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THE TROUBLE WITH HER

THE FORBIDDEN LOVE SERIES

KAT T. MASEN
 Kat T. Masen

The Trouble With Her

A Friends-to-Lovers Romance
The Forbidden Love Series Book 4

Copyright 2021 Kat T. Masen

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real
places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or
dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this book ONLY.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written
permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book
are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual
content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

ISBN: 979-8788264943

Editing by More Than Words Copyediting and Proofreading

Proofing by Nicki at Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by Outlined with Love Designs
Cover Image Copyright 2021
First Edition 2021
All Rights Reserved
 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue

Coming up next…
Also by Kat T. Masen
Connect with me online
About the Author
 “She was wild. She was free.
Only a fool wouldn’t love her.” - Unknown
PROLOGUE
 ANDY

Two years ago

“W
her muscles tense.
ill you just stop and talk to me for a minute?”
My hand is clutched around Jessa’s bare arm,
desperate for her to ease into my touch but instead,

Inside my heated grip, she lowers her head to avoid my

persistent stare while her chest rises and falls beneath the ivory
laced dress she’s wearing. Jessa’s signature bronze curls fall to the
side as she continues to remain silent. So much of me aches to
reach out and tug on a strand, just as I have done a million times
before. She hated it with a passion, even though I loved it.
But that was in the past when we were the best of friends, and
when we couldn’t go a day without talking to each other.
Then—it all changed between us.
I silently plead with her to look me in the eye, but the longer we
stand here, the more she retreats. Almost as if she can’t stand to be
next to me.
“What would you like me to say?” Jessa questions in a dull tone.
I let go of her arm, running my hands through my hair in
frustration. No matter how it plays in my mind, I don’t understand
how we got here. How two people who have been in each other’s
lives since they were kids can stand here unable to communicate
maturely.
 “How about you begin with the truth? Why you left home.”
Around us, the music is blaring as Eric insists on going back to an
era I don’t care for. However, the oldies seem to enjoy it, laughing
while drinking copious amounts of alcohol. My mother is the worst
offender, singing out loud to then accidentally spilling her glass of
red wine all over Eric’s patent white leather shoes.
I wait for Eric’s dramatic outburst, but he’s so far gone even to
notice.
If anyone was going to throw a party like this, of course, it had
to be Ava. Given it’s her wedding day, our families are having the
time of their lives. Most of them are drunk or in a food coma from
the banquet served at dinner.
As usual, the only one who appears to be in control is Uncle Lex.
Somehow, he got babysitting duty, though it looks like he’s enjoying
his time with Ashton and Emmy.
Everyone is in the best of spirits, adding to the occasion of it
being New Year’s Eve.
All but the person with a massive chip on her shoulder.
“God, Andy.” Jessa throws her hands up in the air. “Why do we
have to go over this? I left because I wanted more. Believe it or not,
there’s more than just LA.”
I cross my arms in defiance. “Yeah, I know, that’s why I moved
to Manhattan.”
“Exactly, you moved away, so why is it a problem that I did too?”
How can I tell her the problem is how she left? We had a big
fight, and the next minute, she packed her bags to rediscover herself
supposedly. Jessa didn’t care how I felt about her, despite trying to
communicate my feelings. Instead, when I found the courage to say
anything, she pushed me away before I could even get my words
out like she sensed what I was going to say before I said it.
“God, Jessa!” I yell, then bite down to control my anger, cautious
of our family overhearing. “You walked away from us like we were
nothing. Then you don’t talk to me for months, and suddenly, you’re
back? Oh, but let’s not forget that I found out you were engaged to
be married through Alexa, of all people.”
 Slowly, her gaze lifts until her eyes meet mine. For the longest
time, the light hazel orbs brought me comfort, laughter, and a sense
of security in a world full of uncertainty.
But now, they belong to a stranger.
“I wanted to tell you in person,” she admits, her voice low. “But it
didn’t seem right to call you out of the blue and announce such a
thing.”
All this hurts more than I care to admit. The pain runs deep, but
I suppress it like everything else I can’t control—my biological
father’s death and the dreams which still plague me when I see his
face even though I never knew him. According to Mom, we only had
ten days together, and in those days, he managed to hold me only
once. His fragile body was too far deteriorated even to cradle a
newborn baby.
The only person I ever confided in about these dreams was the
very person standing in front of me. The only person I trusted with
these thoughts of mine.
There’s no changing Jessa’s mind. She ran away and fell in love
with some British man who, according to Alexa, is the perfect prince
charming—rich and handsome.
The same kind of guy Jessa and I would make fun of all the time.
“You’re right,” I tell her, still keeping my gaze fixed. “It would’ve
been weird to call me out of nowhere. But what doesn’t make sense
is you getting married? We made fun of guys like this, and you, out
of all people, thought marriage was a ridiculous notion.”
“I’m not the same person you once knew, Andy…” she trails off.
“No, you’re not, Jessa,” I responded hastily. “Because the girl I
knew wouldn’t have run off on her own. She would’ve begged me to
pack my bag and abandon my responsibilities, so we could chase
cheese rolling down a hill in Gloucester.”
She drops her gaze, unable to look at me any longer. My eyes
gravitate toward the diamond ring sitting on her finger. It’s big and
no doubt an expensive piece of jewelry, all the things Jessa never
cared for until Prince Charming rode his horse and carriage in.
Yet, it represents everything another man offers—a life together,
marriage, a possible family—all the things I’ll never be able to give
her because the timing was never on our side.
Not when we’re family.
And being romantically linked is something her father wouldn’t
approve of.
“Tell me, Jessa. What does Noah think of this?”
“My father is fine.”
I cock my head, releasing a disturbing laugh with my gaze
shifting to Noah on the dance floor with Rocky. “Really? He doesn’t
look fine since he’s trashed tonight, and Kate is trying to get him to
sober up.”
Jessa crosses her arms beneath her chest. “What are you getting
at? My father has no choice. I love Benedict and will fight for him if I
have to.”
My stomach hardens, the hurt rippling to every part of me at her
willingness to fight for another man—the words, sharp like a knife,
cut deep into an already open wound.
Jessa will fight for a man she’s known for five minutes.
But what we have built over a lifetime is over in a heartbeat.
“Well, I guess you’ve gotten everything you want,” I say, ignoring
the tightness inside my chest. “Happy New Year, Jessa.”
I don’t linger. Just standing beside her is too unbearable, needing
anything to numb the pain. Anything at all.
With wide steps, I hit up the makeshift bar in Uncle Lex’s patio.
The bartender responsible for serving the liquor kindly asks what I’d
like to drink.
“Fireballs, make it a tray.”
Beside me, a body knocks into me. I turn briefly to see Millie as
she rubs her pregnant stomach.
“Fireballs, uh oh,” she mentions, then releases a sigh. “What
happened, Andy?”
I shake my head as my lips curl. “Nothing, nothing at all. She’s
getting married to some British playboy, and that’s it.”
“I’m sorry, Andy. I don’t know what she’s thinking. Both me and
Ava are surprised this happened. We had no idea she was even
seeing someone.”
“Well, now everyone knows.”
 I take the glass in my hand, then throw it back. The cinnamon-
flavored liquor burns for just a moment, but I don’t stop there.
“Andy, maybe you should slow down. If you want to go
somewhere…”
I drown out Millie’s words with another shot, this drink less
potent.
“You know what I want?” I tell her with a rasp in my throat. “I
want to get out of here.”
“Sure, of course, but is it safe for you to drive? How much have
you had to drink?”
“I’m fine.”
“Look, Andy. I know you’re angry but don’t bullshit me. How
much have you had to drink? Because I’m not allowing you to drive
anywhere like this.”
Again, I refuse to listen and throw back another drink. Then, just
when I think Millie’s silence means she’ll leave me alone, I see her
motion to Dad to come over.
Great.
I let out an annoyed huff, throwing back another as he places his
hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take you home, son.”
“You want to take me somewhere? Fine. But not home. Take me
to Melrose.”
“Why Melrose?” Millie questions.
“Any club where I can find a woman to make me forget tonight
ever happened.”
Millie looks at Dad, but he doesn’t say anything, and I don’t
expect him to. He doesn’t involve himself unless he feels his opinion
is of value, unlike Millie, who in many ways is just like my
overbearing mother.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll take you,” Dad informs me.
Across the patio, Jessa is dancing with Ava and Luna. Her body
moves freely with a permanently smile and an occasional break into
laughter.
But then, as if she senses me staring, her gaze shifts and the
smile on her face disappears. I can work it in my head in so many
ways and assume the furrowed brows and drooping shoulders
express the hurt she feels. Maybe the downturned mouth and
pained expression is the regret over how she handled us.
No matter how I break it down, it all comes down to this.
Jessa Bentley-Mason is marrying someone else.
And there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.
ONE
 JESSA

Present

M y finger runs across the tips of the soft white petals.

