Chapter 3
709 Words
The sharp scent of exhaust fumes replaced the sterile fitting room air as Sofia and I spilled onto the sidewalk.
May sunshine felt jarringly bright after the fluorescent gloom. Students flowed around us in a river of excitement and relief, clutching caps and gowns they’d already collected.
Sofia bumped my shoulder playfully. "Tailor said ours’ll be ready for pickup in two weeks," she announced, scrolling through her phone. "Plenty of time to panic about tripping on stage."
Her grin was wide, but it didn't quite reach her eyes – the ghost of our fitting room conversation lingered.
She nudged me again. "So? Shopping? Celebrate our impending doom… I mean, *graduation*?" She gestured vaguely towards the high-end boutiques lining the street.
"Fifth Avenue calls, hermana. Maybe find something… less sack-like?" She plucked at the stiff fabric of my borrowed blazer.
My stomach growled loudly, a visceral counterpoint to her suggestion. The nerves, the confrontation, the sheer weight of the day had hollowed me out.
"Shopping? Sof, I'm starving," I admitted, pressing a hand against the emptiness. "Like, 'could eat a whole roasted pig by myself' starving."
Sofia laughed, a genuine sound this time. "¡Ay, Dios! Okay, priorities. Food first." Her thumbs flew across her phone screen.
"Let's see… craving anything specific? Sushi? That new Peruvian place? Or maybe…" She paused, tapping intently.
"Ooh, there's a little French patisserie a block over. Mini fruit tarts? They look insane." She tilted the screen towards me, showing glossy, jewel-like pastries. My heart gave a treacherous little kick.
Jonathan had introduced me to mini fruit tarts on our second date, feeding me a bite of raspberry-glazed perfection with his fingers, his blue eyes watching my reaction intently. "¿Qué piensas? Looks good, no?"
I forced a smile. "Looks amazing." I scanned the bustling street, trying to dislodge the memory.
Couples strolled, tourists gawked, businessmen marched with purpose.
My gaze swept past the gleaming windows of Cartier, snagged on the elegant facade of a boutique specializing in bridal wear and froze.
The polished glass door swung open. Jonathan stepped out onto the sun-drenched sidewalk.
He looked immaculate, as always: a tailored navy suit that hugged his lean frame, golden-blonde hair catching the light.
But it wasn't his appearance that stopped my breath. It was his arm, looped casually, possessively, around the waist of the woman beside him.
She was elegance incarnate. Ivory skin like porcelain, waist-length auburn hair cascading in perfect waves.
Her dress was cream silk, simple and devastatingly expensive, clinging to curves Jonathan's hands knew intimately—but not hers. Not this stranger.
She tilted her head back, laughing at something he murmured, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Jonathan smiled down at her, a smile I knew. Soft. Tender.
The smile he reserved for quiet mornings tangled in sheets, for whispered Spanish endearments. The smile I’d foolishly thought was mine.
My knees buckled. Sofia’s voice cut through the roaring in my ears. "Angie? What’s—" She followed my gaze. Her sharp intake of breath was louder than the city traffic. "Coño."
Jonathan’s gaze swept across the sidewalk—casual, commanding—and locked onto mine.
The tenderness vanished from his face like a slammed door. His arm tightened around the woman’s waist, pulling her closer. Possessive. Protective. Public.
The ice in his blue eyes wasn’t glacial anymore; it was arctic. A warning. Don’t.
Sofia grabbed my elbow, her nails digging in. "Vámonos, Angie. Ahora." Her voice was low, urgent, the Colombian steel beneath the sugar baby veneer.
But my feet were rooted to the concrete, just like that rainy night five years ago. Frozen. Trapped.
The auburn-haired woman noticed the shift. Her perfect brow furrowed. She followed Jonathan’s stare, her blue eyes—so like his, yet softer—landing on me.
Confusion flickered, then smoothed into polite curiosity. "Jon, darling?" Her voice was cultured honey, effortless. "Do you know them?"
Jonathan’s jaw tightened. A fraction. Almost imperceptible. He didn’t look away from me. "Business associates, Evelyn," he said, the lie smooth as silk.
"Nothing important." He steered her gently but firmly towards a waiting town car, its engine purring like a predator. "We’re late for lunch with your father."
- Writer
