Page 31 of Entangled With You
Thanks, ladies. Now the question is: what the fuck do we do about Romina?
Noelia
We keep playing the best we can. She can say all the shit she wants, but if we keep winning, there’s no way anyone will believe her.
I’m not too sure about that, but I don’t want to go the legal route while we’re in the middle of the tournament. That would take our focus off the game, and I wouldn’t give Romina the pleasure to see us fail.
Cata
Sounds good. Let’s show her and everyone else what we are made of!
Stefa
Fuck yes!
Emma
Golden Warriors, bitches.
Noelia
OK, OK. Go rest. See you all Friday.
With all this Romina drama, I totally forgot I’m meeting Matías tomorrow. Holy hell, my life has suddenly turned into a novela. There’s a villain, a hero who I need to grovel to tomorrow, and a damsel in distress who needs no saving because she’s badass enough to save herself. I cringe at my thoughts, “Who in their right mind thinks about themselves in the third person?” I say out loud. Tinta lifts his head out of the blankie, looks at me, and then readjusts his position. I chuckle, “You’re right, Furball. Your mama is cray.”
Taking a last look at the full length mirror in my room, I wink at myself, and spray a little bit of perfume behind my ears and on my wrists. I’m a bundle of nerves ahead of my meeting with Matías in an hour. I check the message he sent me one more time.
Dark angel: I’ll see you Thursday at five o'clock at Recoleta.
He has been less chatty this week. I wonder what went down in Chile or if it’s simply that his job has been busier than usual. Giving a peck to Tinta on my way out, I head to the bakery Matías suggested. Calling the place a bakery is actually not accurate; it’s so much more than that. From what I was able to find online, La Recoleta is a place to eat fancy snacks. Like an English tea room, it’s regal and beautiful. It was originally founded in 1912, and it was recently acquired by a famous chef who restored it to its original grandeur. I’ve never been there before, but all the hor d'oeuvres I saw online look amazing. If only I was going there to actually enjoy the food and the experience, and not to break my heart or Matías’. Or both.
I get there half an hour before our meeting time and ask for a table that’s easy to spot from the entrance. I sit with my back to the door, that way, he won’t recognize me until he’s in front of me.
Milena: Hola! I’m wearing a gold dress with flowers, and my hair is loose in waves. I’m already seated.
His response comes within seconds.
Dark angel: Perfect, I just parked. On my way.
My hands start sweating, and I try to breath slowly to calm down. I really didn’t think this through. I sense him before I see him—I can feel eyes on me. I don’t turn around, but the moment a shadow forms at my side, I take a deep breath, and look up. The moment our gazes lock, my life flashes before my eyes. Matías’ beautiful face has turned from excitement to shock. His tan skin is as pale as a ghost, and the bouquet of flowers he was holding is now on the floor.
“Hola,” I say with a little wave, but I scream internally. Hola? I almost just said surprise! Ugh, my brain isn’t functioning, and I think Matías’ isn’t either. He’s just rooted to the spot. He’s wearing black boots, dark wash jeans, and a black leather jacket that gives him a mysterious vibe. This man is so delicious, I’m praying he’ll find it in his heart to understand why I never told him it was me chatting with him.
“What are you doing here?” His low voice and flat tone take me out of my thoughts, and I stammer as I try to answer.
“I… I… I’m Cattleya. I mean, my full name is Cattleya Milena.”
Matías is immobile, staring at me. I can see his hands forming fists but other than that, nothing. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing.
“Please take a seat, Matías. Let me explain,” I say in a low voice, my eyes pleading with him. After a few excruciating minutes, he finally sits across from me. A waiter approaches and hands us menus, but Matías cuts him short when he’s about to explain the specials.
“We’ll just have water.” The waiter rushes to leave us alone. I make a mental note to leave a huge tip.
“So you knew all along it was me?” Matías asks, incredulous.
I close my eyes, not being able to look him in his. Here goes nothing. “I did. Your profile picture gave you away, and then you told me your real name. It was impossible for me not to know it was you.” He twists his fingers, clearly trying to contain himself.
“And why didn't you tell me it was you? Do you realize the guilt that has been eating at me all these years? How many times I wanted to reach out and couldn’t because I thought you would never want to see my sorry ass again?”