The beautiful arrangement of flowers sits in the large
gold vase, centered on the table in the middle of the foyer.
It’s a family heirloom, handed down to us on our wedding day by
Benedict’s great aunt. There’s a story behind the vase, something
about it being gifted by a great love on a birthday, only for tragedy
to strike the next day. When it was given to us, I smiled and
pretended it wasn’t cursed, and we were honored to receive a
beautiful antique on the day we became husband and wife.
A wedding day which feels like a lifetime ago.
In reality, it was just over a year ago when Benedict and I stood
in the gardens of his parents’ manor and said ‘I do’ in front of our
family and friends.
The ceremony and reception were a grand affair with Benedict’s
family, friends, and business associates in attendance. Many of them
reside here in England, but a few flew in from Spain and Germany.
As for me, I chose to keep my guest list small, especially because
everyone lived in the States. Dad, Kate, Nash, and Sienna were the
first to arrive, followed by Mom and my stepfather, Jack. My half-
brother, Michael, and his wife came with their two kids, which I
welcomed since it’s been a while since I last saw him.
 Despite my blended family, it worked without the drama. I think
it has a lot to do with Kate. She’s the glue holding us all together
because Dad and Mom weren’t exactly the best of friends. If
anything, Kate and Mom were a lot closer.
Uncle Lex and his entire family also flew over, along with Rocky
and Nikki. Eric and Tristan came, choosing to vacation on the Greek
Islands afterward. Considering it was our honeymoon destination
also, it was awkward when we ran into Eric wearing a gold thong.
Some things you’ll never be able to unsee.
And lastly, the Baker family also attended. All but one person.
No one dared to bring up his name, and why should they? Andy
and I were never an item. We’d kissed once, and even then, it was
done out of anger the night of Austin and Ava’s wedding.
A kiss I’ve long buried because I’m married to Benedict Banks.
“Mrs. Banks.” Our nanny, Eliza, walks down the stairs with a
relaxed baby in her arms. “Bentley is ready for his mother now.”
My lips curve upward at the sight of my baby boy.
Bentley Benedict Banks is a surprise baby courtesy of our
honeymoon. We talked about kids, but I wanted to pursue my career
in journalism before taking on the responsibility of a child. So, just
before our wedding, I lined up an interview with a reputable
magazine in London.
But I guess life had other plans.
Two blue lines changed everything.
The moment we announced I was pregnant, Benedict’s mother,
Rosemarie, insisted I stay home and start preparing for my role. In
ways, it made sense until I found out I wouldn’t be alone.
Rosemarie hired Eliza to be Bentley’s full-time nanny. At the time,
he wasn’t even born. Yet they planned out everything, despite my
arguing I could raise my son without hired help. But according to
Rosemarie, this isn’t the Banks way. Nannies raised Benedict and his
two brothers, and according to her, it’s important for a wife to
complete her role and not get caught up in tedious tasks like
changing diapers.
I argued until I was blue in the face, causing a lot of tension
between Benedict and me. On top of adjusting to being married, we
were dealing with trying to figure out how to be parents. However,
once again, his mother’s word held weight, something which is
happening more often of late.
Extending out my arms, I reach out for my son. “Come here,
beautiful boy.”
Bentley’s deep hazel eyes light up with his curly hair brushed
perfectly to the side. I run my hands over it, wishing to grow it out
into ringlets so I can tie it in a man bun. Rosemarie would have a
coronary.
“Are you ready to have lunch with Grandpa and Nanna Kate?”
His chubby little hand touches my face, and I grab it, then blow
raspberry kisses to make him laugh. My heart does a joyous song
and dance at the sound of his infectious laughter, a simple thing
making life all the more beautiful.
With Bentley in my arms, dressed in his cute little sailor onesie,
we walk through the main foyer to the back patio, where the
housekeeper has set up a table for lunch. The spot has the most
glorious view of the gardens and the rolling green hills in the
distance. It’s a picturesque view I’ve become fond of while sitting
outside in solitude, enjoying a coffee.
The English countryside is beautiful, and although we reside in
this home, we also have a flat in London which Benedict uses during
the week to make the commute easier for work.
Above us, the blue sky weaves in and out of the hovering clouds.
The air is cool as we begin the fall season, though the English prefer
to call it autumn. I choose to wear a white blazer over the blush-
colored tunic dress underneath, matching the outfit with stylish tan
pumps.
Behind me, someone clears their throat. I turn around to see our
housekeeper, Lucy.
“Mrs. Banks, your father and stepmother are here.”
The word stepmother is so formal as I often introduce Kate as
my mom, even though we’re more like sisters at times.
“Please welcome them in,” I tell her.
Moments later, Dad and Kate walk through the back patio doors.
Kate extends her arms with a beaming smile, looking as beautiful as
ever. Her blonde hair is cut into a short bob sitting just below her
chin. My eyes are drawn to the white pantsuit with oversized gold
buttons. Beneath the jacket, her royal blue blouse is barely visible,
only her cleavage, which is full and perky considering she’s not
exactly twenty-one anymore.
“Jessa,” she calls, then pulls me into an embrace. “Oh, how I’ve
missed you.”
Trying not to squash Bentley, I pull back for her to scoop him up
in her arms and make all these cooing sounds. A smile falls upon my
lips as I watch them, wishing we lived closer so they could spend
more time together—the only drawback of living so far away.
Taking a deep breath, the air thickens as I turn to face Dad,
who’s keeping his distance.
Growing up with Noah Mason as your father wasn’t as easy as
some may think. Much like my cousins—Millie, Ava, Addy, and Alexa
—an incredibly wealthy and supposedly handsome father came with
challenges. People treated us differently because our fathers held
power, and they were known to be ruthless in the corporate world,
which is why they got to where they are.
But at home, surrounded by family, my father was a kind and
loving man.
He supported my decisions for most of my life, and I’ve rarely felt
trapped by his stubborn ways. Dad never questioned my college
choice or my career. Instead, he encouraged me to spread my wings
when it came to moving out. Overall, we had a great relationship
until I met Benedict.
The thing is, I’ve had boyfriends, though nothing serious.
And the moment I announced my engagement to Benedict, Dad
completely changed. He became cold and distanced himself. He
wasn’t happy, that much I knew, especially because I was moving to
England permanently.
I’m surprised he walked me down the aisle because he had
refused initially, and so Uncle Lex was asked, but at the last minute,
Dad came around. I’m not sure whether it was Kate or Aunt Charlie’s
influence. Either way, it made the day complete.
Since then, our relationship has been strained.
 Not wanting to feed into his stubborn persona, I stretch out my
arms and go in for a quick hug in which he doesn’t linger.
“Nice to see you, Dad,” is all I say.
“And you, Jessa.”
It’s all too formal, but then again, Benedict’s family is as formal
as you can get, so I’m growing accustomed to this lifestyle. God
forbid anyone is affectionate or shows their human side.
“Take a seat, please,” I tell them both.
Kate sits beside Dad as he softens his expression when Bentley
reaches out to him. I watch as Dad succumbs, taking Bentley in his
arms with a smile on his face. Without drawing attention, I pretend
to be admiring the view of the gardens but secretly watch Bentley
with his grandpa. It’s obvious Noah Mason still has a heart, just not
when it comes to his eldest daughter.
“The gardens look amazing, Jessa. I miss the English
countryside.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say wistfully. “But so is your place in Malibu. I
can’t recall when I went to the beach last, aside from my
honeymoon. I miss the sound of waves crashing against the
shoreline.”
Kate breaks out into laughter. “Oh, with Eric and the gold thong.”
“Don’t start. It still haunts me to this day,” I complain while
cringing. “So, tell me, how long are you here for?”
“It’s a business trip, of course. Noah has meetings most of our
time here, which is why this is the only time I could get him to take
a break.” Kate side-eyes Dad, looking overly annoyed. “About a
week.”
“And Sienna?”
“We left her in our flat in London. I’m pretty certain she’s going
to text any minute because she hit her credit card limit and needs
money.”
I smile, remembering the years of being a teenager. Sienna is a
junior in college now, and her whole life revolves around fashion
which is why she and Adriana get along so well. Back home, her
wardrobe is massive but being the baby of the family, no one can
say no to her.
 Lucy brings out lunch and a bottle of wine to complement the
meal. We talk about what’s happening back home, but for most of
the conversation, Dad is quiet, playing with Bentley and avoiding
me. Bentley is giggling at Dad’s sounds but becomes distracted
when he notices the food. He reaches out for some fruit, so I pass
him a small piece of banana.
“It sounds like it’s all baby-making in LA. I can’t believe both
Millie and Ava are pregnant at the same time. Actually, I can’t
believe Millie fell pregnant again. Three kids under five, she must be
crazy.”
“She’s Charlie.” Kate grins. “It was hard enough being pregnant
one time. I bow down to any woman who can go more than once.”
“And Ava? I mean, I never thought she was the family type and
wanted more kids after Emmy.”
“Things change, and Austin is so great with Emmy.”
I nod, thinking about my cousins. Despite both Will and Austin
having demanding careers, they’re both hands-on fathers, according
to Kate. To be honest, I’d not expect any less from either of them—
they adore their wives and are family-oriented. It makes me think
about Benedict and how him being raised by hired help differs his
views from mine.
With our family so big and the group chats out of control, I can
barely keep up these days. Most of the time, I mute the
conversations because they’re nonstop over something random like
the best sushi place in LA to gossip over who’s sleeping with who.
Occasionally, I’ll make an appearance, but even then, I feel like an
outsider being across the world.
Kate takes a sip of her wine with a pleased expression. “How is
Benedict? He’s not able to join us?”
“He’s in Milan for work, back tomorrow.”
“Benedict has been traveling a bit for work. How are you coping
alone?” Kate questions, yet the second it escapes her lips, her
eyebrows gather in with slight regret.
My eyes lift to Dad as he watches me with an unrelenting stare.
“I’m used to it now,” I admit, distracting myself with drinking
some wine. “I take Bentley for his daily walk, and I’m getting a lot of
reading done.”
My father clears his throat, but not in a good way. I wait for the
judgmental comment, which will ruin our somewhat amicable lunch.
“And your writing?” he questions smugly.
“Well, I don’t write since I don’t have a job. I figured reading
would be the next best thing.”
I can see the judgment in his eyes, but is an argument even
worth it? My eyes shift to Bentley, and for the sake of him, I bite my
tongue.
“So, aside from that, is everything else okay?” Kate quickly
intervenes, which is what she does best when things get heated
between Dad and me.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Just checking in,” she concurs, then relaxes her shoulders.
“When I first moved to France, it seemed like the most amazing
thing, but the novelty soon wore off, although I was in denial at the
time. Living my so-called best life with no one by my side.”
“France is beautiful.”
“It is, and you know you’re welcome to use the chateau at any
time.”
“Thank you. It’s hard to get away. I don’t like leaving Bentley,
and Benedict has a busy schedule. In addition, his company is
launching some new buildings, so trying to get him to even sit down
for dinner can be hard at times.”
Bentley squirms in Dad’s arms, fussing while rubbing his eyes.
I quickly check my phone. “He’s due for his afternoon nap. I can
call Eliza over to put him to sleep.”
“Give the nanny a rest. I want to rock my grandbaby to sleep.”
Kate takes Bentley off Dad’s lap, then stands up with him in her
arms. They both walk away as Kate sings a song, leaving the
tumbleweed to pass by as Dad and I sit alone in silence for what
feels like an eternity.
“How’s work?” I ask.
“Busy,” he manages. “Lex and I have some projects in Singapore,
so traveling too. Much like your husband.”
And there it is—the judgment he just can’t seem to hold back.
 “Why did you say husband like that?” I ask, annoyed.
“Just pointing out what you mentioned.”
I throw my napkin on the table, frustrated while I cross my arms
beneath my chest.
“Just spit it out, whatever it is you want to say.”
Dad purses his lips, keeping his expression at bay.
“I have nothing to say, Jessa. But, perhaps, you have a lot to
say?”
“Yes, well, let me guess. You think I made the wrong decision by
marrying Benedict. I don’t know how you can even say that. Without
him, you wouldn’t have a grandson.”
Dad wipes the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Then, places
it gently on the table. His hazel eyes pierce into me, but behind
them, I struggle to see the loving man who I once admired.
“You’re a grown woman, and these choices you have made are
your choices. My opinion may vary, but in the end, it’s your life, just
as you reminded me on your wedding day.”
I shake my head, knowing exactly what he thinks.
“I’m happy, okay? So, I don’t live in the States anymore, and so
what if I don’t have a job. I have a husband who loves me, a son I
adore, and this beautiful house to call home. What more could I
want?”
His merciless stare doesn’t waver until Kate walks back outside
without Bentley.
“That was quick. The poor little fella was asleep in my arms by
the time I got to his room.” Her glance darts between Dad and me.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”
Dad rises from his chair. “No, in fact, your timing is perfect. I
need to head into town.”
We walk in silence to the front of the property. Dad nods
goodbye, unable to even say the words, then enters the black
Mercedes parked out front.
Kate places her hands on my arms, clutching them with
assurance.
“We’re still here for a few days. Can you come for lunch? Just us
girls.”
 I nod, then smile back, ignoring the mixture of anger and guilt
inside me.
Slowly, Kate raises her hand and touches a curl hanging near my
cheek.
“Jessa, your father loves you. But he just misses you, okay? This
distance thing is hard for him.”
“It doesn’t stop him from acting like a jerk.”
“That’s Noah, stubborn like the rest of the men in the family. I’ll
call you later, and we’ll arrange something.”
Kate kisses me goodbye, then enters the car. When the engine
starts, she waves goodbye, but my father can’t even look my way.
And then, before he takes off, he glances over.
No smile, no anger, just pity.
Turning my back, I enter the house, closing the door behind me.
With my body resting against the large wooden door, I close my
eyes for just a moment.
I can stand here and lie to myself, just like I lied straight to his
face.
But the truth is—I’m miserable.
And the one person who can see right through my lies is the first
man ever to own my heart.
I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl.
Now, I’m his disappointment.
Maybe that’s what bothers me the most. Everything he pointed
out is exactly what I continue to bury.
I can paint this beautiful life I’ve built with Benedict, but in
reality, most of the time is spent alone. Being alone isn’t hard. It’s
the assumption no one cares about me.
But I wanted this life. I chose it.
So, there’s no choice but to continue living this way because
nothing in the world will change it.
No matter how much I can wish for things to be different.
TWO
 JESSA

W hen I first traveled to London two years ago, I fell in love

with the city.
London is breathtakingly beautiful, and there’s
something to be said about a place that can evoke so much emotion
from you. It’s one of those places with so much history. Wherever
you visit, there’s a story behind the old-time building or monument,
and much like all the other tourists, I stood with wide eyes,
absorbing the history in awe.
My fascination grew as the days carried on from taking a tour of
Buckingham Palace, which took almost a day in itself, to walking
down the streets and admiring the colored front doors of Notting
Hill. As I took it all in, I realized how much I yearned to explore and
fuel this part of me into my writing. Wherever I went, I carried the
leather-bound journal my father gave me for Christmas the year
before and jotted down my thoughts like diary entries to record the
memorable moments.
Being alone for the first time in my life gave me ample time to do
just that and discover what I wanted without the noise around me—
noise from other people which became too loud at times.
My entire life was spent in Los Angeles. However, my parents
were always traveling and brought us kids along whenever it didn’t
interfere with our schooling. Yet as much as I love the States, being
here feels just as nice.
The only thing I struggle with is the weather.
 Today is no exception.
The drive to London is dreary and gray. As usual, our driver
keeps to himself as I sit in the back and stare out the window. I’m
eager to get behind the wheel despite being on the other side of the
road, but Benedict talked me out of learning, insisting there’s no
point since we have drivers on call.
Halfway into the drive, I quickly check my phone to be
bombarded with group chat notifications from my cousins again. It’s
hard to keep up, but I scroll back a few screens trying to decipher
what the conversation is about.

