by J Q Anderson
“That makes no sense,” I said.
“Let me put it another way,” he said more impatiently. “As it is now, things will never be smooth in your relationship. The family business will always interfere. Haven’t you noticed by now? Don Martín will never allow Sebastián to leave the docks if he thinks he’s being influenced by someone else, especially a woman. Sorry.” He shrugged. “I know it sounds chauvinistic. But that’s how things are.”
“I still don’t know what you want from me.”
“For the moment you have to cut all ties with Sebastián. Don Martín has to be sure you’re no longer in the picture.”
“What? No, besides, Sebastián will never go along with that.”
“You’re right,” he said, nodding like he had already thought of everything. “There’s only one way Sebastián will let you distance yourself.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ve got to convince him that’s what you need. Tell him you don’t feel safe.”
“What? Why?”
“The Medinas saw you the day you and Sebastián delivered the soccer uniforms. They’re not happy Sebastián no longer wants to mediate between them and Don Martín. They’re dangerous and Sebastián knows it. If you tell him you don’t feel safe, he’ll immediately distance himself to protect you, trust me.”
Trust you? I scowled. “I won’t become Carolina, if that’s what you mean. That’s so…fucking manipulative.”
“I know you care about him,” he said calmly. “I’m going back to Germany in a few days. There’s a group of investors there that could secure things for us at the studio. Until then, I need Sebastián to be in Buenos Aires to handle the shipments for his father and the Medinas. Once that’s on track, we’ll find a replacement and he can start backing out. The Medinas will be more agreeable once their business is secure. But, like I said, you can’t be involved.”
“I don’t want to be involved.” I grabbed my bag, but he stopped me.
“You’re a distraction. We can’t risk going to war with the Medinas. And it’s not just them. There are others who won’t like Sebastián leaving. You and your family will be in danger too.”
It was as if he had kicked me in the gut. My family? Fuck. “I don’t know what the hell you think I can do.”
“This is not a game. Do whatever you need to do. Leave him if you have to.”
I drew in a sharp breath. His deep green eyes seemed bottomless, holding dark secrets that would never see the light. The message was clear: I order, you bow. This was the businessman even the Russians feared. A King of Midnight bullying me into his plan, or Don Martín’s plan, or the Medinas’, or whoever the fuck’s. It didn’t matter. I clenched my teeth.
“This is not just about Sebastián, is it? It’s about you too. Is it a power thing? You want your own kingdom?”
His expression hardened. “Sebastián and I have been friends since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Don’t you dare question my motives, girl.” His words came out like a whip, as if he had slapped me. For the first time, he had lost his cool. Every cell in him radiated ire: his eyes, his jaw, his mouth, the way his eyebrows furrowed together. He looked away, then back at me. The anger had vanished, but the fire in his eyes flickered, pinning me to my seat. “I’ll be fine no matter what. I’ve got enough money and contacts to start over if it comes to that. But Sebastián will risk everything if he goes against his father before the midnight shipments are in.” His frown deepened. “You love him. You have to help.”
“I have to go.” I pushed my chair back and shouldered my bag. Santi finally appeared with my smoothie.
“Thank you,” I murmured, grabbing it. Without looking at Julián, I dove into the crowd, letting it swallow me.
I felt like throwing up all day and couldn’t concentrate. In the evening, instead of going home, I took a taxi to Sebastián’s house. He was sitting under the pergola, strumming the chords of his guitar absentmindedly. The beautiful melody filled the air, somber, mournful, mirroring my mood. The weight of the conversation with Julián pushed down on my shoulders, seeping into every muscle like ink.
“Hey.” I kissed his head and sank into a chair beside him.
He smiled and put the guitar down.
“I thought you weren’t coming tonight. I would have picked you up.”
I wasn’t…but I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” His hand reached for mine and enveloped it. Suddenly I felt small, fragile. “You look beat, sweetheart. Want to go to bed?”
