Sergio Marquina woke up at 6.00 am, seconds after his alarm.
But it wasn't his alarm that woke him. It was something else. Something different… Something different down there. Something that felt nice.
He shot up from the bed so quickly that he made himself dizzy.
He looked down at his pajama pants.
Oh no.
There it was.
An erection.
#
"Please, go down," he muttered at the situation between his legs. "You are severely off schedule!"
He had tried to smother the thing with a pillow, but it had shot back up faster than a beaver trapped in a broken wack-a-mole. So, he had rushed to the bathroom, splashed his face with some cold water, then splashed it with even colder water to force it back into submission.
However, his erection clearly had a mind and a blood supply of its own, and it did not care about getting wet. The attention even encouraged it.
This was a nightmare, a literal nightmare. He couldn't think of anything worse that could happen to him, ever.
Sergio did not just get erections out of nowhere. He was aware of the fact that the process of ejaculation was a biological necessity of his body, which he strived to keep under strict control. He fulfilled his needs once a month on a Sunday morning, in the shower, right after his workout. He washed himself thoroughly after and did not give it a second thought, accepting it to be a curse of the human condition.
So, what in the God damn holy hell of a world was this?
He paced back and forth in his master bathroom. Once he caught the sorry sight of himself in the mirror, he went back to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed like a child on timeout in the principal's office. The tent in his pajama pants remained.
Alright, possibilities. Testicular cancer. Obviously. What else could explain a sudden change in his body?
No, no, no. Don't jump to conclusions.
Testicular torsion was also a strong contender. Or maybe he had accidentally damaged it during sleep?
Yes, that sounded even more plausible. Maybe he had slept the wrong way and unintentionally crushed it during sleep. Of course. All sorts of things happened when one was asleep. He forced himself to think back to the night before and tried to remember whether he woke up at any point. He had gone to bed at his usual time. A paperback romance laid symmetrical to the lamp on his bedside table. He hadn't had any trouble falling asleep, and he had pleasant dreams of Raquel-
Raquel.
Pleasant dreams of Raquel.
Oh no.
He shot up to his feet and looked down at his erection once again. "Is this true?"
His erection did not answer back.
"Staying silent, are we? How convenient!"
He didn't even recognize his own sexual organ anymore. He felt betrayed. He felt stabbed in the back by both his subconscious for pushing Raquel into his dreams and his penis for participating in the conspiracy. He racked his brain to remember what the hell he had even dreamt about. The memory was vague, and it was rapidly disappearing as he pondered. He remembered some dancing. But no, that was real. Was it? The reverie blurred into reality, rendering him freshly unsure of what had actually happened and what he had dreamt.
No, this could not continue.
Step 1, acknowledge that you have a problem.
Step 2, smother the problem.
Step 3, throw the remains in a trash bag and recycle accordingly.
His own speeding train of thought gave him a wonderful idea.
He shot up from the bed and rushed to his dresser like his house was on fire. He pulled out a shirt and the loosest pair of pants he owned. Then he left his bedroom. It was relatively early for his murderous roommate to be up and about, so he headed to the living room. There, he surveyed the four corners like a man on a dangerous mission.
Garbage bags of different sizes and scents were organized carefully in the cabinet under the sink. It didn't take long for him to pull out four bags of equal size and began filling them with everything he saw lying around. Yesterday's newspaper? Garbage. Half-empty milk carton in the fridge? Garbage. That post-modernist thriller he had given a chance last week? Definitely garbage. One by one, he cleaned out the clutter in his apartment. He cleared everything he set his eyes on, including a pair of boots that were off-season by four months.
In an hour, he had compiled a few large bags filled with everything he wanted gone from his apartment. Clear space was going to lead to an even clearer mind. No doubt about it. He lined the bags neatly by the entry, similar to little soldiers about to be sent off to their death. The living room looked empty, like a minimalist widow had just moved in. He then grabbed the bags, two in each hand, and set off downstairs to the trash room of his high-end apartment complex.
He practically kicked down the doors in anger. Tall recycling bins welcomed him with open arms like old chums from prep school. The simplicity of the small room eased his nerves, made him forget about Raquel. Here, every bin was labeled with the proper rules. Cans and bottles on the left, plastic in the middle, and paper on the right. Here, everything made sense. The garbage made more sense to him than Raquel. He could understand his body's reaction to garbage. He did not understand what the hell his dick thought was going to happen when Raquel was nearby.
Certainly, nothing. Nothing was going to happen.
With a newfound frustration, he approached the bins. Just as he was about to say goodbye to the clutter for good, he noticed something was off. He peered into the bin that was labeled as bottles. What he saw shook him to his core.
There was paper. There was paper in the pin that was designated specifically for glass bottles.
The bags fell from his hands and landed on the floor with a gentle thump.
Who could do this? What kind of a mental patient could put paper into a bin labeled as glass? What was the world coming to?
Right then, he heard the bark of a small animal. Of course.
That man with his rat of a dog.
Directing all his prior frustrations to the problem in front of him, he dove into the bin with the demeanor of a man who had nothing left to lose. One hand grabbing a fistful of used cardboard, the other two empty wine bottles, he burst out of the trash room.
"Do NOT move!"
The tall gentleman with the mustache halted by the door, the broad back of his trench coat heaving slightly in displeasure with the knowledge of what was about to unfold. The small bag of fur by his side was quick to let out a few barks of anger, intent on protecting his owner even if it meant getting recycled by Sergio himself.
"What do you want now?" The man turned around.
"You dare to put paper in a bin designated for glass bottles and aluminum cans?" Sergio raised the two handfuls of garbage, making a point of parading around the offensive material.
"So what if I did? They're all trash," his downstairs neighbor shrugged.
There it was. All of Sergio's frustrations from that morning rolled up like an avalanche and began its steady yet speedy descent down onto this man in front of him who dared to call himself his neighbor. It was his fault that his Saturday morning was ruined.
"This is not just trash. It is recyclable material. You can't just throw it all in the same bin like an animal!"
"I am sick of fighting with you over this! How did you even know it was me?"
"I saw the tell-tale signs of dog hair and alcoholism."
"Leave Pamuk out of this!" The man yelled back in a fury.
