A/N: Dear readers, please remember over the course of these next few chapters that I love Cordueva to distraction and they are my OTP. I would never do them dirty. Also, please try not to hate me. *smooches*

Chapter Eighteen (Jane POV)

He holds onto her like he never intends to let her go and I gotta say…it bugs me a little.

Lorena Diaz is even more beautiful in person than she is in her profile picture and that bugs me too. She's dressed like a prim and proper schoolteacher right down to her sensible shoes and old fashioned hairdo but that doesn't make her any less gorgeous. High cheekbones, sleek, arched brows and full lips. She's model thin with a perfect smile complete with charming dimples. And it's painfully obvious that she loves Michael to distraction. It's also equally obvious that he loves her back. Safe to say that I hate her on sight.

Having an unobstructed view to their friendly and familiar interactions makes me intensely aware that Michael and I have yet to discuss the details of his Houston trip. He hasn't mentioned it and I haven't asked but now I'm finding myself full of questions. In truth, he and I haven't discussed much of anything beyond how eager we are to have sex again. That is hardly the foundation on which to build a relationship and suddenly I'm wondering if we've missed some vitals steps in our reconciliation.

My insecurity over that possibility is only heightened by my mother and Rafael who have both been in my ear with their unwanted advice all morning. Mom hasn't missed a single opportunity to inform me that she thinks I'm moving too quickly. "You just got out of a serious relationship with your child's father," she kept saying, "Michael doesn't even have all of his memories back. He's in therapy. Maybe you should take it slow." The warning keeps swirling around and around in my head but then I look at Michael and I kiss him and I forget all the reason why her advice is so practical.

Rafael isn't making the situation any easier either. He seems adamant that we can rekindle our romance and that we absolutely should try to do so, if only for Mateo's sake. "We are a family," he kept saying, "We should be together." According to Rafael, right now I'm simply swept up in the miraculous feeling of Michael's return. He is certain that, eventually, I will realize that Michael and I have grown apart and then I will choose him.

There's a bit of irony in the realization that he and Michael have seemingly switched roles in our ongoing telenovela. Now it is Rafael who is sure that my feelings for Michael are an illusion. Now he's the one confident that I will come back to him. But the difference between then and now is that I'm not torn between them this time. I know exactly who I want and why I do.

Rafael says that he still loves me and that he believes deep down that I still love him as well and maybe he is right about that. Maybe I will always love him, for Mateo, for being my rock when my entire world was falling down around me, for making me brave. We have a friendship that has stood the test and I don't want to let it go. But I know now that I will never love him the way he needs me to love him. I will never love him the way I love Michael. And I suppose that has always been our greatest obstacle. Our happily ever after can only happen in a world where Michael Cordero doesn't exist.

Of course, I am going to have a hell of a time convincing him of that especially when he is seeing firsthand the bond Michael and Lorena Diaz seem to share. I know very well that he sees what I see, the easy friendship between them and the effortless affection. Even his parents seem to adore her. And Michael? Michael looks at her like she's the actual sun which also makes my rapidly growing list of things that bug the absolute hell out of me. I can practically feel Rafael glaring a hole into my back as he witnesses all this and that only increases my aggravation.

It feels like I stand there for an eternity watching them together before Michael finally remembers my existence. "Jane, come over here," he beckons with a wide smile, "I want you to meet Lorie."

Well, look who finally remembered I'm alive. I banish the sardonic thought as soon as it surfaces and plaster what I hope appears to be a genuine smile on my face. As I close the distance us I realize that Lorena Diaz is even more striking close up. Her skin is flawless and her eyes are wide, dark and adorned with thick, lush eyelashes. Mateo said he thought there was a resemblance but I honestly don't see it. Next to her, I can't help but feel a little homely.

And, apparently, she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside because she actually greets me with a happy smile. She cries my name in exuberant excitement and then does something I am not at all prepared for. She hugs me. Just like that. She throws her arms around me like we've known each other for a lifetime. I am still in the process of deciding how I should react when she gushes, "I am so glad to finally meet you!" Thankfully, she releases me before I'm forced to hug her back. "Michael talks about you all the time," she says, "But none of his descriptions did you justice. You're even prettier in person."