“Yes, that sounds great.” I studied our interlaced fingers. Olive against sand.
“Did you eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Camila, you’ve got to eat, babe. You’ve lost weight.”
“Please. I’m bone-tired. I’ll eat breakfast before we leave tomorrow. I promise.”
He stood and pulled me into his arms. I inhaled him: Heaven, sunshine, fresh laundry. My own personal oasis. I blinked tears that stung. How could I ever walk away from him? I pressed my face against his chest and squeezed him hard, unable to control the sobs that escaped.
“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. I’m just…so tired.”
His arms around me tightened. “Things will get better, baby. Don’t cry. I’ve got you.”
I cried harder, realizing how much I wanted that to be true. But Julián’s words had tormented me all afternoon. I knew Sebastián would selflessly give up whatever it took to be with me. He would face his father and possibly lose his studio. I couldn’t let that happen. Maybe Julián was right and this time it was I who had to protect him. But the idea of letting him go felt like ripping my heart out. I exhaled against his chest, too tired to think, relishing that one moment of perfect peace between us.
“You look like the Ice Queen.” Sebastián smiled. We were in his bed, me dozing off in front of the TV while he shuffled through work papers. Ice packs plastered my ankles, feet, and knees.
“More like the abominable snowman,” I muttered. “I’m in so much pain. My feet bleed constantly, and my ankle feels like I sprained it.”
“Have you?”
“No, it’s the same old injury.”
Putting his papers down, he reached down to kiss my temple. “I know a way to make you forget about the pain,” he whispered.
“Really?” I snapped. “Why do men always think sex fixes everything? The last thing I need right now is sex!” I readjusted my pillow and groaned.
He said nothing and went back to his papers.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just so damned tired.”
He nodded in understanding. “Anything I can do?”
I shook my head. He caressed my face, shoulder, then the length of my arm. Pulling the covers, he reached for my feet and moved down on the bed so he could give me a foot massage. His deft fingers worked gently around my blisters, slowly, diffusing the tension knotted in my battered feet. I closed my eyes and gave in to the heavenly sensation. Tears spilled before I realized. Fuck, I was crying again? I hated feeling this vulnerable. He pressed a soft kiss on the bottom of my foot, kissed the other, then scooted up and wrapped himself around me. We stayed like that in silence. I felt safe, loved. Then an image of Julián barged into my mind. You love him. You have to help. My heart constricted.
“Cami,” he said softly, stroking my cheek. “I’m so proud of you. Of how hard you’re fighting after your dream. You inspire me.” I opened my eyes, and there was so much love in his expression.
Fuck Julián.
Kicking away the ice packs, I crawled onto his lap. “I love you, Sebastián. So much. I want you to know that.”
“I love you too.”
I tangled my fingers in his hair, ravaging his mouth. I kissed him with abandon, every part of me aching for him. A low groan vibrated deep in his throat. Our teeth clinked together, and I wanted that mouth on me everywhere. He lay back on the
bed, adjusting me on top of him. I slid one leg between his, grinding against his thigh. His hands caressed my sides and my backside, exploring, kneading, memorizing every inch of me like it was the first time. I moaned as he peeled off my panties and stripped me of my camisole. His hands found my breasts and kneaded them softly. I seized his mouth again, rubbing my chin against his soft stubble. Consume me, I thought. Make me yours. Over and over.
Our bodies exchanged breaths, moans, growls. I melted in his hands as he possessed me, devoured me. I kissed the rippled lines of his stomach, following the happy trail down, the perfect V between his hipbones, then took him in my mouth, my tongue wrapping around the smooth silk. I looked up at him from under my lashes and imprinted his expression in my memory: eyes half open, mouth slack, surrendered. It made me giddy, drunk with power. I wanted to make him mine too. I swirled my tongue around and around, my lips shielding my teeth as I took him deeper into my mouth, and he let out a low growl. He was so beautiful. My king. And I couldn’t help wanting more. I wanted everything.