"Pamuk is a little bit difficult to ignore given that his excrement graces the building's front door every morning." Sergio stepped closer to the man. "Tell me, do you think you're too good to clean up after your dog, or are you just hoping that by marking your territory, you don't have to pay your rent?"
"Pamuk's got a sensitive digestive system!" His neighbor stood back, offended. As though he could understand the conversation, the little dog started snarling and drooling rabies onto the floor.
"Mop up the damn poop for all I care! Get it off the building's doorstep!"
"If you got a problem with me, put in a mediation request with the building manager!" The man towered over him. "And don't think you're completely faultless either. Why don't you explain the stomping I hear every day after midnight? Who do you have staying up there?"
Sergio's mind briefly flashed back to Raquel, her platform boots, and her destructive walk.
"You got a problem with me walking in my own apartment?" He said instead.
"I got a problem with you, period."
"Then put in a mediation request!" Sergio parroted his words back to him. "And don't forget to mention how loud your music is to the building manager."
"I wouldn't expect a man as tasteless as you to understand my Gregorian chants."
"No chants between 10 pm to 7 am. It says so in the building rules!"
"No stomping on the floor after 10 pm!" The man yelled so hard that a few specs of spit flew out from his mouth, a couple getting stuck in his mustache.
"I will stomp whenever I want, and however I want!" Sergio yelled back, letting all of his tension pour out onto the man before him like a thunderstorm. Did this man seriously think he could just stop Raquel from walking?
"I will see you at the monthly building meeting!"
"No, I will see you at the monthly meeting!"
In order to win a fight, you needed to say the last word. Obviously. Sergio swelled up with pride.
With the morning's battle behind him, he headed upstairs to clean out more clutter. He was going to throw out every object he set his eyes on, or he was going to explode. No outlet could channel his frustration. He hadn't felt tension this deep in a century. Despite how helpless he was, he could at least tell that the more he exerted his energy, the smaller the tent down below seemed to get. Even though he could still feel a surge of activity downstairs, at least it was no longer visible through his pants.
He slammed the door closed to his apartment and rushed to the kitchen, determined to throw out his microwave if he had to. When he opened the fridge to clear out more food, he came face to face with a bag of white bread that laid neatly in the corner on a shelf.
White bread.
Right on cue, the door to Raquel's room clicked open. With a soft pitter-patter of feet, she emerged out to the living room, her eyes still dusted with sleep.
"Did you just… slam the door?" She asked with a yawn.
"You!" He spun around and acquired his target. The softness of her sleepy frame only slightly discouraged him from his fury. Slightly.
"Me?" Raquel frowned, the early morning lethargy rendering her immune to Sergio's frustration.
"Explain this to me!" With that, he took out the white bread from the fridge and held it out for her to see.
"Explain… the bread to you?" She asked. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory."
"Ever since you moved in, I have seen you eat nothing but plain bread sandwiches. I have tolerated this folly because I don't have a death wish, but my toleration ends today."
"It ends with bread?"
"It ends with white bread." He marched up to her and shoved the bag of bread to her face. "White bread, Raquel. This? This has no nutritional value!"
She pushed the bag off her face, clearly not liking the early morning assault over breakfast food. "Stop it."
"You could eat whole grain, you could eat sourdough. Hell, you could eat something with flax seeds to boost your fiber. But no. You go and find the unhealthiest lump of carb and eat it with… with…"
At a complete loss of words, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the fridge. She let out a little yelp.
"With this!" He let go of her hand once they were in front of the open fridge and pointed at the second shelf like it didn't need further explanation.
"…Artichokes?"
"One shelf over."
She squinted and looked into the fridge. "Baking powder?"
"To the left."
She leaned further into the cold. "Ketchup? Okay, you can say anything you want, but I don't eat bread with ketchup in the mornings. That was just one time."
"Nonorganic tomatoes!" He yelled, getting even angrier. He pointed at the fridge with the gestures of a wild man. "You eat white bread with stale tomatoes, and frankly, I am losing my mind!"
"But-"
"And I'll get to that bread with ketchup thing later. What's wrong with you, Raquel? What's going on inside your stomach?"
It was in that moment of confrontation Raquel seemed to snap out of her sleep. "That's none of your business!"
"You made it my business the day you put white bread into my stainless-steel fridge!"
"I'm going back to sleep."
He wrapped a hand around her wrist again to stop her from walking away. This time, the physical contact came easier to him. Raquel looked down at her wrist in shock, as though she too understood the mistake of training him into invading her personal space. Now, he was not getting out. He had too much power.
"We're not done here, young lady."
She pulled her hand free from his grasp. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do? Force me into being healthy?" She let out a mock laugh. "Make me eat a proper breakfast?"
"That's exactly what I'm going to do."
Her face fell like she had just shot herself in the foot. "No, wait."
"And you will eat it." He pointed a finger at her.
"I'm not hungry."
"If you don't eat it, I'm going to make your life a living hell."
"Oh yeah?" She asked, regaining some of her sarcasm. "How?"
"I'll start by throwing out this bread," with that he actually did throw the bag of bread into the trash and watched in satisfaction as she gasped like he threw away her favorite pair of jeans. "Then I'll switch your Steely Dan tapes with my meditation tracks."
Her eyes widened in shock. "You wouldn't…"
"Then," he stepped closer to her, leaving an inch between their bodies. She raised her head to gape at him. The sleep was fully gone from her face, now all that remained was the unadulterated shock at the words thrown at her. "Then, I'll shut off the hot water."
"No!"
"You see, I don't mind the cold water. It shrinks my pores," he continued matter of factly. "But you? Don't think I didn't notice how long you stay in the bathroom in the evenings. I bet you like taking hot baths."
She looked at him as though he had just read into her soul. "I…"
"And I bet you'd like to continue taking baths."
Even though Sergio was confined to his own master bathroom connected to his bedroom, he knew that Raquel used the stand-alone bathroom that he usually had reserved for his guests. As such, he had grown aware of how long she preferred staying in the said bathroom. He could hear the shower running on his way to get a cup of tea. It was amazing how insignificant information like that had a way of becoming important in moments of distress.