Millie: All I’m saying is that marriage isn’t always a bed of

roses, and also, my husband is a dick. I have every right to be
annoyed that he’s at some business function with hot women.

Ava: You’re hormonal.

Addy: Will loves you and would never cheat on you. We’re
talking about the same guy who literally kisses the ground
you walk on.

Ava: True story. Besides, if he ever cheated on you, you

could get him back by hooking up with that guy who tried to
steal his company.

Millie: That guy is like Dad’s age… so gross. Plus, he’s bald
and wears a Kravat! Who even wears them anymore?

Luna: There’s nothing wrong with older men.

Addy: Great, here we go again. Luna, do you have Daddy

issues?

Luna: Yeah, when they’re superhot and look like a snack.

 Ava: LOL

Millie: HAHAHAHAHA

A grin spreads across my face, but I choose to close the chat and
not respond. Luna has a thing for older men, and although we were
really close for the longest of times, it’s obvious some things never
change.
I chose to leave Bentley with Eliza today but spent the morning
with him on our usual walk and playtime. As much as I’d miss him
for my overnight stay, it’s hard to get around, let alone eat a nice
meal with a baby in tow despite Kate begging me to bring him. I
promised her I’d return later in the week before they fly out and
make sure they spend some time with him.
But for now, I desperately crave adult socialization with two of
my favorite people.
The driver finally pulls up at the restaurant. Kate and Sienna are
standing outside, Kate talking animatedly while Sienna looks cold.
Her arms are crossed while she hops on one spot, desperate to get
inside.
After a quick hello and hugs all around, we head inside and take
a seat.
“I’m famished,” Kate complains, waiting for the server.
“I ate a burger from this American place not long ago, so I’m
pretty sweet.”
Sienna plays with the ends of her blonde hair. It’s grown much
longer than I remember. Of the three of us, she’s the only biological
child of Dad and Kate and is a spitting image of both of them. She
has Dad’s eye shape which makes me, Nash, and her look similar,
but scattered across her nose are Kate’s exact freckles.
“You came all the way to England with us to eat burgers from an
American joint?” Kate scowls.
“The guy at the counter was hot. He was from Colorado. I was
homesick.”
 I release a laugh, missing her so much. For the longest of times,
we three girls have always stuck together. Dad and Nash enjoyed
doing boys’ things together. Kate was always somewhere in the
middle, an adventurer like Dad, but she also enjoyed her girl time.
“So, tell me, what’s been happening with you?” I turn my
attention to Sienna. “How’s college?”
“It’s fine, Berkeley is great, and I love San Francisco.”
“And the guys?”
Sienna twists her napkin, keeping her lips tight.
“She got ghosted,” Kate blurts out.
“Oh?”
“After she slept with her best friend.”
“Geez, Mom, you make it sound like he left the bedroom, and I
never spoke to him again.”
“Well, close to it, Sienna. Just admit you’ve been a drag since this
happened. But, honestly, hanging out with Nash and his carefree
playboy attitude is a breath of fresh air sometimes, and that’s saying
a lot.”
My mouth falls open in shock. Hanging out with Nash can be
trying at the best of times. He’s a boys’ boy, and if he ever settled
down, I’d be in absolute shock. Kate says he’s exactly like Dad, who
had a bit of a history with women, which got him into trouble at
times because apparently—Noah Mason used to be a heartbreaker.
Mom never spoke much about her relationship with Dad, not that
I asked to be honest because the past is the past, and I saw no
point in dragging it up since everyone is happy with their respective
partners.
“It’s hard,” Sienna admits, her vulnerability coming through. “I’ve
lost my best friend. According to his social media, he’s in Wyoming
now with some new girlfriend. I mean, he didn’t even have the
courtesy to tell me. So, I find out from some loved-up pic that
they’re celebrating a three-month anniversary.”
My eyes fall toward the plate, willing the churn in the pit of my
stomach to cease. It has to be hunger. The last time I ate was just
before sunrise, trying to get something in before Bentley woke up.
 “I’m famished too,” I say, changing the subject. “Why don’t we
eat? Besides, if you want to spend the rest of the afternoon
shopping, we need stamina.”
On cue, the waiter arrives and requests to take our order. When
it comes to dining out, Kate always orders and never fails us with
her choices. Whereas I’m known to choose the safest meals because
it’s always easier than taking a risk on something unknown.
We spend our lunch talking about people we know, including my
cousins back home. Our conversation shifts to celebrity gossip, a bit
of politics, then to Bentley. We eat our delicious meals, not leaving a
single morsel on the plate until Sienna lets out a yawn which onsets
a whole stream of them.
Jetlag is one of the worst feelings, and Sienna’s face says it all—
she’s crashing a mile a minute.
“Oh, baby girl, you look like death.” Kate frowns, rubbing her
back. “Why don’t you head back to the flat? Dad is in a meeting ‘til
late, so he won’t interrupt you.”
“Okay,” is all Sienna can muster up.
Sienna grabs the keys off Kate, then waves goodbye without
even the energy to say the words aloud. With our meals finished,
Kate suggests heading over to a café that serves amazing coffee.
As soon we step into the quaint little place, the aroma is like
heaven on earth. I’ve always had a fondness for caffeine, but
nothing compares to European coffee.
“God, I miss this coffee. The stuff in the States tastes like ass
compared to this,” Kate complains while blowing the steam away
from her cup.
“I don’t want to ask how you know what ass tastes like, but I’ll
assume it has everything to do with Eric.”
“Of course, if anyone knows, it’s him, right?”
We both laugh softly, then drink our coffees in relaxation.
“I miss this place so much. London will never leave you,” she
says wistfully.
“But you’ve moved so much, right? Manchester, London,
Manhattan…”
“Always for work and, of course, to be with Noah.”
 “Moving across the world for Dad couldn’t have been easy.”
Kate smiles with ease. “Believe it or not, it was easy. I had no
commitment and a fantastic boss. Noah, on the other hand, had two
children who needed him in LA. I was willing to sacrifice myself over
you and Nash losing time with Noah. Children need parents, and
although Noah and Morgan were struggling to co-parent at the time,
I’d never have asked Noah to pick me over his children.”
“True love.” I grin, admiring her selfless act to give Nash and me
a good upbringing. “Dad is crazy in love with you, and it’s always
shown.”
Laughter escapes Kate. “It helps that I feel the same way about
him, even though he can be a stubborn man sometimes.”
My fingers trace the edge of the cup, not wanting to bring up my
strained relationship with Dad but suspect Kate will bring it up
anyhow.
“Jess,” Kate calls softly, a nickname she sometimes called me as
did the rest of my family. “It’s just us girls now. Tell me how you’re
really doing?”
My stare shifts toward a couple at the table beside us. The man
and woman are laughing, but judging by how they’re sitting spaced
apart, the relationship is purely platonic. She appears to be teasing
him over the cake on his plate, in which his response comes out
cheeky and lighthearted.
“I’m fine.” I clear my throat, turning my attention back to Kate. “I
mean, it gets lonely with Benedict constantly traveling, but Bentley
keeps me busy.”
“And when Benedict is home, how are things between the two of
you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I guess the honeymoon is over, right?”
Kate watches me intently, but her expression is soft without
judgment.
“Honeymoons don’t last forever, but the spark does, Jessa. Never
forget that.”
Right, the spark. I’m lucky if Benedict will even look at me the
way he did before I became a mother to his child. The only intimate
time we have together is in the bedroom, and even then, he takes
what he wants and claims to be too tired to spend more than five
minutes inside me.
I’m ashamed even to admit I constantly resort to taking matters
into my own hands, going as far as to discreetly purchase a little
pink vibrator that’s supposed to get you off in less than a minute. I
don’t know whether the sales pitch stuck with me or I’m that
sexually charged. Either way, a five-star review from me.
But it wasn’t always this way.
When I ran into Benedict on Oxford Street during what happened
to be a torrential storm, he evoked emotions in me I never knew
existed. Six foot tall, mouse-brown colored hair, and a smile which
became my weakness. The two of us collided with him in his
drenched business suit and me in my t-shirt and jeans.
I remember the day fondly, feeling incredibly homesick and
wanting so much to hop on a plane to head back home.

“I’m sorry.” The man clutched onto my arms to stop me from falling.
“How rude of me not to see where I was heading.”
I wiped the rain from my face, then lifted my eyes and met his
deep brown ones. Caught off guard by how handsome this man was,
I was lost for words with the rain falling heavily upon us.
“Um, no. I should’ve been looking. This rain is…”
“Awful,” he interrupted “And very England.”
I laughed, despite being uncomfortable as my wet clothes clung
to my skin.
“It’s rained every day of all the seven days I’ve been here. How I
miss the Californian sun.”
“C’mon, let’s get you dried up.”
I don’t know why I followed a stranger to the building just down
the street. Albeit grand and luxurious, it was still a stranger’s home.
As soon as we were inside and took the elevator up to the
penthouse suite, I quietly welcomed the shelter from the pelting
rain.
 “How rude of me not to introduce myself, I’m Benedict Banks,
but you can call me your knight in shining armor.”
With a cheeky grin, my heart beat faster than normal.
“Jessa Bentley-Mason, and you can call me the girl who’s
somewhat impressed with how high you think of yourself.”
He placed his hand on his heart. “Ouch, hit a man where it
hurts.”
I scanned the room in which we stood. It was very grand and
made the shoebox apartment I was staying in look exactly like that,
a shoebox. “Wow, this place is something.”
Benedict looked around. “I guess so, just a place to crash while
I’m in town.”
“Oh, you’re not from here?”
“I live in the country. Come here during the week.” He then left
the room and came back with a towel. “Here, to dry off. You’re
welcome to use the bathroom if you’d like.”
I stared into his eyes, not knowing what came over me. I
grabbed his shirt and slammed my lips onto his. He was slightly
taken aback but didn’t stop, kissing me deeply before I pulled away
out of breath.
And then, his stare turned delicious as he glanced at my breasts.
Without a second thought, he removed my shirt over my head to
leave me in my bra. I threw my arms around him, kissing him once
again as we stumbled to the bedroom, where he took me on his
king-size bed in the middle of the day.