"Thank you," I reply and my tone sounds a little wooden even to me, "I've heard a lot about you as well. It's nice to finally put a face with the name."

"I think you two are going to get along so great," Michael exclaims with a wide smile, "How long can you stay, Lorie?"

"As long as you need me," she says softly.

Patricia takes it upon herself to interject before Michael can reply. "Then you can stay forever." Everyone laughs at her joke, including me but it is forced on my part. Her next question to Lorena has me bristling as well. "Where are you staying?"

"At the Comfort Inn not too far from here. It's right off the interstate."

"You don't have to stay in a hotel," Patricia tells her, "Stay here as our guest." She presses more before Lorena can decline. "Please. I would be honored to have you stay, especially after everything you've done for my son. I insist."

Lorena smiles, her dimples deepening prettily and I feel like my head is going to explode. "Okay, Mrs. Cordero," she agrees, "I'd like that. Thank you."

"Please, call me Pat."

She's never invited me to call her "Pat" but I try not to be too embittered about that. Instead, I'm determined to keep a level head. I remind myself that Lorena has merely come here as a friend to offer support to Michael during this difficult time. She's not after him. She is not after him. I keep telling myself that over and over but I'm not feeling convinced.

"So exactly how long are you planning to stay, Lorena?" I ask with an overly bright smile. Hopefully, you'll leave as fast as you came, I add in mental aside.

"Actually, I took an indefinite leave of absence from work so…"

Michael regards her in stupefaction. "You did? Why would you do that?"

"For you, goofball. Why else?"

He reaches out to hug her yet again and as he does I catch a glimpse of Patricia watching me with a satisfied smirk. I grit my teeth, determined not to reveal just how discomfited I feel. But I literally have to bite my tongue when, after their embrace is over, Lorena reaches up to affectionately frame Michael's face between her hands.

"Thank God, you shaved that scraggly beard!" she exclaims as she rubs her hands over his cheeks, "I will not miss it in the least!"

"Hey! It was not scraggly!" Michael protests.

She ignores him and drops her hands before offering me a careless smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for this."

"Um…actually that would be me," Patricia pipes in, "And you're welcome."

Lorena playfully elbows Michael in his ribs and he has the nerve to giggle. Giggle! I'm seething, literally seething. "You'll have to tell me your secret," she laughs, "I've only been working on getting him to shave for the last four months!"

"I guess he just needed a mother's touch."

The fact I have nothing significant to add to the conversation makes me feel inadequate and I suspect that is a deliberate effort on Patricia's part. It's as if she's going out of her way to highlight how wonderful and perfect Lorena is while, at the same time, making it clear that she finds me sorely lacking. I can practically hear her say, "I like her soooo much better than you, Jane."

I don't want it to bother me. I don't want to care whether or not Patricia Cordero likes me but I do. I want her to like me again. I want her to love me because I love her son and I want to be with him for the rest of my life. It's a frustrating position in which to be in and it is made all the more frustrating because Michael seems somewhat oblivious to my anguish.

"Isn't this great?" he sighs with a wide, contented smile, wrapping his arms around all three of us in a thankfully brief group hug, "My three most favorite ladies all in the same room together. What more could a guy ask for?"

There is a sick sensation that settles in the pit of my stomach when Lorena, once again, reaches up to caress Michael's face. This time, however, her touch is not playful but soft and intimate. It takes every ounce of self-control and will I have not to go off on her right then. She doesn't seem to recognize any boundaries. In the short time she's been here I've watched her freely touch his arms and face and hands and hair. The way she smiles at him and the way he smiles back at her makes me feel if I'm intruding on a private moment.

"I'm sorry that it took your brother's death to finally get me on a flight to Miami," Lorena tells Michael, "I'm so, so sorry about what happened, Michael. I hate that you're carrying that burden."

Michael blinks back the tears that gather in his eyes. "I'm going to make sure his killer pays for what she did. That's what I'm focused on right now."

"I know you will," she whispers.

"I'm really glad you came," he says, "But you didn't have to do that. I know how difficult it is for you to rearrange your work schedule."