Raquel looked like someone had taken hold of her favorite toy and was now holding it hostage. Her lips parted in surprise. "I can't believe you…"
"Now," he smiled in pure delight, his irritation evaporating away into the sunny morning. "How would you like your eggs?"
"Go to hell," she gritted between her teeth.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I said, scrambled."
"Lovely," he looked into her eyes and gave her such content look that she rolled her eyes to the back of her head. "Take a seat."
He watched as she reluctantly pulled out one of the stools and took an unhappy seat at the island. Peace. That's what it looked like. Peace was having Raquel sit in his kitchen in silence, ready to eat whatever he cooked for her without worrying about her vitamin intake. The morning's anger was gone in its entirety. He pulled out his apron and took out a carton of eggs.
"You're not eating?" She asked after a beat.
"I already had breakfast," he smiled at her. Nothing she said now could rile him up. He took out a pale ceramic bowl and cracked two eggs in it.
"Isn't it ironic for you to make me eat…" she pointed at the two large eggs he was busy whisking on the island in front of her. "…all that, while you just have a smoothie for breakfast?"
"My protein shakes contain the exact number of calories my body needs to burn until noon."
"What happens at noon?"
"I have lunch."
"Exactly at noon? Every day?"
"Yes."
She sank back into her seat. From the corner of his eye, he watched her desperation. Frankly, he quite liked her like this. For once, their interaction was within his control, and he was determined not to let it go to waste. If he got one chance at making Raquel eat a proper meal, he was going to make her enjoy it, no matter the cost.
"So tonight," he began, attempting to distract her from her forced breakfast. "Anything I need to prepare for?"
"Just our story," she replied. "In case we meet new people. And try to act like you're a little in love with me this time."
Her words made him pause his whisking. He swallowed and continued to whisk again, not taking his gaze off the eggs. "And what does that entail?"
She scoffed. "What? You need instructions on how to act like you're in love? Haven't you been in love before?"
He put down the bowl and went to the fridge, taking out some butter and cheese. "Frankly, no."
"Seriously?"
"I told you," he shrugged. "I've been in two relationships before, none of them serious."
She let out a deep exhale of a woman who had just confronted the actual length of her to-do list. "Just… try to act like you can't stop thinking about me."
Well, that shouldn't be too difficult, he thought to himself. Raquel invaded his thoughts every minute of every day. It was difficult for her not to. They lived together. The idea that she slept in the room down the hall from his was already enough to capture his attention, especially given the fact that she went to bed with a gun under her pillow and Sergio knew that she had every motive in the world to bust down his doors and blow his brains out just to ease her own stress.
He turned to the stove and began to melt butter in his favorite nonstick pan with his second favorite spatula. "Anything else?"
"And try to touch me more," came her voice from behind him.
His attention flickered down to his pants.
Don't you dare, he practically snarled at his penis. Mind your manners.
Notwithstanding the little insubordination of his biology, he felt content with the idea of touching her. In fact, he found himself wanting to. However, that was clearly a result of his own lack of social life. He hadn't touched another human being for so long. It was only natural for his body to crave hers. Perfectly natural.
He looked down at his penis once again as though he dared him to make a move. It stayed silent, thankfully. Content with his self-control, he took out a whole grain baguette and some chives from the fridge.
"More touching. Got it."
The familiar smell of butter arose from the pan before him. He added the bowl of whisked eggs, watching the yolk melt into the foam of butter.
"I told Prieto about the bank statements."
Sergio's spatula stilled in the pan. He threw her a cautious look from over his shoulder, gauging her tone. "Did you tell him who found the statements?"
"I told him it was me," she said. "As we discussed."
He relaxed visibly, thankful for her cooperation. Tilting the skillet, he allowed the uncooked egg whites to flow underneath what was turning out to be a wonderful breakfast. To show his gratitude, he paid extra attention to the seasoning.
"Thank you for…" He didn't want to say the word 'lie', so he improvised. "…keeping your word."
He looked behind him to see her nod. She was halfway leaning onto the counter, clearly still too sleepy to sit upright. Not a morning person then, he noted to himself.
"He's pretty happy with our progress so far," she continued.
"So that means I'm not being arrested?"
"Not today, no," she replied, then added as an afterthought. "Unless you piss me off."
He scoffed, letting her threats hit him like the way the waves of a wild ocean crashed against a rock. "I find comfort in that, thank you."
"Don't get too comfortable. I might start putting my words into action."
"And what a day it will be," he smiled.
Raquel, he found, possessed varying degrees of anger. Surprisingly, the death threats were usually on the lower end of the spectrum. A few notches higher was yelling, pure anger pouring out of her small body enough to make any grown man recoil in horror. Then there was the actual anger; hot white wrath that leaked out of her in such a quiet yet steady manner that her opponent found fear in the pure silence alone. He had witnessed it once in his lifetime, after his second escape attempt.
The thought of the handgun shoved against his crotch sent a cold shiver down his spine. He shook himself out of his thoughts and directed his attention back to the skillet. By then, the eggs were done, and he proceeded to the final stage of his preparation.
"Are you cooking a five-course meal over there?" She asked in exasperation.
"Perfection takes time."
"It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want to go back to bed."
He rolled his eyes at her impatience. But lucky for her, he was almost done, and he could breathe easy with the knowledge that Raquel was not going to suffer malnutrition for the weekend.
Seconds later, he placed a plate in front of her. Her eyes widened in shock.
"What's all this?"
"Scrambled eggs."
"I see the eggs," she nodded suspiciously. "But the rest?"
"Fresh ricotta on a sourdough baguette."
For a moment, she paused, and he watched her take in the plate. He had spooned the ricotta and the eggs onto the baguette, garnishing the whole thing with finely chopped chives. Not his best work, sure, but his own leverage keeping Raquel seated on his designer stool was meek at best. He couldn't risk his one chance by prolonging the prep.
When she finally spoke, her voice came out softer than usual. "It looks so… beautiful."
"The trick is to make it look like it's not intentionally beautiful."
He slid her a fork from across the island. Strangely, without any protest, she grabbed the silverware and took an eager bite. When her lips closed around the fork, her eyelids fluttered in bliss.