A slight stir between my legs causes me to cross them to relieve the

memory. In my entire life, I’d never done anything so risky and bold,
despite the numerous times I had wanted to.
He was a total stranger, yet something pushed me that day.
But Benedict is handsome and was insatiable in the bedroom.
From that moment, our relationship was a whirlwind, and I was
caught up without a care in the world besides the two of us.
“The spark,” I repeat as Kate watches me fondly.
 “Jess, I lost you for a moment there. You’re not yourself.”
“Sorry.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “I just
remembered when Benedict and I first met. It was so intense, you
know. Sex over friendship.”
Kate nods. “I was once in a similar relationship. It was great at
the beginning, but sex alone doesn’t keep you warm at night.”
“It would be nice at least to have sex,” I mumble.
“You’ve just had a baby, well not just, but he’s not even one yet.
It’s not unusual for a marriage to go through a teething stage while
you navigate this time in your life.”
“Did you go through this when you had Sienna?”
Though she doesn’t do it well, Kate attempts to hide her smile.
“Noah is many things, stubborn for the most part and arrogant
because he’s so damn handsome. But, never once has he ever made
me feel less deserving in our marriage. If anyone knows how to put
a woman on a pedestal and worship her, it’s Noah Mason.”
I chuckle softly, glad she kept their bedroom behavior private.
“What about Uncle Lex? He’s the OG, isn’t he?”
“There are no words to describe Lex.” Kate rolls her eyes with a
grin. “But I guess yes, he’s the so-called OG. He and Charlie have
something unexplainable.”
Uncle Lex and Auntie Charlie set the benchmark for romance. A
love like theirs was tested for the longest time, but in the end,
they’re soulmates. There’s no other way to describe them. Whenever
I said that to my cousins, they cringed and told me I was a hopeless
romantic.
“You’re right. It’s just a teething stage. It will get better. It has
to.”
And what Kate doesn’t know is that even if it doesn’t, I have no
choice. I made a vow to be Benedict’s wife. Then, I brought our
child into this world.
I can never destroy nor walk away from this life I chose, no
matter how unhappy or lonely I am.
All I can do is put on a brave face and pray this will soon be over.
And the man I fell in love with returns to me, so we can finally
live our lives the way we both envisioned when we said ‘I do’ on our
wedding day.
THREE
 ANDY

T he sound of the door buzzer startles me enough to break my

deep sleep.
An involuntary groan escapes my mouth as I shift
sideward to catch a glimpse of the time on my clock, ignoring the
sunlight peeking through the sheer drapes rather annoyingly.
Nine in the morning. Way too early for anything good.
Beside me, gentle snores filter inside the room. The long ginger-
colored hair is tangled around the naked torso, and for a split
moment, I try to remember my actions from last night.
It was another launch party for a new club opening, nothing
unusual for Manhattan since it seems like a new club is always
opening. I was specifically asked if my services were available to
shoot the night, even though it’s not something I usually do. It was
hard to say no when a lot of cash was thrown at the job, another
billionaire looking to cash into the entertainment industry.
The night panned out as any normal club opening, and then
beside me at the bar, a woman caught my eye. Young, perhaps
college-age, and curly ginger-colored hair bouncing with every move
she made.
The memories pained me more than I cared to admit. A reminder
of the girl I once knew and called my best friend started a chain of
destructive events last night.
Shot glasses filled with Patrón couldn’t come fast enough. Each
one was as lethal as the one proceeding it. Luckily, I’d finish my
work and was able to lose myself in the night.
Enough to wind up here with not much memory.
Jesus, I can’t even remember her name…
Quickly, I remember the buzzer, hopping out of bed to throw my
sweats on. As I walk toward the door, I rub my face to wake myself
up, then unlatch the chain to open it.
Standing outside is my Uncle Lex.
“Lex?” I question, followed by a yawn. “What are you doing
here?”
“I thought I’d pay a visit to my favorite nephew.”
His tall stature is somewhat intimidating, especially since he’s
dressed in a suit, and my torso is exposed because I couldn’t be
fucked finding a shirt.
“Come in.”
Lex follows me in and takes a seat on the armchair. I offer him a
coffee since I desperately need one myself. He kindly accepts, so I
make it just the way he takes it—black with no sugar. The same way
I take mine.
“Late night?”
“You could say that.”
Lex watches me intently, almost as if he can read my mind.
“You’ve had quite a few of these nights.”
I tilt my head. “Let me guess? My overbearing mother has sent
you here.”
“Adriana is worried, yes. But I came here because I have a
business proposal.”
“Oh?”
I hand him the coffee as he nods thank you while I sit on the
leather across from him.
“Actually, it’s not just my business proposal. It’s a joint venture
with Noah. We’ve invested in a string of boutique hotels in Europe.
All of them are currently undergoing renovations.”
“Boutique hotels are very in. I’ve photographed a few in my
time.”
“I know, which is why Noah and I would like to hire you to
capture the essence of our brand in Europe. We’re looking for
something unique, up the game on our competitors.”
“Europe? Um, okay,” I say, barely able to stay awake, let alone
take this all in. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
The moment the words escape me, Naomi, I think her name is,
walks out of my room wearing my black buttoned shirt from last
night. Her legs are exposed, causing Lex to drop his head with a
smirk playing on his lips.
“Oh…I didn’t realize you had company?” she stammers, pulling
my shirt down, but it proves pointless.
“My uncle, Lex Edwards,” I mention, then clear my throat,
praying I got her name right. “Naomi.”
“Nina.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, I had a lot to drink,” is all I say.
“Lex Edwards?” Her eyes widen as if she just remembered
something. “Oh, God, I had no idea. But, um, I have to use the
bathroom, so please just forget you ever met me.”
She disappears, looking totally mortified.
I rub the back of my neck. “Sorry about that.”
“No apology necessary. Perhaps I should call next time rather
than catch you off guard?”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember last night. It’s been a while
since I drank that much,” I admit, then finish the rest of my coffee
and let out a rasp. “One thing led to another, and then we ended up
here.”
Lex places his cup down, keeping his gaze fixed.
“I remember those days. Adriana used to call me early on
purpose to piss me off.”
“Of course, Mom would do that. So, it’s normal, right? I mean,
I’m not even thirty yet. It’s not like I’m tied down to one woman.”
“Life is whatever you make of it. I went through a very
destructive phase, but in ways, it forced me to focus on my career to
numb the pain.”
“The pain?”
Lex purses his lips. “Of regretting decisions made in which you
lost the woman you loved.”
 Aunt Charlie, of course.
On a few occasions, Lex mentions bits from his past, but when it
comes to anything before Charlie was his wife, he chooses to keep
those parts to himself. Thanks to Ava and her snooping ways back
when we were teens, it was brought to my attention that Dad and
Charlie were engaged at one point. Of course, all of it was in the
past, so what do I care? Mom and Dad are happily married as are
Lex and Charlie. Things worked out the way they needed to.
Unfortunately, my cousins had a fascination with the past. Millie
wasn’t too bad, but Ava was like some FBI agent trying to solve a
murder mystery. However, over the last few years, motherhood and
being a wife have matured her. It’s funny how quickly things change,
and we don’t even realize.
“I guess those are the choices we make,” I mumble with a
lowered stare.
Silence falls over the room, and unlike my mother, Lex knows
when to change the conversation if things get uncomfortable.
“How about you come to my office this afternoon? Noah and
Kate are back from Europe. The two of them can join us.”
“So, this is official business?” I almost laugh. “Suit and tie?”
“You’re a creative genius. No need to impress us. It’s more to
discuss the finer details and show you a presentation of what exactly
we’re doing.”
“Sure,” I tell him the moment Nina walks out, prompting Lex to
stand up.
“It was nice meeting you, Nina.”
“Um, and you, Mr. Edwards,” she stumbles out.
Lex leaves the apartment, and as soon as the door closes, Nina
lets out a groan to then slap my arm, causing me to wince.
“You could’ve warned me! Let alone get my name right in front of
him.”
I shrug my shoulders. “My uncle doesn’t care.”
“I care!”
“Will you relax?” I rub my face, desperate to climb back into bed.
Unfortunately, the caffeine has done nothing for me. “It’s not like
we’re dating. It was one night.”
 Nina crosses her arms beneath her chest, eyes on fire. “So, all
those things you said last night?”
“What things did I say?” I ask cautiously, swallowing the lump
inside my throat.
“Just something about my hair, that it was beautiful and curly.
You kept tugging on the ends and said we could really be
something.”
My memory is vague. Yet, the intent behind it refuses to leave
me no matter how hard I try. A recurring nightmare I wish would go
once and for all.
“I think you should go.”
“Andy,” she says in a high-pitched voice. “What the hell?”
I grit my teeth. “I said go.”
Nina storms out of my living room, returning a few minutes later
dressed in her white dress from last night. Not wanting to show her
any remorse, I glance sideways to notice just how short her dress is.
“You’ve got some shit you need to sort out.”
“You don’t know me,” I tell her, my voice low.
“I’m glad I don’t. You’re a typical guy, just after the pussy
because that’s your escape. Thanks for last night,” she responds
sarcastically, storming toward the door, then slamming it behind her.
Nina’s words have no effect on me. Yeah, so I’m a guy who
drowned myself in pussy last night to escape. So fucking what.
My body immediately carries me straight to bed, where I fall
headfirst into the pillow with a splitting headache from all the action
this morning.
But as I’m finally surrounded by silence, and the voices in my
head begin to speak.
I hate that she got to me.
The harder I close my eyes, the more her face appears. It’s been
almost two years since I spoke to Jessa, the night at Austin and
Ava’s wedding. We argued the same night, but just before I stormed
out, she ran after me and called my name.
“Andy, stop!”
My heart was thumping loud, filled with anger and hurt over
Jessa’s actions. Why should I give her anything when she couldn’t
even give me the respect of telling the truth? But my feet stopped
before I could even finish my thought. Dad continued to walk to the
car, purposely leaving me behind.
Slowly, I turned around with her only a few feet away. Her
expression was remorseful, and maybe Jessa finally realized what
she’d done.
“Don’t hate me because I chose someone else.”
The words cut deep, a knife-edge which slew with only the tip
but enough to cause the damage to inflict tremendous pain.
But then, something sparks inside me—an urge to fight for what
I wanted.
Lost in this trance clouding any rational thought, I took long
steps toward her until my hands cupped her chin, allowing me to
smash my lips onto hers.
The moment my mouth touched hers, my whole body fell into an
abyss, freefalling like nothing I could’ve ever imagined. Her taste
was pure, sweet, and everything my body craved for the longest of
time.
As my tongue softly caressed hers, I heard a moan, albeit faint,
escape her lips. But with force, she pulled away, her breaths shallow
as her chest rose and fell.
Shaking her head, she clutched her stomach. “Please don’t make
this harder than it already is.”
“Harder? You’re leaving me to go marry some man you barely
fucking know!”
“Andy, please—”
“No, Jessa.” I stopped her, fueled with anger. “You’ve made your
bed. Now go lay in it with your fiancé.”

It was just a kiss.

 I’ve done much worse than that, slept with dozens of women,
sometimes multiple women at the same time. But how is it possible
that nothing can compare to the kiss of a woman I’d once called my
best friend?
I refuse to fall down this rabbit hole again. Closing my eyes, I
force myself to sleep.

