nodded.

“Okay.”

I stood.

Then stopped.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Anything for your office?”

“No.”

“Your car?”

“No.”

I almost smiled.

“Right.”

He looked amused.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

And I left.

But I spent the entire drive to work smiling like an i***t.

My husband got a job.

His first real job after Harvard.

His own career.

His own accomplishment.

And I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

That mattered to me more than he probably understood.

When I arrived at my office, Adrián was already waiting.

He looked at me.

Then frowned.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You look ridiculous.”

I walked past him.

“My husband got a job.”

Adrián went silent.

Then—

“Wait.”

I turned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your husband?”

I stared at him.

“Yes.”

He looked genuinely confused.

“Andrés got a job.”

“Oh.”

Then he smiled.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Where?”

“Galicia.”

Adrián’s eyebrows lifted.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a serious firm.”

“I know.”

He leaned against the desk.

“And you didn’t help?”

“No.”

He smiled.

“You look proud.”

“I am.”

Adrián laughed.

“You’re hopeless.”

I ignored him.

I walked into my office and sat behind my desk.

There were already twelve files waiting.

Three meetings.

Two calls with people in Europe.

A problem involving one of our companies in South America.

Another involving a shipment.

And a political discussion I absolutely did not want to have.

Work.

Normally, work consumed everything.

Today, it didn’t.

Because every few minutes my mind went back to Andrés.

He had gotten the job.

He was going to work at one of the most respected firms in Mexico City.

He would walk into that building as Andrés Fabiano Del Ríos.

But professionally?

He would simply be Andrés.

A young lawyer from Harvard.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Exactly what he wanted.

I opened the first file.

Read two pages.

Then stopped.

Because another thought came.

For the last two weeks, we barely talked.

Not really.

We spoke about practical things.

Breakfast.

Dinner.

Schedules.

The house.

His interviews.

His work.

Sleep.

Nothing personal.

Nothing deep.

Nothing that would tell me what he was thinking.

But I knew what he was like with everyone else.

With Elena, he talked.

With the other staff, he talked.

With the guards sometimes, he talked.

He had even spent almost twenty minutes discussing a book with one of the security men because apparently the man had read the same political history book Andrés had been reading.

Twenty minutes.

I had watched from across the room.

Twenty.

Fucking.

Minutes.

And when I asked him how his day was?

“Fine.”

Fine.

That was what I got.

Fine.

I nearly laughed at myself.

I had spent years building an empire.

I had influence in places where governments struggled to reach.

Men twice my age listened when I spoke.

Yet my twenty-three-year-old husband could destroy my entire mood by answering “fine.”

I leaned back in my chair.

Was it pathetic?

Yes.

Was it annoying?

Absolutely.

Was I going to complain?

No.

Because Andrés didn’t owe me conversation.

He didn’t owe me affection.

He didn’t owe me love.

He had married me because he believed he had no other choice.

I knew that.

I had known it from the beginning.

So if he needed time, I would give him time.

If he needed distance, I would give him distance.

If all he could give me right now was a few sentences a day—

I would take those sentences.

Because he was here.

That was what mattered.

I looked down at my wedding ring.

A simple band.

Nothing extravagant.

Andrés wore his beside his hand every day.

Sometimes I caught myself staring at it.

Sometimes I wondered whether he understood what it did to me.

He was wearing my ring.

My husband was wearing my ring.

Even if he didn’t love me.

Even if he didn’t want me.

Even if he still hated everything my family represented.

He was here.

And he was building his own life.

Maybe that was the beginning.

Not of love.

I wouldn’t lie to myself.

But maybe of something.

Trust.

Respect.

Comfort.

Something.

I picked up my phone.

I opened our conversation.

The last message I had sent him was from the previous night.

Did you eat?

His reply had been:

Yes.

One word.

I smiled.

Then I typed.

Congratulations again. I’m proud of you.

I stared at the message for several seconds.

Then sent it.

I put the phone down.

Five minutes later, it vibrated.

I looked at the screen immediately.

Thank you.

I stared at those two words.

Then smiled.

Like an i***t.

Again.

Adrián walked into my office without knocking.

He looked at my face.

Then at my phone.

Then back at me.

“Did he reply?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Get out.”

He laughed.

“You are pathetic.”

“I said get out.”

He walked away still laughing.

I looked at my phone again.

Two words.

Thank you.

It wasn’t much.

But I had learned something over the last two weeks.

With Andrés, small things mattered.

A smile mattered.

A thank-you mattered.

A conversation about breakfast mattered.

A message mattered.

A glance mattered.

And maybe one day—

something more would matter.

Maybe one day he would come home from work and actually look for me.

Maybe one day he would sit beside me because he wanted to.

Maybe one day he would tell me about his day without me asking.

Maybe one day he would laugh with me the way he laughed with Elena.

Maybe one day—

he would love me.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

I knew better than to rush it.

So I opened the file in front of me.

Work first.

Andrés had his future to build.

I had mine.

And for the first time in years, I realized something strange.

Maybe building a life with someone didn’t always begin with love.

Maybe sometimes it began with two people simply staying.

And for now—

Andrés was staying.

That was enough.

More than enough.

I smiled to myself and returned to work.