He watched her in amazement, not willing to miss a moment of her pleasure. The experience was unique indeed. It wasn't often she relaxed around him. Cooking was his one strong suit that he knew would get under her skin somehow, even if it meant that he would have to threaten her into submission.
"Thank you," he said before she could even speak. "For eating."
Her eyes fluttered open in surprise as though she had momentarily forgotten where she was. "If you did the cooking, then I should be doing the thanking. Because this is… incredible."
He took off his apron like a knight shed his armor after a successful conquest.
"Enjoy," he said and left her alone in the kitchen because he knew how he himself hated someone hovering over him as he ate. Besides, he was feeling plenty guilty about waking her up. If she had a nightmare again the other night, she must not have gotten proper sleep. The least he could do was to give her some privacy.
After a cold shower and the weekend skincare routine, he reentered the kitchen to find her plate cleared and washed, along with the dishes he had used to prepare breakfast. They all rested calmly in the dishrack, having been put out to dry in the unusually warm morning.
#
Around 3 pm, Sergio began getting anxious over which tie he was supposed to wear to the fundraiser.
By 5 pm, he had laid out every tie he owned onto his bed, sorted them by color and thickness, narrowed his choices down to two, compiled a pros and cons list for each tie, and debated over the tone he wanted to set for the evening. Dark blue for confidence or faded orange for success. He overthought about their meanings, checked his astrological chart for that month, and came to a tentative decision on blue to make up for his lack of courage.
However, when he emerged from his own bedroom, he froze in his tracks.
There she was, at the end of the hall clad in a deep burgundy gown. One foot propped up on the shoe rack, he watched hypnotized as she slipped on a black stiletto. Her leg briefly peeked from the slit of her long skirts, then disappeared as quickly as it flashed as she put her foot down.
He ran back into his bedroom, closed, and locked the door.
His eyes flickered to his blue tie. He untied it and tossed it on the bed like it was cursed. With panic, he went back to his selection again and took out another tie, colored deep red.
Burgundy for power. It wasn't a color he associated himself with, but he just could not disturb the evening's color scheme.
Especially when he knew that all eyes were going to be on Raquel in that dress. He went back to the door and rested his head on the wood. Then he slightly head bumped the door in distress. He didn't feel ready for the pretend evening ahead. He especially didn't feel ready to be looking at her in that dress all evening. Sure, her womanhood did stir some long-forgotten activities within him, but that was due to his own lack of personal relationships. Having Raquel around as a constant would surely pacify those emotions in time. However, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to subdue that part of him when she insisted on looking more feminine every passing day.
She was his assigned police officer during an active police investigation that might or might not lead to his potential imprisonment. She was not supposed to be attractive. It was his own damn luck, he thought to himself.
I can't even fear for my own life in peace. She ruins that too.
He reemerged from the bedroom quietly, wishing to maintain his invisibility. He found Raquel in the living room, seated casually on the arm of the couch, fumbling with her purse. Only she would sit on the arm of the couch instead of the couch itself. Those cushions are there for a reason, he wanted to yell at her.
The dusk had stolen the day. The lights were off, and he watched the muted red of her dress against the backdrop of the pale blue sky. The gown wrapped around her like it was tailored for her body. It was fancy enough to blend into an elegant fundraiser but simple enough that she wouldn't stand out.
"Oh look, we match," were her first words to him, unaware of the color scheme predesignated by Sergio.
"What a coincidence," he muttered quietly, his eyes still on her body.
They took his car to the event, having already decided to lay off on too much alcohol as they did in any event. The fundraiser was to be held on the ground floor of the skyscraper where his office was located. The management had closed off the lobby, decorated the walls, and propped up a grand piano on the left hand corner. With the employees barred from entry, the evening was a flashier affair to impress the shareholders. The drinks had a richer taste. The appetizers that flew around on silver trays had shrunk in size but increased in quality. Even the music was gentler somehow, to signal to the investors the elegance of the night.
As they entered through the double doors, like lambs to slaughter, Raquel's arm brushed against his sleeve. Sergio took this as an invitation to initiate their roleplay and reached for her hand, slowly interlacing their fingers together. She nodded in approval.
There was no stage fright this time. Her hand felt familiar to the touch, and he allowed himself to direct his attention to the weaker areas of their plan, such as his inability to lie. Just as he was doing a quick mental recap of his spreadsheet, he heard a familiar voice from the other corner of the room.
"Oh my God!" Agata fanned herself, actually fanned herself with a vintage hand-held fan as she approached the couple. "You two haven't broken up yet!"
She was quick to pull Raquel into a friendly hug, who went willingly with a smile that was growing wider as seconds passed. He panicked momentarily when her hand left his to return the hug, like a child losing his mother at the store. But he relaxed after she stepped back from Agata and neared his body to resume their hand-holding. He held on tighter.
Act two. Here it goes.
"How have you been?"
"We're good," Raquel took the lead. "I am still learning to find my way around this big building."
Agata returned Raquel's giggle with a higher pitched giggle of her own. "I've been working here for years, and I still don't know how to find the parking lot. Come on, let's join the others."
Raquel frowned. Turning to Sergio, she mouthed quietly, "Others?"
"Agata and Agustin are both on the board," he whispered back at her. "They're expected to be here."
Agata led them to the farther end of the room to an area with tables designated for those who enjoyed eating their meal sitting down and not on a cocktail table. Sergio visibly relaxed when he set eyes on the choice of tablecloth. White linen.
This evening might turn out okay after all.
Agustin lifted his drink in salutation from where he was sitting, but it was Andres who stood up with a roar and ran up to them in glee, already half drunk.
"There they are!" He embraced them both and gave Raquel a kiss on both cheeks. "Tell me, how's my brother been treating you? As you deserve, I hope?"
"I treat her impeccably," Sergio gritted between his teeth, unhappy with any implication that he might treat her any less than she deserved.
"It's true," Raquel snuggled closer to him. "He cooked me the most amazing breakfast this morning."
"Hmm? Did you make her the ricotta thing?" Andres turned to him.
"How did you know?" She asked, bewildered.
"That's his signature move," he replied with a shrug. "He cooked the same breakfast for all of… three, I believe, women he courted."