“Andy,” Kate greets with a smile, extending her arms while I hug her
for a quick moment. “It’s been forever, and you’re just as handsome
as I remember you.”
“Age does wonders for a man,” I tease, glancing at Lex. “Look at
this old fella. He can still pull in the ladies.”
Kate laughs. “Say that in front of Charlie and see if you still have
balls.”
Beside Kate, Noah extends his hand, his eyes focusing on me,
and the familiarity forces me to bury the memories once again.
Despite what happened with Jessa, there’s no bad blood with Noah.
At least, I assume there isn’t since I’m not the one who married his
daughter and knocked her up.
Yeah, she’s got a kid now, apparently playing happy families
across the other side of the world.
“Andy, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Noah asks politely.
“Busy, a lot of work here in Manhattan.”
“Sit, please,” Lex commands.
Inside the penthouse office, the views are amazing. I expect
nothing less from Lex since he can afford the best of the best.
However, upon sitting here with Lex on the opposite side of the
table, I can see how intimidating it can be for people. Not me,
though. Lex will forever be the man who annoys my mom and vice
versa. They remind me a lot of Luna and me. We’re exactly like
them. My younger sister, Willow, is just like Dad—quiet with her
head constantly buried in a book.
“Let’s get right to it, shall we?”
 Lex begins with a presentation showcasing 3D images of the
hotels and the interiors. Each building is located in an iconic part of
Europe. As I watch on, I can see their vision, the experience they
want to create for guests, which many people will pay top dollar for.
In total, twenty new boutique hotels are expected to be launched
in the next twelve months across various locations. The deadline
appears tight, but if anyone can pull it off—it’s these three people.
“This is quite some project,” I voice openly.
“Yes, and if anyone can capture our essence for our marketing,
it’s you,” Kate says with confidence.
“It’s a big job, and as I see it, each location needs to be captured
differently. For example, I see France being more sultrier, a romance
destination versus London being more elegant and refined.”
“Exactly,” Lex concurs with a knowing smile. “This is why you’re
perfect for the job.”
I nod, my mind conjuring up all these creative thoughts.
“When do you want me to start?”
“Immediately,” Noah states firmly.
Kate glances at him as something passes between them. I
assume it’s husband and wife behavior since my parents do the
same thing all the time.
“What Noah meant to say…” Kate intervenes with a fixed smile,
“… is as soon as you’re available. A sought-out photographer like
yourself must have obligations you need to fulfill before traveling to
Europe?”
“There’s a fashion show next week. Then I have a job in Malibu.
Can you give me three weeks?”
“That will work just fine,” Lex assures me, though his gaze is
fixated on Noah. “Now, let’s talk money.”
When it comes to paying someone for work, Lex isn’t one to
undermine talent where he sees it. He briefly goes through the
contract, which most of it is standard for my freelance work.
Regarding the payment, he’s too generous, but it would be pointless
for me to argue with him once his mind is set on something—he is
rarely persuaded another way, especially when it comes to business.
Lex stands up, extending his hand. “So, do we have a deal?”
 I follow in suit, shaking his hand with a slight smirk on my face.
“How can I say no to the great Lex Edwards?”
Kate raises her hand with a cheeky grin. “Can I answer that
question?”
Lex crosses his arms with a pinched expression. “If you must.”
Beside Kate, Noah drops his head with a chuckle. “Leave the
poor bastard alone. His ego was bruised this morning when a much
younger billionaire went viral with a video saying he’ll make Charlie
his wife.”
With my lips pressed flat, I try to suppress my amusement, but I
fail miserably.
“Ouch.”
“Do you need a wellness check, Lex?” Kate pouts.
“I’d rather we not discuss this.” Lex fixes his cufflinks in
annoyance. “Besides, it’s being taken care of.”
“Jesus Christ, Lex!” Kate groans while throwing her hands up in
the air. “The guy’s a kid. Leave him alone.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s thirty. And if he wants to succeed, he needs
to understand who you don’t mess with.”
“Here we go…” Noah drags.
Kate turns to look at him. “Like you’re one to talk? Mister acts all
jealous over nothing.”
Noah shifts his body to face Kate. “Two young men are in your
office. Then you make some joke about being in a sandwich?”
“Firstly, that joke was made in private. And secondly, I didn’t
make the joke, Adriana did. I just laughed and nodded.”
“Okay, sounds like my cue to leave if you’re bringing up Mom and
her filthy mind.”
Lex shakes his head. “I don’t blame you. Now, how do we
celebrate? I do have a flight back home in a few hours.”
“How about when I’m back in LA next weekend? That way, your
overbearing daughters can join us and pick my life apart about
where I went wrong with women and how I should settle down.”
A small chuckle escapes Lex. “Don’t forget about all the friends
they’ll have lined up to match you with.”
“I forgot,” I mumble, then force a smile. “Such a loving family.”
 Lex’s phone rings only seconds from Kate’s. The two of them
excuse themselves to take the call, leaving me with Noah.
It would be immature of me not to ask him how Jessa is doing. I
bite the bullet despite my guard being up because chances are I
won’t like what I’m going to hear.
“So, how is Jessa doing?”
Noah lowers his head, focusing his gaze on his tailored suit
pants.
“That depends on who’s opinion you’re after.”
His answer stumps me, but judging by his somber mood,
something seems amiss.
“Your opinion?” I tread carefully with my words.
“Well, let’s see. In my opinion, although my wife may argue, I
think my daughter is miserable.”
The word miserable sends shockwaves through me. An answer I
wasn’t prepared for. My body stills with mixed feelings of surprise
but also empathy. I may not be talking to Jessa, but I’d hate to see
her in any pain.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course. Jessa will always be someone who was a part of
my life. She was my best friend. That feeling doesn’t just go away,” I
inform him.
“She’s changed, you know. Nothing like the bright and happy girl
who admired her father like I was her world.”
“Marriage and a child can change you,” I lower my voice, pained
even to admit that.
Noah angles his body, so his stern gaze fixates on me. I have no
clue what’s going on, but something warns me that things aren’t as
picture-perfect as I envisioned in my head.
“There’s only one person who can get through to her, and that’s
you.”
I shake my head with my lips flat.
“Not anymore, Noah. If I had any pull, she would’ve stayed here
two years ago.”
“It was timing. It was off. Just like Kate and me.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 IX

—¿Qué es eso? —preguntó Elena entrando en el cuarto y tirando

sobre la butaca el mantón de Manila que la doncella recogió cuidadosa
—, ¿qué le pasa a Gener, que va por esos pasillos como un loco?
—¿Qué le va a pasar? —contestó Pedrosa señalando a Manolo—
que este es un majadero que habla siempre más de lo que debe, y
como es natural, se lleva cada revolcón que Dios tirita.
—Pues nada, no hay ningún revolcón. Si se ha enfadado, culpa
suya es; yo no le he dicho más que la verdad; el que se pica, ajos
come.
—Estás en un error, no es verdad; pero, aunque lo fuera, esas
cosas no deben decirse.
—Pero, ¿qué es ello? —insistió Elena.
—Nada, majaderías de este.
—¿Majaderías, eh?, verá usted, Elena, lo que ha ocurrido. Luis
empezó a tomarme el pelo por si voy o no voy siempre con mi chica
por la calle; yo me exasperé y le dije que, realmente, es mucho más
cómodo tenerla en casa.
—Hombre, claro está que se habrá enfadado. Y con razón. ¿Sabe
usted que, en efecto, voy creyendo que es usted un poco majadero
Manolo?
—¿Usted también me va a tomar el pelo? Pues..., buenas noches.
Cogió el sombrero y el gabán y se marchó.
—Pues, señor —dijo Castro—, está buena hoy la tertulia, buena
buena... Cualquiera se desliza. ¿Se puede saber qué mosca les ha
picado a ustedes?
—A mí, ninguna —contestó Elena—; casualmente esta noche estoy
yo contentísima.
—¿Y eso?
 —Figúrese usted; mañana Lunes Santo; seis días sin función
¿Ustedes saben lo que para mí significa seis días sin trabajar, sin
estudiar, sin ensayar, sin hacer más que lo que yo quiera y lo que me
dé la gana?
—No todos creen lo mismo.
—Es verdad —replicó tristemente—, para esos pobres racionistas
para esas infelices chicas del coro, la Semana Santa es una semana
terrible: para ellos sí que es una verdadera semana de pasión y de
ayuno. ¿Ven ustedes?, también hago yo frases; me he contagiado
¡Claro!, no podía ser otra cosa. Vaya, caballeros, con el permiso de
ustedes, me voy a desnudar. Estoy deseando llegar a casa; tengo un
sueño que no veo.
—Sí, sí; a descansar.
—Ea, Elenita, adiós, hasta dentro de unos días.
—Es verdad; hasta el Sábado de Gloria.
—¡Gracias a Dios! —exclamó cuando se marchó el último—. ¡Qué
pesadez!, siempre estos moscones metidos en el cuarto.
Pero apenas cerró la puerta, sonaron en ella dos suaves golpecitos.
—¿Quién? —preguntó malhumorada—: no se puede, me estoy
desnudando.
—Soy yo, Elenita.
—¡Ah, eres tú! —exclamó cambiando de tono al reconocer la voz de
Antonio, y abriendo presurosa la puerta—. ¿Qué quieres?
—Nada... —contestó él balbuceando, sin pasar del umbral—
saludarte, ¡como vamos a estar tantos días sin vernos!
—Seis días..., verdad. Pero, pasa; ¿qué haces ahí? ¿Tienes prisa?
—No, ninguna.
—Entonces pasa y siéntate, yo termino en seguida. Ya ves, tengo
puestas las mallas todavía; no me las quito hasta llegar a casa. Mira
haz el favor de cerrar la puerta; no quiero que entre nadie.
En seguida, ayudada por la doncella, y en presencia de Antonio
despojose rápidamente del traje que llevaba; se puso otro de lana
oscura, echose una capa sobre los hombros, envolviose la cabeza en
una toquilla y le dijo a Bedmar:
—Antoñito, ¿quieres acompañarme a casa?
Antonio se quedó como el que ve visiones.
—Con muchísimo gusto.
—Pues, ea, vámonos.
 —Mira, abrígate bien; la noche está fría.
Sí, estaba fría; un airecillo del Guadarrama soplaba sutil por e
callejón de San Ginés con amenaza de pulmonía.
—¿Quieres que tomemos un coche?
—No, ¿para qué? Iremos de prisita y así entraremos en calor.
Y levantando la capa de Manolo se colgó de su brazo.
El pobre bohemio se quedó lívido al sentir el suave contacto de
aquella carne tibia; violenta crispación le sacudió los nervios.
—¿Qué tienes?
—Nada; frío.
En un momento llegaron a casa de la actriz.
—Anda, sube —le dijo ella—; tomaremos una taza de té y
charlaremos un rato; tengo muchas ganas de charlar contigo.
Él, emocionado, loco de alegría, no sabía qué contestar. ¿Pero era
posible, Dios mío? Parecíale que estaba soñando, y se pasaba
instintivamente las manos por los ojos, para convencerse de que no
era delirio. No, no lo era; aquella era su casa, aquel el recibimiento con
su perchero de nogal adornado de verdes palmeras; aquel el gabinete
coquetón y lujoso; aquella la chaise longue sobre la cual, embelesado
escuchó tantas veces las palabras de amor de su Elena, de su Elena
del alma, que de nuevo se le aparecía, hermosa como nunca, como
nunca adorable.
Aturdido, emocionado, permanecía de pie en medio de la
habitación, sin saber qué hacer ni que decir.
Ella se quitó la capa y la toquilla, las arrojó sobre una butaca
aproximose a él, y cogiéndole las manos y oprimiéndoselas con
fuerza, le dijo apasionada:
—Antonio, Antonio de mi vida, ¡qué ganas tenía de mirarte así!
Él abrió los ojos espantado; pareciole que todo giraba a su
alrededor, que el suelo se hundía, que los muebles danzaban; quiso
hablar y los sollozos ahogaron su voz, sollozos de alegría...
Loco de amor cayó a sus plantas, abrazado a sus piernas
besándole las manos, en una violenta crisis de ternura.
 X

—¿De modo que te vas?

