"Well, well. If it isn’t our sweet señora on her knees again." Álvaro chuckled.
"Pig," Xiomara growled. "If he cos closer, I’ll bite his hand off. Don’t test , María José."
"Did you fall just to get my attention, or was that an accident?" he said, crouching beside without waiting for permission.
"I tripped on the rug," I muttered, brushing flour off my apron. "That’s all."
Álvaro tried to touch and I recoiled.
But he caught anyway, fingertips brushing against my chin, then my lips, swiping a bit of flour with exaggerated slowness. His touch was on for too long. His thumb grazed the corner of my mouth like he had any right.
"Touch again, and I’ll shift with your fingers in my teeth. He slls like perfu and sha." Xiomara snarled.
"You had a little sothing..." His voice dropped, eyes seductively on . "Right there."
I jerked my face away and wiped the rest myself, biting down on the urge to slap him.
"Thanks," I said tightly, trying to rise.
He offered his hand. I ignored it and stood on my own, wobbling slightly as dissipated
pain shot up my bruised knee. Instantly, his hands were on my arms, steadying with more intimacy than decency.
"I’ve got you, princesa."
"You don’t," I said, pulling away. "You really, really don’t."
Álvaro chuckled, and that grin... that slow grin that made won drop their morals like raincoats in a storm spread across his face.
It might work on other won, but not .
"I was only helping. No need to be so cold. Unless you’re afraid of lting..."
M-lting?! Goddess, he’s crazy!
I turned from him, gathering what few pastries had survived. My hands trembled but it was not from nerves, but from fury. Xiomara was pacing.
"He’s circling you like a fox in heat. You are not prey. Say sothing. Growl. Claw. Maim if necessary."
"You shouldn’t talk like that to ," I said quietly. "We’re both married. To siblings, no less."
"Details," he said, with a shrug so shaless I nearly choked on it.
Was it or did he seem to be... hitting on ?
"Besides, you’re not acting very married. I’ve seen how Axel looks at you lately. Or rather—how he doesn’t."
I froze. He’s going to drag my husband into this now?! Hell no.
But I could still feel the shift in the air. A wound I didn’t know I had began to bleed. Because he wasn’t wrong. Axel had been... distant. Distant enough that the ache had roots now. But coming from Álvaro, the words felt like venom slipped into a glass of wine.
I turned slowly. "What did you just say?"
He took a step closer, voice softening like he was so kind of tragic hero.
"I said maybe he’s stopped loving you. It happens. You know him... he can be cold. chanical. Efficient in everything, including detachnt."
"That’s none of your business. He’s my husband and he loves more than life itself. Now, I said I’m fine. If you’ll excuse ." I hissed, about to shrug him off when he scoffed.
"You’re not. Look at your leg."
I did. It had already turned a charming shade of purple-blue, like soone had painted bruises on with careless fingers. But it was all Álvaro’s doing.
Xiomara and I were so flushed that we couldn’t even heal such a small injury so fast.
Álvaro tsked under his breath. "Should I kiss it better?"
"I swear to God..."
Before I could finish, he reached out and caressed my cheek. Then my lips. Slowly. So slowly. His thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth again, just like before in the kitchen, but this ti he was crouched between my legs, barely a foot away.
I slapped his hand away, glaring. "What do you think you’re doing?"
"Helping," he said, unfazed. "You’re a ss."
"I was a ss before you showed up. Now I’m a disaster."
"I take that as a complint."
I scrambled to my feet which wasn’t nearly as dramatic, and tried to gather what was left of my dignity. The pastries were ruined, the tray dented, my leg aching, and yet the only thing that made my skin burn was his statent about Axel.
Álvaro stood too, brushing flour from his knees and then stepping far too close again. "Let walk you."
"I don’t need your help."
"You never do. That’s half the fun."
I tried to step away. He grabbed my wrist again.
"Álvaro."
His gaze held mine. "Why do you keep pretending you don’t feel this?"
"Because I don’t."
He chuckled. "Liar."
I wrenched my hand back, furious now, with him and his impulsive speculation. Why on earth would this jerk even assu I feel anything?
"I’m married to your brother. You’re married to my sister."
"None of that has stopped us from looking at each other like this."
"How on earth are we looking at each other, Álvaro?!"
His smirk faded slightly but he didn’t stop holding . I wanted to swap his hand away, but sothing halted . It was the sound of footsteps.