"Two," Sergio replied, annoyed.
Raquel turned to him with an amused expression. "Signature move, huh?"
"Let's just take a seat," he said, not willing to dig deep into his own subconscious as to why he had chosen that particular dish. He pulled out a chair for her.
The music could be heard faintly from that corner of the room, rendering their conversation alive. Once Agata and her fan also took their seats on the intimate round table, Andres ordered a round of red wine for everyone. This was received very well, as Agustin was nearing the end of his glass, and he could not tolerate any shareholders without the help of alcohol.
"So, we heard that you moved in together?" Agata began, initiating the interrogation.
Sergio and Raquel both froze at that. It was their first question after 'how are you', Sergio had already begun to sweat. They weren't supposed to be informed of our living arrangements, he thought to himself.
Silene…
Of course.
"They did?" Agustin asked, shocked. "I didn't know that."
"I heard it from Ariadna at accounting," Agata replied knowingly.
Andres joined in. "And I heard it from that street vendor down the street, you know, the one right where you turn that corner here?" He pointed at the entrance.
"The one who sells churros?" Agata confirmed.
"Mmm hm, that one," Andres nodded. "Amazing churros, by the way."
"I heard he's opening up a food truck."
"Oh really? Do you know where?"
"Wait a second!" Sergio interrupted the conversation that was already tumbling down another path. "The street vendor knows that Raquel and I live together?"
"Can't blame the guy, he gets all the good gossip," Agustin replied in discontent. "He apparently gets it before I do."
"But this isn't gossip!" Sergio said. "It's our lives! It is private!"
This received a few laughs as though it was a very witty joke. Raquel continued. "Anyway, how much does the vendor charge for a small bag?"
"Not a lot, honestly. It's very cheap given the quality," Andres said. "I can give you his card."
"He has a card?" Agustin asked, bewildered. "Even I don't have a card, and I'm the chief operating officer."
"Tell him Agata sent you," Agata turned to Raquel. "And tell him you're Sergio's girlfriend. He'll give you a discount."
"How much of a discount?"
"Raquel!" Sergio turned to her in a fury. "You cannot compromise our private life for a discount at a street vendor!"
She gave him an amused smile and rested an elbow on the table. "Why? Scared that I'll tell him something embarrassing?"
"Oh, I want to hear about the embarrassing stuff!" Agata chimed in with glee.
Raquel opened her mouth to speak. "The striped pajam-"
"Remember the hot water, Raquel," he interrupted her with a threat of his own, placing a hand behind her chair. "I can make it go away…" he snapped his fingers, "like that."
She closed her mouth and looked away. Clearing her throat, she took an unsuccessful stab at changing the subject. "Lovely weather we're having today. Don't you agree, Agustin?"
"Yes," Agustin replied. "In fact, this weekend, I drove down to the fields down south to watch the wheat harve-"
Andres interrupted. "Everyone knows about the striped pajama set and the nose hair trimmer."
Sergio's jaw fell open in shock. No one was supposed to know about the nose hair trimmer. No one.
Andres disregarded him and continued, "Tell us something truly intimate about him."
There was silence.
"Actually, Agustin," Sergio cleared his throat. "I want to hear about that wheat harvest you were talking about. Was it common wheat or spelt? I thought spelt didn't grow around here."
"Well, yes-"
Agata intervened. "If you two seriously start talking about wheat, I am going to scream."
Andres's careful eyes were still on the couple, taking in their reaction to every change in topic. "Well, Raquel?"
"Andres, please," Sergio reached for his glass of wine. "We practically grew up together. What do you think you can pry out of Raquel that you don't already know?"
"I am your best friend, not your lover," his friend answered. "A lover is different… A lover is a confidant. She is privy to a level of intimacy that I can never reach. I bet Raquel knows secrets about you that you don't even know yourself."
With the powerful statement still hanging in the air, all eyes turned to Raquel in question. In return, she blinked a few times and took a giant sip from her wine in distress.
"Andres, please," Sergio came to her aid, though he wasn't sure how to craft an excuse out of the mess.
Raquel slammed the glass down on the table. Agustin jumped in surprise.
"I am the first woman he ever cared about," Raquel blurted.
No one spoke. Sergio's arm fell from the back of her chair, and he leaned away from her to get a good look. She did not return the gaze that sought confrontation.
"Elaborate." Resting both elbows onto the table, Andres leaned into her as though he wanted to be the first to catch the delicious bit of information the moment it left Raquel's lips.
Raquel kept her gaze steady on her red wine. Her fingers ran near the base of the glass, pushing and pulling the delicate chalice in tiny motions, creating subtle ripples in the beverage.
"He doesn't know it himself yet," she explained, not taking her eyes off her glass. "But he is confused. He might come to work every morning and go along with his day, but he always keeps me on the back burner. In a way, he is scared of me. In another way, he is beginning to trust me. He worries, and strangely, he wants to take care of me… I throw him off, I think."
There was electricity in the air, a kind of energy that filled the room and beyond. Her words had thrown a blanket of magic onto their bottomless curiosity. Sergio found that he didn't outright disagree with her freshly concocted lie. Always mix it with a little truth, she had told him once. However, his enthusiasm died in his throat when he realized he was failing to pinpoint the exact lie in that sentence.
He looked at her in panic, though she did not return his gaze. But when his eyes caught sight of Andres, his terror gave its way into understanding.
Andres believed them. Andres thoroughly and utterly believed them.
"Our Sergio?" Agata was the first to break the silence, and in a way, everyone was grateful. "Who knew he was such a romantic?"
"I didn't," Raquel smiled, avoiding his gaze. Then she added. "Of course, I didn't know him at all."
"He doesn't show that side of himself at work," Agustin remarked. "If he did, maybe he wouldn't yell at me all the time in the quarterly meetings."
Agata laughed with him and responded something that went unnoticed by Sergio. Instead, he kept his attention on Andres, who was still busy staring at Raquel with the warmest smile on his lips. He looked attentive, hypnotized even. When his eyes finally lifted from her to find Sergio's, his smile grew even broader. With a ceremonious sigh, he placed his right hand on top of his heart, like he had just been struck by the Cupid's arrow.