María pronunció estas palabras con tono tan triste, tan hondamente
triste, tan lleno de dolor, que Luis no osó replicarla; hundió la frente en
las manos y de nuevo quedó callado y pensativo.
Y pensativa y callada quedose también ella, los brazos caídos, la
mirada perdida en un grupo de nubes que ensangrentaba el sol.
La tibia luz del crepúsculo penetraba por el balcón abierto
abrillantando los metales, destacando las molduras, reflejándose en
los espejos, luchando tenazmente con las primeras sombras que
lentas, silenciosas, surgían del fondo de la estancia, apoderándose de
los macizos muebles, posesionándose de los paños, apagando los
tapices, amortiguándose a lo largo de las paredes hasta sumirla en
dulce semioscuridad de santuario.
Un sollozo que creyó percibir le hizo alzar la cabeza y mirarla; no se
había engañado: lloraba. Impasible, sin un grito en la garganta, sin una
contracción en el rostro, con los ojos siempre fijos en el crepúsculo
sangriento, lloraba gruesas lágrimas que resbalaban por las mejillas
se detenían al borde de los labios y caían, al fin, pausadas, gota a
gota, sobre la blusa negra.
Sintió Luis que un latigazo le sacudía los nervios; crispáronsele las
manos; quiso hablar y no pudo; comprendió que el valor iba a faltarle
y levantándose bruscamente se fue al balcón y se dejó caer de pechos
sobre la barandilla.
La brisa de la tarde, al pasar por su frente, le aplacó los nervios y
sosegó su espíritu.
Y así como al morir el día el cielo palidece y las sombras se
agrandan y las líneas se borran y los objetos se confunden y solo
queda brillante y luminoso el disco del sol, así en su cerebro
palidecieron las ideas, los conceptos se borraron, se fundieron los
pensamientos, y únicamente la imagen de su amor quedó triunfante y
viva. Repasó lentamente la historia. La impresión que le produjo
aquella mujer sencilla, ingenua, bonita, delicada, alma de niña, flor de
estufa, trasplantada de la tranquila soledad del claustro a los brazos
de un hombre como Tomás, duro, brutal, impresionable y vengativo
Los días felices de la luna de miel, breves, muy breves. Después e
negro capítulo de Carlos, el odio implacable, los ultrajes continuos, las
largas horas de martirio que al hacerla cada vez más desgraciada, la
hacían cada vez más deseable. Luego, las incertidumbres crueles, las
dudas amargas... ¿Me amará? ¿No me amará? ¿Será para mí algún
día? ¿No lo será nunca? Y la esperanza siempre generosa: «Será
para ti». Y el escepticismo siempre helado: «No lo será jamás». Y
entretanto, una constante comunidad de ideas y sentimientos entre
aquellas dos almas; un comercio intelectual y moral de sensaciones
un afecto recíproco que crece y crece y se agiganta y se convierte en
pasión loca, avasalladora, dominante. Amor condenado a vivi
encerrado en el fondo del alma, como delito vergonzoso, con la
esperanza de poderle ver surgir un día franco y descubierto. Y he aqu
que el día llegaba y la realidad se interponía de nuevo entre sus
sueños para destrozarlos brutalmente y decirle: «Esa mujer no es para
ti».
No, no es para ti. ¿Quién eres tú, qué vales ni qué derecho tienes
para aspirar a ella? ¿Puedes hacerla feliz? ¿Puedes sostenerla con e
decoro que su educación necesita? ¿Puedes casarte con ella? Pues s
no puedes casarte, ¿qué es lo que pretendes? ¿Hacerla tu querida
obligarla a que sacrifique su virtud, el único bien de su alma, lo único
en que la pobre cifra su vanidad y su orgullo? ¿Quieres condenarla a
que se avergüence de sí misma, a que tenga que bajar humillada la
cabeza ante las murmuraciones del mundo, ante la maledicencia de
las gentes, ante la opinión de cuantos la conozcan, que no verán
jamás en esta unión el triunfo del amor puro y bueno que todo lo
justifica y todo lo perdona y todo lo enaltece, sino, por el contrario, la
egoísta adquisición de goces materiales, la grosera satisfacción de
vicio? ¿Qué otra cosa podían significar las burlas veladas, las risas
maliciosas de sus amigos? Bien claro lo había oído. ¿Y ese era e
premio que pensaba darle a sus sufrimientos, a su bondad y a su
ternura?
Y aun en el caso de que su amor le hiciera romper con estos
convencionalismos, con estas preocupaciones ridículas del mundo que
sujetan las pasiones a la fórmula de un sacramento, ¿tendría ella e
mismo valor? ¿Accedería ella? Y aun suponiendo que accediese, ¿iba
a continuar en su casa, viviendo a costa de ella, dejando que ella le
mantuviese? ¿Era esto digno? ¿Era esto decoroso?
El crepúsculo tocaba a su fin. Las nubes habían perdido sus
matices sangrientos y se deshacían en el espacio como grises
bocanadas de humo. Detrás de ellas plateaba el disco de la luna
Entre un jirón inmenso, Venus lucía con titilante brillo. La sombra de
infinito caía lentamente. Un murciélago pasó revoloteando delante de
sus ojos con rápidos giros.
No le quedaba más remedio que separarse de ella, alejarse, lucha
por la vida, entregar su alma a los burgueses, ganar dinero, fuese
como fuese, mucho dinero, viniera de donde viniera, que luego ya le
santificaría él nuevamente transformándole en arte y en amor. Y
entretanto, coger su cariño y guardarle como sagrada reliquia, huir de
María, no buscarla, contentarse con que caprichos de la suerte le
colocaran frente a ella para contemplarla un instante, como se
contempla la joya que nos deslumbra y que no podemos adquirir; la
obra de arte que nos emociona y que no podemos poseer; la creación
musical que nos embriaga y que ni siquiera sabemos interpretar. Ella
le esperaría; confiaba en ella.
Y más tranquilo ya, envalentonado con esta esperanza, regresó a
gabinete.
Ella no se había movido. Con los brazos caídos y los ojos siempre
fijos en el espacio, continuaba silenciosa. Largo suspiro abrió por fin
sus labios y volvió a repetir:
—¿De modo que te vas?
—Sí, me voy.
Y con voz torpe y frases entrecortadas, como el que no cree en lo
que dice, le explicó el motivo. Él no podía continuar allí más tiempo
No solo no era digno ni decoroso para él, sino que constituía un
peligro para ella, para su reputación y para su honra. Él no podía en
manera alguna exponerla a las murmuraciones del mundo. El mundo
no vería en ellos más que un hombre joven y una mujer hermosa que
vivían juntos sin estar casados. El mundo es así; juzga po
apariencias, y sus fallos son inapelables. No podemos sustraernos a
ellos; no podemos romper con la realidad que nos ahoga y nos
empequeñece y nos anula y nos convierte en marionetas de Guignol
en pobres seres sin voluntad y sin albedrío, sujetos a las leyes frías
inexorables, de una sociedad sin fe y sin corazón. Pasamos por la vida
como sombras de nosotros mismos. Por miedo a los fallos del mundo
ahogamos en flor nuestros más bellos ideales, nuestras ilusiones más
bellas; refrenamos nuestras pasiones, ocultamos nuestros deseos, y
en carnaval perpetuo cubrimos con máscara de risa los más puros
afectos. Tú y yo nos queremos, nos adoramos con toda el alma y, sin
embargo, tenemos que separarnos uno de otro... Ya lo ves...
—Es verdad..., es verdad —asentía María tristemente.
Era completamente de noche. Un rayo de luna, rompiendo los
celajes, caía sobre ella iluminando su cabeza rubia y sus mejillas
pálidas. En el fondo de la estancia, entre los grandes cortinones rojos
de la capilla, se destacaba, alumbrado por el mortecino fulgor de las
lámparas, el Cristo de marfil.
—Me voy; pero no creas que por eso me separo de ti, no; yo
volveré y cuando vuelva, yo te diré todo lo que tengo guardado en e
fondo del alma, lo que yo he sufrido, lo que yo te quiero. Yo te diré que
te quiero como no ha sido querida jamás mujer alguna; yo te diré que
al solo recuerdo de tu imagen, la más pequeña fibra del más pequeño
músculo se agita de emoción. Yo no puedo vivir sin ti, María. Me
levanto y me acuesto pensando en ti. No hay un solo momento en
todo el día en que el recuerdo de tu persona no me martirice. Te tengo
metida en el cerebro. Yo no puedo trabajar, no puedo hacer nada
estoy anulado para todo lo que no sea mi amor y mi María.
Ella le escuchaba atentamente, sin demostrar la menor extrañeza
como si todo aquello fuese cosa sabida. Él continuó, cogiéndole las
manos, que ella no retiró:
—Te adoro, María, te adoro. Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi alegría. Tú
espérame, que yo volveré; y cuando yo vuelva, todo lo que tenga, todo
lo que sea, todo lo que valga será para ti. Yo te daré todo lo que tú
necesites. Más. ¿Quieres cariño? A montones. ¿Quieres ternura? A
raudales. Yo satisfaré todas tus ansias; yo te querré por todos los que
no te han querido. Yo me arrancaré el corazón con las uñas y te lo
daré diciéndote: toma, para ti, ámale o despréciale, mímale o estrújale
acaríciale o pisotéale; haz lo que quieras, para eso te lo doy, es todo
tuyo. Yo te veneraré como a una madre, te querré como a una novia
te respetaré como a una hermana, te desearé como a una amante
tendré para ti ternezas de niño y caricias de fuego; en una palabra; yo
te amaré como no ha sido amada jamás mujer alguna.
—¡Calla, por Dios!
—¡Cuánto te quiero, María de mi alma! ¡Cuánto te necesito! ¡Qué
ganas tengo de que seas mía! ¿Cuándo serás mía, verdaderamente
enteramente, completamente mía?
—¡Luis, déjame, no me enloquezcas! —contestó ella con voz ronca
ahogándose.
Él no la oía. Aproximándose a su cara hasta abrasarla con su
aliento, aprisionándole las manos cada vez con más fuerza, seguía
apasionado:
—Te haré la más feliz de las mujeres. Si en el cariño fundas tu
alegría, yo te volveré loca de cariño. ¡Verás cuánto amor, cuánta
ternura, cuánto mimo tengo en el alma guardado para ti! Yo te juro
María, que te querré como no has soñado nunca que te quieran.
—Pues bien; yo también te quiero; yo también te juro... Ven —
exclamó bruscamente, poniéndose en pie y llevándole nerviosa a la
capilla—. Yo te juro también que te quiero mucho, mucho. Yo te juro
delante de ese Cristo que nos oye, que seré tuya o no seré de nadie.
Los rayos de la luna se apagaron de pronto tras las nubes grises
sumiendo el gabinete en honda oscuridad. Una ráfaga de aire
penetrando furiosa por el balcón abierto, sacudió con estrépito los
cristales, barrió un periódico abandonado sobre una silla y, llegando
hasta el oratorio, hizo oscilar las luces de las lámparas que
alumbraban al Cristo.
—Yo también te amo —siguió ella diciendo—; todas esas fiebres
todas esas ansias de que antes hablabas, las siento yo también. Yo
también te necesito; yo también quiero ser tuya verdaderamente
enteramente, completamente tuya. Y lo seré; ¿verdad, Dios mío, que
seré suya? —preguntó con suplicante acento, clavando los ojos en e
crucifijo de marfil.
Él, sugestionado por aquella fe, lo miró igualmente.
 Y ambos quedaron de nuevo largo rato silenciosos; uno de esos
silencios hondos, deprimentes, que pesan como losas de plomo. María
fue también quien lo rompió primero para decir tristemente:
—Mi vida está desde este instante consagrada a ti, a Dios y a ti
Cuando me busques me encontrarás siempre, siempre seré la misma
Pero ¿y tú, Luis? ¿Puedo yo tener la misma confianza? Eres joven
eres libre, el porvenir es tuyo..., en tu camino encontrarás mujeres que
valgan más que yo, ¿te acordarás de mí?
—¡Siempre!
—No me olvides, Luis, no me olvides: no podría vivir sin tu cariño.
Las mortecinas luces de las lámparas seguían alumbrando e
oratorio con dulce claridad. Bajo el dosel de púrpura, la Virgen los
miraba con expresión de infinita ternura; sobre el altar abría sus
brazos piadosos el Cristo de marfil.
—Adiós, María.
—¿Tan pronto?
—Sí... Si no me voy ahora, no me iré nunca. Mañana quizá no
tendría fuerzas para ello, y es preciso que me marche; ¿verdad que es
preciso?
Ella palideció más todavía; un temblor nervioso recorrió su cuerpo
sus ojos se llenaron de lágrimas; pero reponiéndose en seguida
contestó:
—Sí, es preciso.
—¡Adiós!
—Adiós, mi Luis.
—Adiós, mi alma.
Cogió su mano y la llenó de besos. Después salió tambaleándose.
Ella quedó de pie, atontada, escuchando cómo los pasos de él se
perdían en el silencio del pasillo. Luego clavó en el Cristo los ojos
suplicantes.
—¡Dios mío! ¡Dios mío! ¡Tú que lees en el fondo de las almas, ten
compasión de mí!
Y cayó de rodillas, sollozando.
 XI

