WHEN I WAKE up, I notice the bed is empty, but there’s a note resting on Mateo’s pillow. I read the masculine script over and over again, trying to make sense of it. He wants me to stay in the room until he comes to get me later this evening and also to look nice for something special he has planned.
I set the note down, wondering what the “something special” could possibly be. Yesterday, Mateo let me sleep most of the day away while he was holed up in his office, acting all secretive and shit. Something is definitely going on, but I have no idea what he’s up to. Not like he would even tell me. He obviously wants this to be some sort of a surprise.
I spend most of the day racking my brain and trying to figure it out, but then ultimately give up and end up distracting myself from the thing that shall not be named by soaking in the clawfoot bathtub for hours until my fingers turn pruney. After I’m done, I dry off, do my hair and makeup and go to the closet to pick out an outfit. I end up settling on a cute, navy blue eyelet embroidered patchwork shirtdress with a belt. I complete the look with a pair of strappy heels and pop some red lipstick on my lips before patiently waiting. Since I don’t have a clock, time has no real sense here. I could be waiting for ten minutes or a half an hour and not really be able to tell the difference unless I count the seconds down inside my head.
Eventually, though, the door opens, and Mateo steps in, looking debonair in a black suit with his hair perfectly in place. Although I love the unruly look he always seems to be rocking when it comes to his hair, this put-together style is hot too.
“You look gorgeous,” he tells me, his eyes devouring me.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I remark. “So, are we leaving the house for this special occasion?” I ask, desperately wanting to know what is so unique about today.
“No, we’re staying home. I have everything ready downstairs.”
“Oh.” My curiosity is piqued. Maybe he planned a dinner party? I just hope it goes better than the one we went to in the past. I guess if I don’t end up being assaulted by a stranger, I’ll call that a win.
“What’s wrong?” Mateo asks, perhaps sensing my discomfort from my inner thoughts.
“Nothing. Just wondering what’s going on.”
“You’ll see,” he says cryptically before reaching out his hand for me to take, which I do. He leads me down the stairs, and the first thing I notice is how many balloons there are. Arches of balloons above all the doorways, balloons covering the floor and helium balloons dancing across the ceiling. “Is it someone’s birthday?” I whisper conspiratorially to him right before I see several people jump out from the next room and yell, “SURPRISE!”
Ignacio, Flora, Esmeralda, and most of the staff are standing at the bottom of the stairs looking expectantly up at me. Confused, I glance at Mateo, who has a roguish smile stretched across his handsome face. “It’s your birthday?” I question.
“No,” he answers. “It’s yours.”
Suddenly, I feel the sensation of dropping down a very steep slope of a rollercoaster. I have trouble breathing as my chest tightens with anxiety. If it’s my birthday, then that means that months have passed. Months without seeing or hearing from my family and friends. Months that have passed with events and parties and special occasions that I will never get to experience or relive. Months that I’ve been held captive against my will with no promise to ever be let go.
I’m barely aware that we’ve made it to the bottom of the steps until Mateo grips my chin in his hand and forces my gaze to his. “Aria, what’s wrong?” he insists, confusion and worry thick in his voice.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” I mimic him, giggling before laughing hysterically. Oh god, I think I’m finally losing my mind.
Mateo turns to Esmeralda and tells her, “Take everyone to the kitchen. We’ll be there shortly.”
Once we’re alone, Mateo grips my arms, shaking me gently. “Talk to me, Aria,” he orders.
“How long?” I blurt out.
“What?” he questions.
“How long have I been here, Mateo? How long?” I demand.
He checks his watch, and then quickly says, “Three months, eleven days, six hours and twenty-eight seconds.”
I’m stunned speechless by his words. He knows down to the very second? “Wait…” My voice trails off as all of my panicked thoughts are suddenly consumed by one burning question. “How do you know that?”
His dark eyes pierce mine as he states, “I keep track of the important things in my life. The things that matter.”
It takes a moment for his words to slowly sink in. Mateo isn’t the kind of person who comes right out and says exactly how he feels. You have to constantly read between the lines when it comes to him, but this is the most precise he’s ever been with me.
I matter to him. I’m important to him. And he knows how long I’ve been here down to the minute and even the second.
Gripping the stair railing, I take a seat on the first step, needing a minute to calm myself down. I was on the verge of a breakdown with the startling news of how long I’ve been here, but now…now I’m just trying to process everything.
Mateo doesn’t push, doesn’t try to pry into my thoughts. He simply just stands there; a comforting force even if I don’t want him to be.
“I wonder if my family thinks I’m dead,” I ponder aloud. I can imagine my mother sick with grief; my father angry beyond words that he hasn’t been able to find me yet. My brother and Renato would definitely be sharing in the rage and guilt. And Selina… Oh, Selina is probably distraught, blaming herself for everything. She couldn’t have known about the tracker that Constantine had inserted into her body. Had she known, she would have told someone, and she would have never left the sanctity of our home.
Mateo is quiet for a beat before he offers, “I can put out word that you’re alive and well, if that would make you feel better.”
My eyes lock onto his, searching his face for any signs of deception. He’s been so against me contacting my family since that phone call where I spilled a lot of information to my brother out of fear. “You would do that?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.
“For you, yes,” he responds.
Again, I’m reading between the lines with him. I don’t know exactly when I became the woman he cares for instead of the woman he purchased and was forced to take care of. But more importantly, I don’t know when he became the man I want to be with instead of the man I’m trying to run away from.
“Consider it one of your birthday presents,” he offers. And then he reaches around the corner and pulls out a pretty, white box with a bright pink bow. “Along with this.”
Tentatively, I take the box and open it. There’s a layer of matching pink tissue paper, and I carefully pull it back. My eyes widen at the pair of metallic gold Louboutin heels nestled inside. They look exactly like the same shoes I was wearing the night I was kidnapped. The pair of heels that my mom had given to me as a present.
Slowly, I pull out one of the heels and study it. It looks new, but I suddenly have to know. “Are these…?” My voice trails off as a lump forms in my throat.
“Yes,” Mateo says. “They’re the same ones. I had them restored.”
Tears fill my eyes as I hold one of the heels to my chest. I know it’s stupid to cry over a pair of shoes, but these were a gift from my mother. Quite possibly the last gift I’ll ever receive from her. I wore them when I thought my life was over. I endured so much with them on my feet, and they made me feel powerful. Unstoppable.
Mateo could have gone out and bought me something new, something meaningless like a piece of jewelry or brand-new shoes. But instead, he went above and beyond and did something he knew I would love, something I would cherish.
And now I’m crying for a whole different reason.
Mateo frowns, studying my reaction. “I hope they didn’t fuck them up. I paid a lot of money to —.”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. I set the box down and throw myself into his arms, practically tackling him as my mouth claims his in an intense kiss. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. “Do you like them?”
“I love them,” I confess in a rush. “Thank you.”
A smile graces his sexy mouth, and it takes my breath away. Shaking my head, I slowly step away from him and take a deep breath. I went from my lowest low to my highest high in a matter of a few minutes, and I’m still trying to play catch-up. All these new feelings are bombarding me, but I’ll deal with them later when I’m alone and have time to think.
“So…is there cake?” I finally ask.
“Of course,” Mateo says, his expression softening. “Esmeralda makes the best chocolate cake you’ve ever tasted in your life,” he promises.
“I’ll hold you to that,” I tell him before I let him lead me into the kitchen and to my birthday party that goes well into the night.