Sergio forced himself to return his smile, and it took a lot more effort than he expected. It was difficult to fake civility when all he had was turmoil coating his insides. He replayed her sentence a million times in his head, trying to decipher some secret meaning that didn't exist. She must have lied somewhere.
Because it couldn't have been true. He definitely didn't trust Raquel. He was certainly afraid of her. And he definitively could not take care of her. She took care of herself. Sure, she needed to be cooked breakfast at times, but that did not indicate a desire to take care of someone. That just meant…
It just meant…
He turned to her and watched as she took another big gulp from her wine. It needed to be refilled. His eyes danced around the room, looking for a waiter.
Then he caught himself.
No. No. No.
Snap out of it.
When he zoned back into the conversation, he was grateful to hear that Agustin had indeed changed the subject to work.
"Then I just told him to screw himself and ordered the parts from another seller!"
"The market is so unreliable these days," Andres agreed. "You hire one company and lose your estimated profit with the other. The contractors won't leave me alone."
"I haven't been able to predict the economic climate for the upcoming fiscal year," Sergio chimed in, reaching for his water. "It is a mess."
Raquel nodded and voiced her interest. "So, what do you guys do?"
It was a simple question designed to further the conversation and maybe include her in Sergio's work life, but her inquiry hit a wall and crashed onto the ground like a pigeon against a freshly cleaned window. Everyone paused what they were doing and looked around. Andres cleared his throat and chugged the rest of his whiskey. Agata played with her hair and threw a desperate look at Agustin, who just shrugged in return.
Raquel narrowed her eyes and turned to Sergio in question, who let out a deep exhale.
"Well?" Raquel reframed her question. "What does the company do?"
"We work in automation," Sergio began.
"Yes, we are involved in technology," Agustin said.
"We specialize in transporting goods from point A to point B," Andres added.
"I thought we manufactured electromagnets?" Agata frowned.
"We purchase pre-manufactured conductors in bulk and incorporate them into an inverse reactive current," Sergio explained clearly.
"No, wait," Andres interrupted. "Don't we sell automobiles? I thought you said automation."
"No," Agustin frowned. "He said transportation."
"I never said anything about cars," Sergio said, confused.
"Then why did we contract to purchase fuel in bulk?" Agata asked.
"That was for another project," Andres replied and turned to Sergio. "Remember the electric motors line we did an estimate on?"
"No, frankly, I don't."
"Wait," Raquel interrupted their heated discussion. "None of you know what the company does?"
"We just explained it to you."
"I didn't understand a thing."
"Basically," Sergio began again. "We operate an encabulator that produces power through the interaction of magneto-reluctance capacitors."
"And we sell it to people?" Andres frowned.
"No, we don't sell it," Sergio confirmed.
"Then why did I execute a sale agreement for it last week?" Agustin asked, baffled.
"Agata?" Sergio turned to their head of marketing in confusion.
"My priority is customer satisfaction," she replied.
"Wait, wait," Raquel spoke again. She tried to hold back a smile, and it didn't miss Sergio's attention. "Let me ask an easier question. What does T.E.C.C. stand for?"
Another silence.
"What's T.E.C.C.?" Agustin asked.
"The name of your company, T.E.C.C. Industries?"
"Oh," he sighed, relieved. "Right. It stands for Telecommunicative Electric Computerizations."
"No..." Sergio interrupted. "It stands for Technology, Evolution, and Connection. For the concepts we want to promote."
Raquel raised her eyebrows and turned to Andres. "I'm assuming you have a different answer?"
"Transitionary Electrical Contraptions," Andres replied in certainty.
"And the second C?"
"That's for show," the CEO said with a smile. "It increases our credibility."
Sergio nodded in agreement. "Studies have shown that the public has a tendency to purchase stocks from companies that use abbreviations in their business names."
"That can't be right," Raquel frowned. "People invest in you without knowing what you do?"
"You don't need to do anything specific to make money," Andres chuckled. He ordered another glass of whiskey with a quick wink of his eye. He seemed to speak a private language with the waiters that no one else seemed to decode. "With enough capital to get you started, the rich will follow you like moths to a flame."
"Money brings in more money," Sergio said and took a tiny sip from his own wine for the sake of occupying his hands. "It's a cycle as old as time, really."
"Of course, Raquel doesn't need to worry about money anymore now that she's with you!"
Sergio's eyes widened at the statement, and he looked at Andres in utter shock. "Just because all you attract are gold diggers doesn't mean I have to follow in your footsteps."
Andres let out a rich laugh, loud enough to turn a few heads. "Tatiana will be very offended to hear that."
"Give Tatiana my greetings and ask her whether she decided to date you before or after she saw your profile in Forbes," Sergio bit back.
Raquel snorted. Snapping out of his irritation, he turned to her and came face to face with the utter delight he had been so deprived of lately. He felt proud of his own lack of manners if it meant that it could elicit a smile out of her.
Almost like a confirmation, she reached out and placed an affectionate hand on his own on top of the table. He didn't hesitate to turn his palm up and envelop her fingers in his grip.
Andres raised his hands in defense. "I'm sorry, I take it back. Though can't say I don't enjoy the man Raquel's making out of you."
Raquel turned to Andres with a grin of her own. "I haven't done anything, the potential has always been there."
"It takes a certain kind of woman to see the gem under the dirt."
"Did you just call me dirt?" Sergio asked, unamused.
"Yes, but as a compliment."
"And I assume you agree with that statement?" Sergio asked Raquel.
"Only in the mornings when you force feed me breakfast. I don't see the gem then; I only see the dirt," she replied with a smirk. She leaned in closer to him, rubbing her thumb over his fingers in a loving manner.
He couldn't help but crack a smile at that statement, feeling a sense of warmth deep within his stomach. Lost in the atmosphere, he inclined his head towards her. "That's not what you said when you tasted my ricotta this morning."
She bit her lip. "Remind me. What did I say?"
"All I remember is your satisfaction."
She pursed her lips, and he felt her knee brush against his thigh under the table. "What part of my satisfaction do you remember?"
Her voice came out deeper, and he lowered his own tone to match hers. "There isn't a part of your satisfaction I can forget."