"I don't mind. You know that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?"

"Right," he replies softly.

I am feeling increasingly like the third wheel in this situation when Patricia Cordero gladly worsens everything with her next words. "Michael, why don't you give Lorena a tour of the house?" she suggests and I could swear that she's side-eyeing me as she does, "After all, this is her very first time seeing where you live."

Michael is clearly game to the idea. "Don't expect too much," he warns Lorena with a laugh, "It's a one story rancher not a palatial mansion, so…"

"You briefly lived in a cardboard box, remember? Anything is a step up from that."

"In that case," Michael says, gallantly offering her his arm, "Let the tour begin." Yet again, I feel like an afterthought when he adds before departing, "I won't be too long, babe."

I watch with a thickening lump in my throat as they walk off together, arm in arm, laughing and joking together with ridiculous ease. Patricia chooses that exact moment to lean into my ear and whisper, "They make a very beautiful couple, don't they?"

My expression must reflect the stricken devastation I feel when I rush outside onto Patricia Cordero's porch with the intention of crying my eyes out because my mother follows me. I make a quick effort to wipe up my tears when I see her but, unfortunately, they are quickly replaced with more. Without a word, she steps forward to pull me into a gentle hug as the sobs come. I cry and cry until I feel like there's nothing left inside me and then I feel ridiculous when it's over because I'm not even sure why I'm crying at all.

Maybe it simply hurts to know that Michael actually fell in love with someone else. That's never happened before. I've always been the only one in his heart and, I think, I've possibly taken that fact for granted. Now I have to share his affections with someone else and I don't like it. I don't want it and I wonder if this is, perhaps, how Michael has felt about Rafael and me all of these years.

Once it's evident that I have a firmer grip on my emotions, Mom says, "So that's her. That's the girl that Michael used to love."

Used to might be too generous a statement but I don't correct her. "Yep. That is her."

"And?"

"And she's so perfect that even Patricia loves her."

"I don't think so. She just loves the fact that girl isn't you."

"That actually doesn't make me feel better, Mom."

"It should," she insists, "Michael's mother isn't fawning all over that girl because she thinks she's so wonderful. She's known her all of two minutes. She's doing it because she wants to get under your skin which means she knows that Michael wants you."

"Does he?" I lament carelessly, "I don't care that Patricia thinks Lorena is wonderful! I care that Michael does!"

"Is that what's bothering you?" Mom falls back a step, her expression registering the full implication of what I've just said. "Oh my God…you're jealous," she surmises in a tone filled with awe, "You are actually jealous."

"Of course I am!" I cry in dismay, "Have you seen her?"

"So she's pretty," Mom acknowledges with a shrug, "So what?"

"Ma, she could be on the cover of Vogue! I feel like a troll next to her!"

"You are not a troll, Jane! Where is this coming from? Michael chose you. He loves you."

"He loved her too," I mumble in reply, "What if he still does?"

"That's ridiculous."

"What if it's not?" I fret, "We never talked about his trip to Houston and what happened there. Maybe he has unresolved feelings for her."

"Have you asked Michael about it?"

It's a rather uncomplicated question but I still feel like she just asked me to summit Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen. Although it's difficult for me to answer her, I respond with the truth. "No. I haven't asked him. I…I think I'm a little afraid of his answer."

Mom grimaces. "Wait a minute. Aren't you the same woman who has been telling me all day that you and Michael are committed to being together?"

"And aren't you the same woman who has been telling me over and over that you think I'm rushing ahead without thinking?" I counter wrathfully, "You've been pushing me at Rafael this whole time!"

"I have not!"

"Admit it, Ma! You don't want me to be with Michael!"

"I will not admit it because that is not how I feel at all!"

Her heated response has me snapping my mouth shut in reaction because I don't have a ready reply. She's taken the fire out of my argument so I have to take a moment to regroup. "But you've been telling me this entire time that you think I'm going too fast," I remind her finally, "You said it was too soon."

"That's because I don't want you to have any doubts when you move forward, Jane," she replies, "Whatever decision you make, it's going to affect Mateo so you have to be sure. I don't want you to have any regrets, no matter who you choose."