“Camila, babe. Fuck.” He tangled his hands in my hair, clenching it. I smiled and released him, then climbed back over the planes of his hard, chiseled body.
He clasped my hips and lowered me onto him. Slowly. Oh, so slow, making me feel every inch of him as he pushed deeper inside me. I threw my head back, riding him while he guided me. I moved faster, seeking the precious friction, and soon, I was lost. The room spun and I squeezed my eyes shut, gravity pulling me from shifting angles. He thrust harder and I moaned, collapsing on top of him, my hair dripping over him like ink, our chests heaving in a staccato of breaths. His heart pounded against my cheek while mine stuttered. High. Drunk on him. I pressed my face against his chest. We would find a way.
As I hurried down the theater hallways the next day, I felt a difference. The energy had changed. Or was I just now noticing? In the studio, we worked in silence, like oiled machines. The usual chatter in the background had faded, and every day we dedicated ourselves to our work and our bodies. The concern about possible injuries was high, so we all took special care. Late nights at the clubs were replaced by chiropractor sessions and soaking in the tub before the mandatory, ever present ice wrapped around old and potential injuries.
I couldn’t attend Sebastián’s social events that weekend because I was rehearsing, one more reminder that our worlds were incompatible, so he went with Julián and Mercedes. The thought of Sebastián at a party with Mercedes by his side or swarmed by other women stung, and I did my best to push it away.
On Tuesday, as I rushed out for my usual lunch smoothie, a text from Sebastián vibrated in my pocket.
I’ll pick you up at eight tonight for the charity dinner. Let’s talk dates for NY. There’s a terrace in Brooklyn I want to show you. Cocktails, sunset, and you. I can’t wait, love.
New York… It wrung my stomach as Julián’s emerald eyes pierced my thoughts. Was I being selfish and delusional by ignoring his warnings? What if he was right? What if Don Martín and the Medinas did think I was the reason for Sebastián’s decision to detach himself from his family business? Wasn’t I? And my family…Was I putting them in danger? The thought sent a wave of nausea. That was nonnegotiable. Would Sebastián be able to protect them, or was I completely blind to the reality of all this?
The realization that Julián’s plan of separating us might be the soundest option depressed me. Sebastián was a businessman, but he was also über protective and passionate, and this could all go to hell, and as Don Martín had said to me when we met, passion can be a dangerous thing if it's not well directed.
Since my conversation with Julián four days ago, I had felt a constant boulder in my chest. I hurried home and dressed for the dinner event with Sebastián, a gala at a house in Barrio Parque, one of the wealthiest, most beautiful neighborhoods in Buenos Aires. I was looking forward to a night with Sebastián, and away from a leotard.
The downstairs bell rang as I was slipping into my heels. I adjusted the gown I had borrowed from Nata. It was pearl-colored silk; long, elegant, beautiful.
Sebastián was breathtaking in a black tux. He pulled me into his arms, and I let the familiar warmth swallow me, lingering a bit longer than usual.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I mustered a smile, wishing we could freeze the moment and stay in each other’s arms.
The party was an excess of wealth. Overkill in every aspect. Giant vases of fresh orchids dressed every table, waiters in white tuxes circulated, offering delicacies and champagne. Contortionists and entertainers from a world-famous circus meandered around the ample rooms, interacting with the guests and performing amusing tricks.
“What’s all this for again?” I asked Sebastián as we walked in hand in hand.
“The Cornú Foundation for Autism. I’ve always been involved. They do a lot to fund research.”
“Huh. Wouldn’t it be easier if these people just gave the money directly to the foundation? I mean, how much does a party like this cost?”
Sebastián chuckled. “It probably would. But this is how charity functions work. The wealthy want the red velvet carpet rolled out for them. They want to toast with Cristal and be amused by the most expensive entertainment money can buy, and in return, they’ll open up their wallets and fund a good cause.”