A sharp intake of breath. Her fingers stilling in his grasp. Her lips parting slightly to let out the softest of gasps. He took it all in. Mesmerized, he longed to brush his thumb over her mouth, just to see what her lips felt like under his touch.
He almost did.
"Kids," Andres cleared his throat.
Sergio jolted out of the short-lived moment he had just shared with Raquel and returned to the surface of the earth like an alien. He blinked a few times and looked back at her, but her attention was already gone. She removed her hand from his.
"Let's keep it PG, please. There are children here." With that, Andres threw a look at Agustin, whose face had turned a flaming red.
Sergio reached for his water and downed the entire glass in one big gulp.
What was happening.
They were severely off script. Not that there was any script to begin with, but if there was, he was sure it would be filled with kind smiles and polite conversations about how they met, not the inherent eroticism of ricotta.
Cheese. He was getting turned on by cheese.
It had to be cheese because the alternative was a horrifying thought.
"Leave them alone, Andres," Agata said. "They're in love."
Agustin came to their defense, despite the flush on his cheeks. Some words were exchanged, someone laughed and clinked their glasses. Sergio heard none of it.
Flirted. He had just flirted with Raquel. He had neither planned it nor rehearsed it. And most importantly, he hadn't lied about it.
Oh, no.
What if he had offended her?
His first instinct was to run into the men's room and bang his head against a wall until he heard his skull crack. His second instinct was to throw himself at her feet and apologize until she kicked him off. His third instinct was to keep flirting with her.
Stop it. She is going to murder you in your sleep. You can't do this again.
He risked a brief glance at her, but she avoided his gaze. He noticed her cross her legs a bit too tightly and grab her glass.
God, this was it, wasn't it? This was how he was going to die. He looked around the room to see what murder weapon Raquel was going to select once this event was over, and there was no board of directors to shield him from her wrath. He expected a plate thrown at his face. No, no, not violent enough for Raquel. Maybe she would throw a couple of plates at his face, like a big Greek wedding. Yes, that seemed more plausible.
He instinctively reached over to his own plate and pulled it away from her reach.
"Oh, look! They're embarrassed!" Agata said.
Raquel swallowed and kept silent.
"We're not…" Sergio began, but he was quickly interrupted.
"Ah, calm down!" Andres exclaimed. "Everyone at this table has been in love, we understand."
"No, wait a minute-"
"The night is young! You two should dance!"
"No!"
Agata glanced over to the dance floor. "Yes! It is rude not to when there are single ladies like me who are not lucky enough to have partners. At least let me watch a real couple."
A real couple. Hah.
"I haven't seen Sergio dance in thirteen years," Andres chimed in.
"I haven't seen Sergio dance at all," Agustin said.
The upside was, they had at least practiced this foreseeable portion of their act, and Sergio didn't have any qualms about getting to hold Raquel again. The downside was, he was terrified to hold Raquel after his most recent behavior. He narrowed his eyes at Andres. Would his best friend be kind enough to dial 911 if Sergio got 'accidentally' kicked in the balls?
Unlikely.
Andres would probably think the infliction of pain to be some new fashion of romance and cheer Raquel on.
"Well?" Raquel asked him in irritation. "Let's go."
Regardless of the eventual outcome, he was at least smart enough not to disobey her orders. Akin to a convict at the gallows, he stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and led him to the dance floor that was already halfway filled with drunk executive couples.
For a few seconds, they stood in front of each other, unsure of how to proceed. However, when he witnessed the beginnings of a scowl on her face, he was quick to step up and slip an arm around her waist. Their hands joined, and they began gently swaying to the music, similar to their practice at home.
"Raquel," he was quick to speak, not willing to endure the threatening silence any longer. "I am so sorry."
When she looked up at him, he realized that he wasn't familiar with that version of her fury. Either she was confused, or she was even angrier than he expected. His mouth went dry.
"What for?" She finally said.
He looked at her in confusion. "For what just happened."
"…what?"
A couple lost in their own world danced dangerously closed to them. Bothered with the severity of their public display of affection, Sergio guided them to the other end of the dance floor and pulled Raquel slightly closer to him.
He then leaned into her and answered in a shouting whisper. "I dishonored you."
What he didn't expect was her giggle. "Excuse me?"
"I…" He began, no longer certain of his own train of thought. "I flirted with you."
"And?"
"And it wasn't appropriate."
She rolled her eyes. He felt her hand move up on his shoulder until it rested on the back of his neck. "You are my boyfriend, of course you will flirt with me."
His fingers spread wider around her waist. In a way, the word boyfriend gained him a level of confidence he never knew he needed. It was a word he could hide behind. Lately, his body had its own way of reacting to Raquel, which he blamed on his unusual levels of testosterone. No matter how much he struggled with his own conduct in private, he was grateful for the 'boyfriend' label for any disasters that might occur in public. That way, if he ended up behaving inappropriately, he could escape Raquel's anger by telling her that he was just cooperating with the investigation.
"So, you are not angry with me?" Sergio asked, just to clarify.
"What made you think I was angry?"
"You looked a little tense back there."
She sucked in a deep breath and looked away. "You must be mistaken; I am never tense."
"What do you mean? You are the definition of tense."
"What? Me?"
"Raquel," he chuckled. "You would kill me in a heartbeat if you had the chance. What do you mean you're not tense?"
"Well," she swallowed. "Maybe I wouldn't kill you immediately."
"You wouldn't give me a quick death? That doesn't exactly make me feel better."
She smiled, and his insides melted at the sight. He wasn't sure what was it about the way she smiled, but she had a way of evoking something so unspeakable within him. Maybe it was the shape of her lips. Maybe it was the way the yellow light of the chandelier hit her cheekbones from up above. He didn't know, and he didn't wish to speculate.
"No," she replied. "I can't have you die on me yet. We have a lot to do."
"What a relief," he chuckled. "You'll keep me alive as long as it benefits you."
"Also, because if you died, I would have to go back to white bread for breakfast, and I can't have you come back to haunt me."
He laughed along. "I'm glad you have your priorities straight."
She opened her mouth to respond, but then her gaze fell on something behind Sergio. She frowned and squinted her eyes. Before he could ask her what was going on, he felt her snuggle even closer to him on the dance floor and tried to ignore the warmth radiating off her body.
