Page 15 of Knotting Before Them

“Nothing wrong, sweetheart. Actually, everything is going great, don’t you think?”

She smiled brightly, and fuck me, I was never letting her go.

I decided to workfrom the kitchen, the second-best view in the house.

Theo and Wylder traded looks when talking about Noah’s absence, but I tried not to worry too much. It wasn’t my business he wasn’t here. No, my business was to draw inspiration, get something done, and present it to a gallery.

My business wasn’t noticing how good Wylder looked after his morning run, or to feel butterflies when Theo came closer and praised my efforts, even though I knew it was shit.

My business wasn’t feeling a bit hollow inside because I drove Noah out of his own house.

I couldn’t understand why he hated me so much. People never hated me.

No one ever felt strongly about me, but hate was definitely a strong emotion.

I knew my parents loved me, but for a long time, I was an accessory to their lives. My mom was praised for being a mother and still working, while my dad was commended for carrying me around the world and exposing me to all cultures.

They never asked me if I wanted to know about all cultures. All I wanted to know one: ours.

I’d only been to Bolivia three times growing up. I met a few family members, but no one who really stood out. I knew Spanish the same way I knew French and Italian. My Spanish had no flavor, no heavy Bolivian accent.

I had only one thing I held dear: Diablada.

It was my third time in Bolivia when I first saw it. I was just twelve years old, and my dad’s old friend brought us to watch.

I never forgot it.

The colors, the music, the masks. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t stop asking myself why my parents traveled so far when all this was in their backyard.

Maybe I was just like them, looking at a mountain in Switzerland, wishing I connected to it.

A girl without a home, without culture, without history.

Art grounded me. Art never asked if I knew who I was or where I came from. Art never made me feel less Latina because I was denied so much of what made us. I poured my frustrations and inadequacies into art, and it always accepted me.

But now, I felt like I wasn’t enough. I was stuck looking at the walls of my studio for months until I saw the mountain for the first time. I thought it was grief, but maybe, it was something more.

“You’re very talented.”

I looked over my shoulder, and it was Theo again, a cup of coffee in his hands and a smile on his lips. He was so handsome.

I brushed it off with a wave of my hand, but he insisted, “It’s true.”

Ugh, the man was everything.

“How come you three are single?” I asked, not thinking before the words flew out of my mouth.

Theo winced, and I knew I made a mistake. Shit, I didn’t even know if they were single. Maybe they all had girlfriends. Worse—maybe they were widowers.

I tucked my chin down, bringing my hands to cover my face. “God, Theo, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know—”

He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by my question, but he was a good man, so he answered anyway.

“It just never happened for us.”

I removed my hand from my face and grimaced at my lack of tact. “I’m sorry. It’s just, you are so nice and gorgeous and—”

I wanted the soil to swallow me whole. After what happened with Wylder last night, I needed to keep myself in check, to make sure I don’t fall for them. I was failing miserably.

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