I looked around in awe. The protocol of being rich. Could I ever get used to this? We mingled among Buenos Aires’s elite, men in tuxedos and women wrapped in silk and expensive fragrances. Sebastián blended in easily. This was a game he knew well, and I understood it was because this was a part of him. He had been born among the rich, spoke their language, and charmed them with the manners of a perfect gentleman. I could see it on their faces, the way their mouths slowly curved up when he spoke, their eyes bright as they awarded him their full attention. He could probably ask anything of these people, and they would give it to him willingly.
I stood beside him while he conversed with an older couple with stiff hairdos. Both had more plastic surgery than I had ever imagined possible. They asked lots of questions about the new wing at the Malba museum, which Sebastián had designed.
“I told your father,” the woman said in a voice worn away by whisky and too many cigarettes. “You see things differently than the rest of us. That’s why your talent is so unique.”
“Nora, You’re making me blush.” Sebastián gave her a full smile, causing her to blush. Mustering a polite excuse, he wrapped an arm around my waist and led me to the terrace. “I want to be alone with you,” he said into my ear. “Let’s get some air and talk about New York before another week passes us by.”
“Sebastián…” I grasped his arm, but a young waiter rushing by abruptly bumped into me, spilling an entire glass of red wine on my gown. I looked down in shock at the ruined dress.
“I’m so sorry,” he blurted. Then his face turned a bright magenta as we both took in the full extent of what he had done. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry, miss. I…” He quickly reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Sebastián gripped his arm.
“She needs a goddamn towel. Look at her,” he said through his teeth.
The waiter nodded, mortified. I almost felt sorry for him.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“Darling, are you all right?” A young woman in a long, black chiffon gown appeared from behind Sebastián.
“No, she’s not all right, look at her, Juliana,” said Sebastián impatiently.
She turned and smiled at him. They obviously knew each other. She was attractive, and an immediate protective instinct awoke in me.
“Come with me,” Juliana crooned in a soft, low voice that was almost hypnotic. “We’ll fix this.” She then looked up at Sebastián. “My brother’s looking for you, Sebas.” She then hooked her arm in mine like we were close friends. I looked over at Sebastián. Help?
“Rafa will go with you,” he said, but Juliana chuckled, rolling her eyes.
“For Christ’s sake, Sebastián. It’s a party. I will take care of her.” She waved him off and quickly towed me through the crowd of guests to a back door. We then followed a long hallway leading to an opulent marble staircase.
“Let’s go upstairs, much bigger bathroom,” she said, gesturing to the upper floor without stopping. She let go of my arm, and I gathered my gown, carefully following her upstairs while balancing my weight on the stilettos. She knew her way around the house, and I wondered who this woman was and what her connection was to Sebastián.
Once we reached the top, she opened an ornate wooden door to a bathroom that was almost as big as my apartment. Everything was white marble. A colossal crystal chandelier hung over us, projecting rainbow patterns that gave the room a fairytale feel. We were in a sitting area with a double vanity framed by a large mirror. A long hallway led to an equally ample room with a grand shower, bathtub, etc. I looked around, mesmerized.
“What a mess,” Juliana said, studying the dark burgundy spill on my dress. “I’ll get you a bigger towel, wait here.” She hurried down the hallway and disappeared through a door in the back.
I stepped to the vanity and tried drying the wine off with a hand towel. Shit, it was one of Nata’s new dresses, and replacing it would surely cost me a fortune. I jumped when the door behind me opened, and a man in his thirties walked in. I expected him to apologize and leave, but he didn’t. He closed the door behind him and smiled. His face looked vaguely familiar, but my pulse spiked in warning when he simply stood there, blocking the way out.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I was just—”
“Miss Navarro, forgive the intrusion,” he said in a low, raspy voice. “I’m deeply sorry about your dress. We’ll send you a replacement. In the meantime, Juliana will get you one of hers. I believe you’re the same size.” He eyed me up and down slowly and my skin crawled.
“Do…I know you?”