"It's Andres," she whispered. "He's speaking to someone."
"Who?"
She looked up at him, and her lips pulled into a smile, wider than normal. That's how he knew something was wrong. With an affectionate sigh, she continued to sway to the music with him, but he felt her turn them around so he could also get a good angle of the table they had just vacated.
Agata was drinking a colorful cocktail while still fanning herself. Agustin had a shareholder occupying Sergio's seat, clearly involved in a heated discussion that didn't seem to have an end. But Andres? Andres was speaking to two people, none of whom Sergio recognized. Both men looked ridiculously tall and bulky, making Sergio suspect that maybe these weren't just some regular investors that came for an evening of wine and oysters.
"Who are they?" Raquel asked, making sure to keep up with their swaying.
"I've never seen them before."
They watched as Andres stood up from the table to continue his conversation with the other two men. He felt Raquel's shoulders stiffen in stress. They continued their pretend dance, none of them invested in the appearances they were previously so desperate to keep up with. Andres with two strange men changed things.
Raquel rose up on her toes and brought her lips near his ear. "I think they might be armed."
Her whisper sent a shiver down his spine, though for the wrong reasons. "How do you know?" He whispered back at her.
She snuck in a quick look at the men again before leaning even further into his ear. "Do you see the bulge on the right side of their hip? They both have it."
From over her shoulder, Sergio tried to get a glimpse of the men Andres was speaking to. He couldn't see a bulge, but he did see Andres' expression. With a thunderous laugh and arms flailing around in the most ardent moment of expression, his best friend looked as though he was putting on an impressive show for an unimpressed audience. He was familiar with the illusionist within him, and he didn't expect this much effort in his performance in an event he had attended so routinely in the past. Unless this new effort wasn't directed at the shareholders.
His gaze flickered to Raquel's, who was busy giving him the widest of smiles that reeked of concern. He looked back at the two men. He didn't remember their faces.
"I don't think those two are investors," he muttered back at her.
They continued their dance, though their attention no longer remained on each other. Seconds later, another individual joined the trio. Andres greeted him politely. Then all four of them started walking out of the room.
"They're leaving," Raquel noted.
Sergio watched as Andres reached the end of the room, surrounded by three men similar to a politician with overpaid bodyguards. They turned around the corner and disappeared into the dark. He let out a deep breath in relief. "Thank God…"
Raquel looked around suspiciously. Then she turned to Sergio. "We need to follow them."
"What?!"
"Come on," she began to detach her body from his.
He grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her back to him. "No."
"What do you mean no?"
"You heard me."
Raquel's laid both of her hands flat against his chest and tried to walk away again. "Let me go."
"I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." He grabbed one of her hands from his chest and resumed their dancing, a little too aggressively than before. He threw a pretend smile at the other couples on the dance floor.
"Sergio," she began, her voice already coated in a familiar shade of anger. "Andres just left with armed men. We need to go after them."
"You said we were only attending this event to spend time with him," he pushed back. "You said that there would be no sneaking around."
"I didn't know he'd disappear with armed guards!"
"Armed. Exactly. It is dangerous, and we're not going."
"Yes, we are," she said and pushed him away.
Just as she was about to turn away from him, he grabbed her hand, spun her around, and pulled her forcefully back against his body. Her breasts pressed against his chest, she looked up at him in utter surprise.
"I said no," he repeated himself and wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. "We will stay here and eat shrimp like civilized people."
They were beginning to attract attention. With a groan, Raquel wrapped her arms around his shoulders and spoke in a low voice. "I am going, and so are you. If I'm caught, you're my only cover."
"And you are my cover to eat as much shrimp as I like."
"Sergio," she said menacingly. "Take this seriously."
"Trust me, I am taking it more seriously than you do."
She rose on her toes once more to reach his ear and whispered. "I swear I am going to slit your throat."
"I'd rather die by your hand than have those men shoot us," he whispered back, no longer afraid of the threats if it meant her protection.
Not expecting his bravery, she pulled back to look into his eyes. He gave her a determined look, not willing to back down from this particular point.
"You're not scared of me?"
"Oh, I am terrified," he chuckled. "But we're not going."
He was much too aware of her sly attempts at wriggling out of his grasp. But at the end of the day, he was a man, and she was a woman who could barely reach his nose with five-inch heels. His arm remained tightly wrapped around her waist, not intending to let go. Her entire body was pressed up against his, and it aroused a certain sensation within him.
"Why are you so suspicious of everything anyway?" He shrugged. "Maybe those men were just potential investors. Can't you just let it go and enjoy the event?"
"Why am I suspicious? Don't you think there is something odd about this night?"
He looked around the room. The piano played gently in the corner, providing a nice cushion for the drunk couples on the dance floor. The crowd mingled around the cocktail tables. Alcohol flowed easily. He heard the distinct chatter of too much money and ego. It was a regular corporate event, and he looked back at her with an empty expression.
"What is so odd about it?"
"Oh, I don't know," she sighed dramatically. "Maybe it's the fact that there's way too much security for an evening that's supposed to entertain a bunch of desk workers. Or maybe it's the line of product that was never announced," she tightened her grip on his shoulders. "Or maybe, just maybe, it's the fact that we're at a fundraiser that's not actually raising funds for anything!"
He considered her points, agreed with their validity but refused to back down. "None of these warrant a dangerous expedition upstairs to go after armed men."
She pulled back a little and tilted her head to the side. "You care about me that much?"
"Wait- what…" he panicked, thinking back to their earlier conversation around the table. His grip loosened around her waist. "No one said anything about car-"
It was in that moment of distraction she slipped away from his grasp. Startled, he instinctively reached for her again, but she took a step back, effectively placing herself out of his reach.
"Raquel!" He said and lunged for her. "Come here!"
But she was already walking away from him. With quick steps, she made her way to the dark corner Andres had disappeared into.
"Raquel!"
But she was gone, leaving behind nothing but a faint trace of her perfume. Sergio stood frozen in panic. The soft piano piece gave its way into a more upbeat number.
He was going to regret this, wasn't he?
With a groan, he followed her into the darkness.