For the second time in less than a minute she leaves me speechless. "Really?"

"Really. If you want to be with Michael then I'm for that. And if you decide that you want to be with Rafael, then I'm for that too. What matters most is your happiness."

"So you don't have a preference either way?"

"I love Michael and I love Rafael. They're both good men and they're both good for you. Either of them could make you happy. But, if I'm being honest, Rafael would probably be the better choice for you but that's mostly for Mateo's sake."

I slump forward in disappointment with her answer. "So you want me to be with Rafael?"

"It would definitely be less complicated."

Her reply provokes a humorless grunt from me. "I remember when being with Rafael was the complicated choice. Now Michael is the one who could potentially mess up my well-ordered life! I'd laugh at the irony if I weren't so miserable!"

"It's not about what I want or what I think is best," Mom rushes to reassure me, "It's about what you want, Jane. What do you want?"

"I want Michael," I reply without hesitation, "That's never going to change."

I'm beyond relieved when she smiles in acceptance. "Then you should be with Michael," she determines softly, "Tell him how you feel and what you want and go from there."

When I go back into the house, I feel fortified to face Lorena Diaz again. I am also filled with determination to follow my mother's advice. I want to tell Michael exactly how I feel and what I want. But mostly, I want to know what he feels and what he wants. Because, quite truthfully, that is the only question right now.

A quick scan of the guests milling about inside Patricia Cordero's living room reveals that Michael and Lorena have not returned from their tour. I'm not completely surprised by that. But what gives me pause and actually starts a nervous churning in my gut is the realization that Rafael is missing too. That cannot be a good thing.

My mind automatically veers to worst case scenario. The animosity between Michael and Rafael has been gradually building since Michael's return, exploding exponentially once Michael's memory began to return. I'm terrified that their ongoing feud might have reached critical level by now and might very well combust at Billy Cordero's funeral service.

Horrified by the thought, I go racing through the house, checking in every room I pass along the way and steeling myself for the moment when I will come upon Michael and Rafael duking it out. In the end, all my anxiety proves to be unnecessary. I don't find Michael and Rafael fighting at all. Instead, I happen upon Michael and Lorena having a private, intimate conversation in his bedroom.

His door is slightly ajar. Their voices float over to me in muffled tones. I can't really make out the words they are saying but I can discern the soft tenor of their voices and it gives me pause. I drift closer, their conversation becoming more distinct as I do. Rather than knocking and making my presence known, however, I hover just outside the door and listen instead.

"…your element now," I hear Lorena say, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm glad you've found your place in the world. That's what I've wanted for you all along. I'm just wondering where I fit in now."

"Stop acting like I'm going to forget about you, Lorie," Michael tells her, "Because I'm not. That will never happen."

"I'm saying that I would understand if it did. You have a whole other life here and…"

"You're part of my life too. Me knowing who I am finally doesn't change that. You're so important to me. Don't you know that?"

"You're important to me too. I don't want to lose you."

I don't hear what is said next but I hear the creaking of the bed springs and I imagine it's because someone is shifting their weight on the bed. When I lean forward to peek through the opening of the door, I can see Michael gently brushing the tears from Lorena's cheeks. His expression is tender with concern. It honestly feels like a gut punch and that's well before he says his next words. When that happens, I feel destroyed.

"I meant what I said to you in Houston," he tells her ardently, "You will always be a priority to me, Lorie. I love you."

It feels like I've had the wind knocked out of me. I fall back from the door and press myself back into the wall because my knees feel like they're going to go out from under me. I have to get my bearings again but the words pound in my ears even as I try to drown them out.

He loves her. He loves her. He actually said the words and it feels like my entire world is shattering around me. I can't breathe. I can't think. My heart hurts so much that I can't even focus past the pain. I want to run. I want to get out of there and block that whole scene from my mind, that whole vision of the man I love declaring his love to someone else.

But as soon I whip around to make my escape, I immediately collide face to chest with Rafael and it is truly the last thing I need right now. I'm already in tears and I'm about two seconds from losing it completely right then and there. So, I try to sidestep him, hoping that he will leave me in peace, but the instant he realizes I'm upset he won't let me pass.

