Page 34 of When Love Changes Everything

I nod, his words filling me with confidence and peace. And before I can say anything else, he kisses me—softly at first, teasing, coaxing until my lips beg for more. The kiss deepens, and his hands glide up to the nape of my neck, holding me close as if he never wants to let me go. We lose ourselves in the kiss, in the moment.

But then, my father's voice shatters the serenity, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Annalisa!" His high-pitched growl makes every muscle in my body stiffen. The warmth and safety I felt just moments ago now feels like ice running through my veins. I stand up straight, every inch of me rigid, as though a switch has been flipped, turning me into a soldier at attention.

"Good morning, Stan," Mateo says smoothly, his tone calm and unbothered as he steps in to diffuse the tension. "Care to join us for breakfast?"

My father doesn’t say a word, but his scowl speaks volumes. Still, he walks in, pulls out a chair and sits, clearly expecting to be served.

I move instinctively toward the stove, ready to make another omelet, but Mateo's hand on my arm stops me. His touch is reassuring, his lips brushing my cheek in a soft kiss. "Sit with your dad,hermosa. I'll take care of it."

For a moment I hesitate, but the quiet confidence in his expression tells me he's got this under control. I nod, letting him take over. I head back to the table where my father waits, his expression a twisted blend of anger and defeat, like a child watching his favorite toy being snatched away by someone bigger, stronger. I am no longer under his control, and the realization flickers across his face—a bitter truth he cannot deny.

"How do you like your omelet, Stan?" Mateo asks, as he cracks two eggs into a bowl.

"With no fuss," my father grunts, his tone as curt as the glare he shoots my way. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture rigid, a wall of defiance. The muscles in his jaw twitch beneath his skin, a clear sign of his barely contained irritation.

Mateo chuckles lightly, unshaken. "No fuss. Got it."

As I sit across from my father, I can't help but marvel at how effortlessly Mateo handles the moment. He moves seamlessly to retrieve mine and his own omelets, popping them into the microwave to reheat. While they warm, he grabs some bread, quickly toasting it to golden perfection.

In less than five minutes, the table is set—three steaming plates of food, buttered toast, and mugs of hot coffee. Mateo sits beside me, sliding my plate closer with a wink.

My father doesn’t say a word, but the slight nod as he picks up his fork feels like a monumental victory. Mateo clinks his coffeemug against mine and gives me a smile that saysSee? We’ve got this.

As we dig into breakfast, the tension is quickly replaced by the comforting rhythm of a shared meal. For the first time in years, I allow myself to relax in my father's presence. With Mateo by my side, I know I have nothing to worry about and my father has no other choice but to remain civil.

“Well,” Dad begins, setting his fork down after finishing the last bite, “since we don’t have to meet with the attorney for a few days, I’m heading to New York for some sightseeing.”

“Dad,” I say, my voice filled with meaning as I meet his eyes. “Mateo and I are getting married next month—after Mom gets back. And… it would mean the world to me if you stayed and walked me down the aisle.”

For a moment his expression softens, the edges of his usual scowl blurring as he looks at me. Hope flares briefly in my chest, but it’s extinguished as quickly as it came.

“I’ve made myself perfectly clear,” he says, his tone sharp. “I don’t approve of this union, and I won’t pretend otherwise. So why would I be in attendance, let alone give you away? Once I'm done here, I’m heading back home, and I won’t be back.”

The words land like a blow, but before I can respond, Mateo speaks, his voice steady. “We’re truly sorry you feel that way," he says, his gaze unwavering. "But Lisa and I are getting married,whether you approve or not. And trust me when I say there’s a long list of men who would be honored to walk her down the aisle. The only one missing out here will be you. And for that, I am sorry.”

The air grows heavy, the silence that follows crackling with tension. My heart aches, but as I glance at Mateo, the certainty in his eyes anchors me, reminding me of what truly matters.

Dad snatches up his napkin, wiping his mouth one more time before tossing it onto his plate with a sharp flick of his wrist before rising from his chair. Without another word, he strides toward the door and disappears, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

I sit frozen for a moment, the ache in my chest building until it spills over. Tears blur my vision as I turn to Mateo.

“Don’t cry,hermosa,” Mateo says gently, his hand enveloping mine. “He might change his mind. Give him time.”

“He won’t,” I whisper, the certainty of my words cutting deep. “I know my father. He doesn’t bend, Mateo. Not for me.”

Mateo’s jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as his eyes search mine. Gently, he lifts his hand, his thumb brushing across my cheek, catching a tear before it falls. The tenderness in his touch feels like a salve, soothing the wounds left by my father’s words.

“Then we’ll stand without him,” he says, his voice full of conviction. He leans closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “Because nothing—nothing—will stop me from marrying you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his expression changes. It’s subtle—a flicker in his eyes, like a shadow passing over his face. It’s as if he’s just recalled something unpleasant he’d rather forget.

“What is it, Mateo?” I ask, searching his eyes for the answer.

He hesitates, his gaze darting away for the briefest moment before returning to mine. “Marian will be here next week,” he says finally, the words landing between us like a thunderclap.

“Is that why she called you?” I ask, a cold sensation tightening in my chest.

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