Anduvo mucho, muchísimo, no sabía cuánto ni cómo ni por dónde

Anduvo errante, a la ventura, por calles y plazuelas, eligiendo las
menos concurridas, esquivando las miradas de los transeúntes
temeroso a cada instante de encontrarse un amigo impertinente que le
sacara de sus meditaciones que, tristes y todo, tenían el adorable
encanto de ser suyas. Pasó, repasó y volvió a pasar el intrincado
laberinto de calles desde la suya a los Mostenses y desde los
Mostenses a San Gil; subió la de Leganitos, y huyendo de la de
Preciados, se metió en los alrededores de la plaza de los Ministerios
bordeó luego los jardines de la plaza de Oriente, pasó frente Palacio
siguió por Bailén, cruzó el Viaducto y, torciendo después a la izquierda
entró en la de Don Pedro, bajó a la de Segovia y se perdió en las
intrincadas callejuelas del Madrid viejo, en las retorcidas, desiguales
calles de la antigua villa, más frías, más tristes, más lóbregas que
nunca, bajo el cielo nublado.
En el silencio de estas viejas calles donde los pasos retumbaban
como en sonoro claustro de convento, sus ideas confusas comenzaron
a cristalizarse poco a poco; el instinto de la vida, sobreponiéndose a
todo con brutal egoísmo, fue borrando tristezas, recuerdos, delirios
toda la parte ideal de sus amores, para mostrarle al fin, cruda y
escueta, la terrible realidad del presente, el problema, planteado ya, de
su nueva situación en el mundo.
¡Bonita situación! Sin familia, sin amigos, sin casa, sin dinero..
¿Qué hacer en este trance, qué hacer? Y como la contestación
satisfactoria no llegaba, seguía errando, pausada y tardamente, por las
viejas calles, más tristes, más lóbregas, más solitarias cada vez. E
viento triunfaba en ellas, retorciéndose en las esquinas, apagándose
en las fachadas, barriendo los desperdicios del arroyo, silbando en los
aleros, zarandeando persianas y cortinas, haciendo oscilar las llamas
de los faroles que, débiles, temblaban como reverberos de retablo. Las
sombras vagas de los transeúntes, al pasar bajo el radio mezquino de
luz, se destacaban un momento; después se confundían de nuevo en
la negrura de la noche. Aullaba un perro. Una guitarra gemía plañidera
una copla andaluza.
En el silencio augusto de estas calles, de estas viejas calles
retorcidas y lóbregas que pesaban sobre su conciencia con la tristeza
acumulada de tres siglos, Luis sentía que su espíritu declinaba, que su
voluntad se adormecía y que un abatimiento profundo, muy profundo
se iba apoderando lentamente de él. Se encontró solo, abandonado y
triste; triste sobre todo. Un ansia imperiosa de llorar, de desahogar su
corazón acongojado, le acometió de pronto, y apoyándose en e
saliente de una reja, lloró largo tiempo, con lágrimas tibias y sollozos
hondos.
Poco a poco sus energías reaccionaron. Se dio cuenta de su
debilidad, y, avergonzado, irguió la frente y paseó la mirada por la
calle. Nadie le había visto; todo dormía en el reposo augusto; solo e
viento seguía silbando en las encrucijadas, zarandeando las cortinas
de lona y empujando las nubes que, en el gris pizarroso del cielo, ante
el lívido espectro de la luna, se extendían flotando como algas
gigantescas. Terció la capa con gallardo ademán y siguió andando
tranquilo ya, seguro de sí mismo, firme el pisar y la mirada altiva.
A medida que el problema se desenvolvía en su cerebro, le
encontraba más fácil y sencillo. Después de todo, aquello era
perfectamente natural. No había por qué ni para qué abatirse. Solo los
espíritus pobres decaen en la lucha; la temen y la huyen. Los fuertes la
persiguen, combaten y triunfan. En la batalla de la vida, solo
sucumben los cobardes y los débiles. Razonando con frialdad de esta
suerte, hubo un momento en que hasta se alegró de su nueva
situación, de este cambio de vida que le permitiría en lo sucesivo
desenvolver sus ideales, sus energías, sus grandes ambiciones de
gloria, sujetas hasta entonces por la inacción y el indiferentismo. No
sentía remordimiento alguno por lo que había hecho; al contrario, le
parecía admirable aquella ruptura inesperada y brusca. Así estaba
más libre y más independiente.
Sin saber cómo se encontró en la calle del Arenal, esquina a
pasadizo de San Ginés, en el momento mismo en que los grandes
focos eléctricos apagaban unánimes su resplandor blanquísimo. La
gente salía del teatro, las mujeres tapándose la cara y los hombres
encendiendo pitillos. Avanzaban lentos, en compacto grupo por e
angosto pasadizo donde se separaban, extendiéndose a lo largo de
arroyo como río que se sale de madre. Los coches alquilados se
alejaban retumbando con ruidoso rodar.
Oculto en la sombra de una puerta, apoyado en el quicio y
embozado en la capa, se distrajo largo rato viendo pasar la
muchedumbre. Gentiles parejas cogiditas del brazo; grupos de
muchachos tarareando los cantables; señores graves, familias
burguesas, mujeres honradas y mujeres alegres, gente elegante y
gente del pueblo, el público de la butaca y el público del anfiteatro
mezclado y unido en democrática confusión. Vio a Gaitán con varios
amigos; a Lola Guzmán y a Paca Rey, espléndidas, elegantísimas
llenando la calle con su omnipotencia de mujeres hermosas. Y
tiernamente unidos, juntos, muy juntos, hablándose en voz baja
comiéndose con los ojos, andando muy despacio, muy despacio, los
últimos de todos, enamorados y felices, Manolo y Petrita. Iban tan
arrobados uno en otro que no le vieron: ¡qué habían de verle!, si no
veían nada, si para ellos no había más mundo que ellos mismos, que
su cariño inmenso que los unía y los confundía y los amalgamaba en
un solo deseo y una sola idea y una sola personalidad.
Apoyado en el quicio de la puerta, oculto en la sombra, los miró
alejarse poco a poco. Y al verlos tan unidos, tan dichosos, tan
satisfechos de ellos mismos, poseedores felices del amor que alegra la
existencia, un sentimiento de envidia royó su corazón. El recuerdo de
la mujer querida apareció de nuevo y sumiole otra vez en hondos
pesimismos.
El cielo estaba completamente cerrado. Había calmado el viento y
una lluvia helada y menudísima caía lentamente.
Pegado a las paredes, resguardándose del agua bajo las piedras de
los balcones, atravesó acelerando el paso la Puerta del Sol. Sentía
hambre y frío. Dolorosa sensación de angustia le oprimía el pecho y su
estómago le hacía sufrir horriblemente. Pensó entrar en un café; pero
el brillo de las luces y la concurrencia que en todos se le antojó
numerosa, le hicieron desistir de su propósito y siguió andando por la
Carrera de San Jerónimo, sin objeto alguno, sin pensar en nada, en un
completo embrutecimiento de su ser, mecánicamente, muy entretenido
en ver cómo su sombra crecía y se agrandaba bajo los vacilantes
mecheros del gas.
Al llegar a la calle del Príncipe, la lluvia arreció de tal manera, que
no tuvo más remedio que guarecerse en un portal, al lado de un
guardia de orden público. Y allí estuvo una hora y otra, muerto de frío
tiritando, aguardando inútilmente a que escampara.
Con gran sorpresa suya oyó de pronto que le llamaban, y alzando
los ojos, vio parado delante de él un coche de punto con la portezuela
abierta, y en el Interior la elegante silueta de una mujer que le hacía
señas para que se acercase. Era Isabelilla.
—Pero, hombre, ¿qué haces ahí?
Tan embrutecido estaba, que no supo al principio qué contestar
Bien es verdad que en aquel momento la respuesta resultaba un tanto
difícil.
—Nada, ya ves; esperar a que escampe.
Lo dijo con tono tan extraño, tan abatido, que Isabelilla no pudo po
menos de mirarle asombrada.
—¿Qué te pasa, chiquillo?
—Nada.
—A mí no me vengas con mentiras; a ti te pasa algo: ¿qué duda
cabe de eso? Te pasa algo y me lo vas a contar ahora mismito... Sube
—No.
—¿Por qué? ¿Qué vas a hacer en ese portal, mamarracho? Ea
sube; te llevaré a tu casa.
Iba a replicar negándose nuevamente; pero comprendiendo que no
era cosa de entrar en explicaciones delante del guardia y del cochero
calló y entró en el coche.
—Oye, arrea a un café donde haya poca gente.
Mientras fueron en el carruaje, Isabelilla permaneció callada; pero
en cuanto entraron en el café, abordó resueltamente la cuestión.
—Mira, chiquillo, tú a mí no me la das, te conozco demasiado. Esta
noche estás tú muy triste y muy desesperado, y eso no puede ser más
que por dos motivos: o no tienes dinero, o te ha engañado una mujer
—Y como observara que Luis se sonreía amargamente, prosiguió con
voz firme, segura de haber puesto el dedo en la llaga—: ¿Ves tú? No
había más que mirarte para comprenderlo. Tú esta noche has jugado y
has perdido, ¿no?, pues entonces es lo otro, eso es: tú has reñido con
una mujer, con una mujer a quien quieres mucho, ¡como que has
llorado...!, tienes todavía hinchados los ojos. Pues ¿sabes lo que te
digo?; que no hay en el mundo ni una sola mujer que merezca que un
hombre llore. Ya ves tú, yo soy mujer y te lo digo. De manera que
pelillos a la mar; echa por el camino de en medio, tira a un lado
tormentos y fatigas y mírame a mí, a tú Isabelilla, que está toda por t
dispuesta a darte todas las alegrías que tú quieras... ¡Qué barbaridad
¡Pues no lo has tomado tú poco a pechos! Ni que te fuera en ello la
vida. Vamos a ver: ¿se puede saber quién es esa señora que te trae
de cabeza esta noche? ¿La conozco yo?
—¡Tú qué vas a conocer!
—Bueno, hombre, no te alteres, que no la ofendo. ¡Ni que fuera la
Virgen del Carmen! —Se detuvo por miedo de decir demasiado
Después, observando el aspecto abatido del pobre chico, continuó con
tono amable, oprimiéndole dulcemente la muñeca—: Vamos, no te
pongas así... Me da mucha pena verte triste. Anda, cuéntame lo que te
ha pasado. ¡Qué caramba!, cuatro ojos ven más que dos: es posible
que te pueda dar un buen consejo.
Él, entonces, sugestionado por aquella amabilidad, en un arrebato
de expansión, en una necesidad imperiosa de hacer a alguien
partícipe de sus intimidades, de descargar todas las miserias que
pesaban sobre su alma, se lo contó todo. Ella le oyó en silencio
sinceramente interesada. Cuando terminó de hablar, quedó largo rato
pensativa. Después, adoptando un aire de superioridad, como muje
que comprende toda la importancia de un consejo, emitió francamente
su parecer.
—¿Sabes lo que te digo? Que esa mujer no te quiere, no te hagas
ilusiones, ¡qué te va a querer! Si te quisiera, no te habría dejado
marchar esta noche en las condiciones en que te has ido, solo, sin
dinero... Y a mí no me vengas con que ha sido por deber ni por virtud
¡mentira!, el verdadero deber, la verdadera virtud estaba en haberte
retenido en su casa, hasta que tú encontraras medios de vida, en
coger el corazón y pisotearle y decirte, si es que quería ser buena
«Mira, chico, no te molestes en hablarme de amor, porque entre tú y
yo no puede haber nada». Eso, eso era virtud, eso era deber. Pero
echarte a la calle a hacer el golfo y a pasar fatigas, eso, eso no lo hace
ninguna mujer que quiere, menos aún, ninguna mujer que tenga
corazón. Perdona si te hago daño —prosiguió al ver que a Luis se le
saltaban las lágrimas—, pero, ¡qué quieres!, no puedo remediarlo; ¡me
da coraje que se porten así con un hombre!
Calló de pronto. Él dio un suspiro y abatió la cabeza sobre el pecho.
—Bueno, ¿y qué vas a hacer?
—No sé.
—¿No tienes nada pensado?
—Nada.
Ella calló de nuevo. Luego, adoptando una resolución enérgica, le
preguntó a boca de jarro:
—Oye; ¿quieres venir a vivir conmigo?
Él la miró asombrado; vaciló un momento; pero reponiéndose en
seguida, contestó secamente:
—No.
—¿Por qué? ¿Qué inconveniente hay? Mira, yo ahora no tengo a
nadie, soy libre, dispongo de dinero... para..., para..., lo menos para
tres meses. Y en tres meses, ¡figúrate tú! Anda, ¿quieres?
—No, Isabel, no, no puede ser.
—Pero ¿por qué? ¡Si no lo sabrá nadie..., si nadie tiene necesidad
de saberlo...! Y aunque lo sepan, ¿no puedes tú vivir con quien te dé la
gana? ¿O es que quieres tanto a esa mujer, que aun después de lo
que te ha hecho no quieres faltarla? Si es así, me callo; pero conste
que te hago el ofrecimiento con toda mi alma.
—Gracias, Isabel, muchas gracias; ya lo sé.
—Bueno, pues entonces otra cosa. Tú no tienes dinero; permíteme
que te preste lo que necesites: veinte, treinta, cuarenta duros, lo que te
haga falta. No los llevo encima, pero te los mandaré mañana donde tú
quieras.
—Gracias, no me hace falta nada; tengo dinero.
—¡Mentira!
—De veras, mujer, tengo dinero.
—Mira, Luis —exclamó apoyando los codos sobre el mármol de la
mesa y mirándole fijamente—. Yo soy agradecida. ¿Te acuerdas
cuando nos conocimos? Era una noche como esta, solo que aquella
noche era yo la que estaba desesperada y triste: me había
abandonado un hombre a quien quería y me echaban de la casa po
no tener dinero. Te conté la historia y me diste diez duros, y cuando yo
en pago de ellos quise darte mi cuerpo, que era lo único que yo podía
darte, me contestaste: «No, niña; yo no compro mujeres ni me
aprovecho de tristezas». Estas fueron tus palabras, ¿te acuerdas? «S
algún día nos encontramos y yo te veo contenta y feliz, me iré contigo
porque eres una mujer muy hermosa, que me gustas mucho; pero esta
noche, no»; ¿te acuerdas? —Hizo una pequeña pausa y prosiguió—
Aquellos diez duros fueron un préstamo; por lo tanto, te los devuelvo y
te presto otros para que tú me los devuelvas a tu vez cuando los
tengas; ¿estamos?
—No, Isabel, no; no me hacen falta.
Los camareros habían apagado la mayor parte de las luces, y
después de colocar las sillas encima de las mesas, barrían el suelo
mirando con mal disimulado enojo a aquella pareja que no acababa de
marcharse.
—Vámonos, van a cerrar —dijo Luis.
—Sí, vámonos —contestó ella malhumorada, poniéndose en pie y
atravesando el salón sin volver la cabeza. Antes de subir al coche
volvió a insistir.
—¿De manera que no quieres venir a casa?
—No.
—¿Ni quieres que te preste dinero?
—Tampoco.
—Pues bien, eres un mamarracho y un idiota y un imbécil —
exclamó indignada, cerrando de golpe la portezuela—. Después de
todo, mira, peor para ti.
Él se encogió de hombros y echó de nuevo a andar por las calles
mojadas.
 XII