Click. Click. Click.
I didn’t have to look. I felt him walk in, like a shadow over my heart.
Axel. I turned.
He stood at the far end of the living hall, jaw set hard and eyes like stone. Cold. Quiet. Wounded.
He didn’t speak or move.
His gaze dropped to my wrist... particularly Álvaro’s hand on it. Then Axel’s eyes t mine. I could see the emotions swirling inside of it. A little bit of jealousy, and anger, but mostly betrayal. And that made it worse.
He looked at like he didn’t recognize anymore. Then he turned and walked away. He said nothing except extre silence.
The sound of my own heart crashing was louder than the tray.
After everything, Axel catching Álvaro and in this sort of position with the awkward vibe in the air wasn’t the most advisable thing to do. What if he was getting the impression that I was enjoying all the attention from these n?
I wasn’t.
Álvaro exhaled a sharp breath and whistled under it. "Well, well. Looks like Axel’s not quite the husband you imagined, huh?"
I spun on him. "Don’t. Don’t you dare."
"Didn’t even ask if you were hurt."
"He doesn’t have to!"
"Really? You fall, you’re covered in flour, bleeding maybe, and all he does is walk away?"
"He knows I can handle myself."
Álvaro raised a brow. "Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore."
That stung. I slapped him.
He didn’t flinch. He only blinked once and then laughed softly. "There she is."
"Stay away from ."
I limped past him, cheeks burning, heart pounding, sha curling around my ribs like barbed wire.
Axel was mad... mad at .
.
.
In the hallway, I found Emilia already hurrying toward the living hall with a cloth in hand.
"Señora! Are you alright? I heard a crash."
"I’m fine, Emilia, just slipped."
Her eyes widened when she saw my leg. "Señora, you’re not fine... should I call the healer?"
"No, no. I heal fast, Emilia. All thanks to my Luna wolf." I forced a smile. "Just help pick the rest of the pastries. The ones that didn’t land cream-first on the marble."
Luis appeared from around the corner with a broom. "I’ll clean up the ss, señora. Please, sit."
"I’m alright, truly."
Marta shuffled in next, her usual tired frown deepening. "Should I bring ice for that leg?"
"Only if you let knit you another pair of compression socks."
They laughed. I limped toward the nearest table and sat, breathing through the pain and the embarrassnt.
"How’s your grandson, Marta?" I asked, brushing flour from my lap.
"He passed, señora! First in his class."
"I knew he would," I said proudly. "Tell him he owes churros next ti I visit."
Louisiana handed a pastry that had miraculously survived. "Still warm."
"Bless your soul." I bit into it and sighed. At least the cinnamon still made feel like María José again.
I thanked them all, one by one, my heart a little lighter with every kind smile and worried frown. They knew here. They loved —not because I was a Luna or Axel’s wife, but because I knew them, too.
"Tell your mom I’m still praying for her leg," I told Emilia.
"She said thank you, señora. It’s healing."
"Good. And Louisiana, has your sister found a school yet?"
"We’re still looking. The city’s expensive."
"Let know if you need help. I an it."
They bead at like I’d handed them gold.
I waved them off, gently refusing the help, and limped toward the outer gate, half a tray of squashed pastries in hand.
.
.
Outside, the sun stung my eyes. The wind kissed my cheeks and tousled my hair. After a brief walk filled with answering to greetings here and there, I found him.
Mateo. The only friend I currently have in the entire world. It was funny how crazy we started. Yet, after getting to know the real him, I couldn’t help but to completely trust him.
I loved him. Dearly. Albeit, platonically.
He was Leaning against the gate in uniform, chewing on sothing that looked like a matchstick, even though I told him a hundred tis it made him look like a second-rate cowboy.
He spotted and stood straighter, brows furrowing when he saw my limp.
"¡Dios mío! What happened to you?"
I held up the tray with a grimace. "Death by pastry."
His brow arched. "Those pastries fought back?"
"They won."
He rushed to take the tray, peering at like I might faint. "You’re limping. What happened?"
"Slipped in the main hall. Ruined half of these. And possibly my kneecap."
He looked stricken. "Should I carry you to the healer? Because I will. I’ll princess-carry you right now, María José, don’t test ."
You see, that was Mateo. He cared about like a mother to her child.
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