He scoops me against him as the sobs come bursting out of me and I go willingly into his arms because I don't have the strength to fight. "Oh my God, Jane! What happened? What's wrong? Please, tell me what happened." He keeps urging me and comforting me and stroking my hair tenderly and all I can do is cry and cry. The words won't come. They are too big to even utter.

I can't imagine that this moment can possibly get any worse but then it does. Michael and Lorena step out of his bedroom at that exact second to find me cradled in Rafael's arms and bawling like a baby. Even before I lift my head from Rafael's shirt, I know that this is going to be bad.

Michael immediately starts forward with a, "What the hell happened?" but Rafael staves him off with his hand and a warning glare. "I'd like to ask you the same thing," he snaps, "I walked up and found her crying just now. What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything! Maybe you're the one making her cry!"

"No, I believe that's your specialty, Michael."

Feeling extremely self-conscious and not wanting this to devolve any more than it already has, I shrug out of Rafael's arms because I can feel Michael's expectant stare boring into me. I'm still trying to get my sniffling under control when he asks slowly, carefully, "Jane, what's going on? Did something happen with Rafael? Why are you crying?"

"I heard you," I reply but my voice so hoarse from that my words sound garbled and I have to repeat myself. "I heard what you said to her."

"Heard what I said to who?"

"You were in your room talking and I heard you, Michael. You told Lorena that you loved her."

That is clearly the last thing he expects me to say because he stands there dumbfounded. Unfortunately, while he and Lorena appear much too stunned by my accusation to speak right then, Rafael is not at a loss for words at all. His reaction is instant and volatile.

"You son of a bitch!" he seethes, suddenly lunging for Michael, "I knew you were playing her this entire time!"

After that, everything happens in a blur. I stifle a horrified scream when Rafael swings his fist at Michael's face. Thankfully, Michael ducks the punch. But my relief is short-lived. Michael charges at Rafael with an infuriated growl and shoves him into the adjacent wall. Wall pictures are knocked askew. Knickknacks are thrown to the floor and dashed to pieces. The hallway echoes with the muted thumps and grunts as they grapple with one another. Lorena and I scramble out of the way, yelling for them to stop the entire time. But they are impervious to our urgent pleas as they trade brutal punch for punch, blow for blow.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Lorena cries desperately, "Oh my God, it's not what you think!"

But they can't hear her and they can't hear me. Even bruised and bloody and exhausted, they keep going after each other again and again. In those horrifying moments they seem almost animalistic in their need to maim and inflict harm, Michael especially. His blue eyes are focused and fixed blindly as he counters each of Rafael's blows with one of his own. Even when it's clear that he's gained the upper hand and has Rafael pinned beneath him, he doesn't stop punching. I flinch each time he makes contact, cringing at the crunching sound of bone against bone.

By now everyone in the house is aware of the melee, including my mother and Michael's, and has come running to assist. Several guests try unsuccessfully to pull Michael off of Rafael but to no avail. He's so determined that he just swats us away like insects. Our efforts don't deter him at all. Someone is screaming hysterically, "You're killing him! Stop it! You're killing him!" and I think that someone is me.

Michael can't hear me though. He doesn't register my presence at all. He is like someone else entirely, like a programmed machine that will not stop, a robot that absolutely will not be deterred until his task is complete. And at that moment, it seems like his "task" is to kill Rafael.

He has his hands wrapped tightly around Rafael's throat and no one can pry him off because he's set, like hardening cement and he will not be moved. Rafael is losing consciousness, I am crying, Patricia and Lorena are hysterical and Michael doesn't seem to care. He's not even Michael anymore. I feel like I'm falling into a pit, terrified beyond belief that all of this is going to end so badly when, from out of nowhere, my mother materializes like an enraged Valkyrie. Before anyone of us can prepare ourselves, she's swinging a large, unabridged dictionary straight at Michael's head.

Her weapon hits its mark with a reverberating thwack and everyone freezes. Michael goes completely still for a split second and then slumps forward. He topples over and falls off to Rafael's side in a boneless tangle of arms as legs, as insensible as the man lying next to him.