Las palabras de Isabelilla punzaban su corazón como alfileres

agudísimos. Esa mujer no te quiere, no te hagas ilusiones, no te
quiere; si te quisiera, no habría dejado que te marcharas. Este
argumento brutal, frío y cortante más que el viento que le daba en la
cara, enseñoreándose poco a poco de su cerebro, se había
posesionado con tal fuerza de él, convenciéndole de tal modo, que
todas las excusas y atenuantes le parecían ya ridículas y falsas.
No te hagas ilusiones, no te quiere; todo ha sido un juego. Se ha
burlado de ti; no te quiere; si te quisiera, no te habría dejado marchar
El brutal argumento se revolvía dentro del cráneo retorciéndose
agrandándose, extendiéndose, aprisionando las demás ideas que en
vano se esforzaban por defender a la hipócrita. No te quiere; todo es
mentira; su amor mentira, su virtud mentira, su heroísmo mentira. Solo
el orgullo triunfa en ella y la vanidad y el amor propio. Si te quisiera, te
habría abierto los brazos y te hubiera dicho: Soy tuya, pobre y rico, soy
tuya, con dinero y sin dinero, con tristeza y con alegría. No te quiere
Si te quisiera, te habría dicho: ¡Qué me importa a mí el mundo, si m
mundo eres tú! ¡Qué me importa la tranquilidad de mi conciencia, s
pierdo al no verte la tranquilidad de mi alma...! No te quiere. Si te
quisiera, su amor habría vencido por encima de todo; no habría
razonado, que el amor que razona no es verdadero amor... No te
quiere.
Ante esta idea, un sentimiento de profundo odio se apoderaba de
él, y crispando los puños atravesaba rápido calles y más calles
taconeando sobre los charcos que se quebraban con salpicaduras de
lodo. Sin que pudiera explicárselo, se encontró delante de su casa
mejor dicho, de la casa de ella. Instintivamente alzó los ojos y miró los
balcones. Estaban oscuros, cerrados, con las persianas a medio
levantar. En el piso de encima brillaba vivamente la faja de luz de una
rendija. Las nubes seguían corriendo veloces por el cielo negro, ante
el lívido cadáver de la luna.
Durante un cuarto de hora permaneció en el portal de la casa de
enfrente, mirando con grande atención aquellos balcones
herméticamente cerrados, queriendo adivinar lo que tras ellos sucedía
esperando un movimiento, una luz, un indicio cualquiera que le sacara
de sus incertidumbres. Su imaginación atravesaba las persianas, los
cristales, las recias maderas, pisaba la alfombra, rozaba los muebles
y entrando en la alcoba, veía a María dormida en la cama, tranquila
indiferente, mientras él permanecía clavado en la acera, tiritando de
frío.
Después, como observase que el farolillo del sereno avanzaba
hacia él, huyó bruscamente, temeroso de ser reconocido. Y siguió de
nuevo su excursión por las calles. Algunas hembras de vida alegre le
sujetaban del brazo al pasar junto a ellas, tratando de retenerle en su
camino; él, sin mirarlas, se sacudía brutalmente y seguía avanzando
siempre avanzando, por las calles húmedas. En un reloj de torre sonó
una campanada, una media; ¿las dos y media? ¿las tres y media?
¿las cuatro y media? No sabía. Había perdido la noción del tiempo.
En la calle de la Montera un nuevo chaparrón le obligó a guarecerse
en el vestíbulo, todavía abierto, del pequeño café del Brillante; pero
pareciéndole que las camareras se burlaban de él, abandonó aque
refugio, y volviendo sobre sus pasos, siguió aceleradamente por la
calle del Caballero de Gracia, sin importarle el agua que le azotaba e
rostro con frialdad de nieve.
Asaltole la idea de que todo el mundo, los serenos, los cocheros
los guardias de orden público guarecidos en el hueco de las puertas
los escasos transeúntes que pasaban con sus paraguas en la mano
se fijaban en él, en sus pantalones llenos de lodo y en su sombrero
chorreando agua, y dominado por esta preocupación, bajaba la cabeza
y apretaba el paso para llegar cuanto antes al café de Fornos, donde
había resuelto esperar el día. Después ya determinaría lo más
conveniente.
Al tratar de abrir la trampilla de la puerta, un individuo que salía a
mismo tiempo, le dio tan fuerte encontronazo, que estuvo a punto de
derribarle.
—¡Bárbaro! ¿No ve usted donde pone los ojos?
 —Eso digo yo, ¿dónde mira usted? Pero, calle..., ¡Gener!...
—¡Boncamí!
—¡Quién iba a pensar! ¿Dónde demonios va usted a estas horas?
—A tomar chocolate.
—Hombre, si no tardara usted mucho, le acompañaría.
—No sé... Quizá esté toda la noche.
—¡Cómo! ¿no va usted a casa?
—Hoy no tengo casa.
—¿Qué dice usted?
—Pues, eso... Que esta noche no tengo dónde dormir.
—Ah, vamos, ya comprendo. Es decir, no comprendo nada. Pero
por lo pronto, si no tiene usted casa, véngase a la mía. Mañana ya
hablaremos.
Abrió el paraguas y cogió a Luis del brazo; pero viendo que aque
era insuficiente para dos personas y que la lluvia arreciaba, cambió de
parecer y llamó a un simón.
—Tomaremos un coche, ¡qué demonio! Un día es un día. Por una
vez, seamos generosos.
 XIII

—Aquí ha estado Mínguez esperándole a usted.

—¡Pobre hombre! Me figuro a lo que habrá venido.
—A pedirle a usted dinero. No tenía para comer mañana. ¡Me ha
causado una pena! Le he dado dos pesetas, las únicas que me
quedaban.
Boncamí palideció.
—¡Cómo! ¿Se ha quedado usted sin dinero?
—¡Qué iba a hacer! ¿Iba a consentir que no comiera?
—Pero, desgraciado; usted ignora que los que no vamos a come
mañana somos nosotros.
—¿Qué dice usted?
—Pues, eso; que yo tampoco tengo una peseta. No le he dicho a
usted nada estos días porque confiaba en que usted tenía recursos.
—Lo mismo creía yo.
—¡Pues nos hemos divertido!
Lo dijo con tono tan compungido, que Luis no pudo por menos de
echarse a reír.
—Sí, ríase usted; la cosa es, ¡vive Dios!, para tomarla a risa. No
tenemos un cuarto. Se nos echa encima la miseria. Por lo pronto, no
sé mañana cómo ni dónde comeremos.
—Vamos, hombre, no se apure usted; no faltará un alma caritativa
que nos preste dos duros.
—A usted sí, a mí no; he abusado de todos los amigos; me da
vergüenza molestarlos más.
—A mí también, pero, ¡qué demonio!, no hay más remedio.
—Y aun así: con dos duros resolveremos el problema de mañana y
el de pasado mañana; pero, ¿y el otro?: porque supongo que no