Page 39 of Tension
Mateo reacts swiftly, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and pulling it hastily over his head, his chest still heaving from our passionate embrace. I snatch my sweater from the nearby bench, barely managing to tug it over my head, smoothing my hair down hastily as heavy footsteps echo down the corridor, growing louder with each step.
The studio door swings open just as Mateo steps back from me, putting careful, intentional distance between us. Greyson strides into the room, his face registering surprise as he sees us.
“Vaeda, Mateo,” Greyson says loudly over the music still playing, his tone guarded, eyes narrowing slightly as they dart between us. “What are you two doing here this late and on a Sunday?”
My heart races painfully as I move toward the sound system to shut it off. I force my voice into a steady, nonchalant tone as I say, “Just practicing some moves for Paris. Mateo wanted some extra rehearsal time.”
Mateo nods quickly, his voice equally composed despite the flush still evident on his cheeks. “Vaeda offered to help refine some steps. We lost track of time.”
Greyson eyes us carefully, the silence stretching just long enough to be uncomfortable before he finally nods slowly, accepting our explanation. “Right. Well, don’t burn yourselves out. It’s late, and we have a full schedule tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I reply calmly, the forced smile feeling brittle and fake. “We were just finishing up.”
Greyson shifts his stance, clearly still unconvinced, his sharp gaze lingering on me longer than necessary. “Actually, I came by to look over this month’s expenses. I figured I’d handle them tonight before the rush of Christmas and such.”
A surge of fresh anxiety washes over me, realizing Greyson intends to stay. “They’re on the desk,” I say quickly, motioning vaguely toward our office. “I left everything organized.”
“Great,” Greyson responds, moving toward the office door, though he pauses briefly, his hand resting on the handle. “I’ll be here for a bit. You two should finish up quickly.”
He finally disappears into the office, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Mateo and I exchange a tense glance. The charged atmosphere from moments ago has vanished, replaced by overwhelming dread. This close call serves as a sharp reminder of the dangerous path we’re walking.
We stand frozen, listening to the rustling sounds from the office, acutely aware of Greyson’s proximity. Mateo’s eyes meet mine, filled with unspoken questions and residual heat. I shake my head subtly, signaling caution. The risk is too great, the stakes far too high.
Silently, we gather our belongings, each movement almost mechanical. The air between us feels thick, laden with the tension of interrupted passion and the fear of nearly being caught. As we head toward the studio’s exit, I cast one final glance toward the office door, my stomach churning with anxiety and unresolved desire.
Stepping into the cool evening, we both inhale deeply, attempting to calm our racing pulses. The city lights blur around us, my mind swirling with uncertainty and longing.
“Vaeda,” Mateo begins softly, his voice cautious yet strained.
I stop him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Not now,” I whisper urgently. “We’ll talk later.”
He nods reluctantly, his eyes shadowed with understanding and disappointment. We part ways silently, each step pulling me further from Mateo, but not from the turmoil raging within me.
The cold air offers no relief, only amplifying the intensity of emotions I can neither confront nor escape. Today has changedeverything, and as I walk alone, I know there will be no turning back from the path we’ve recklessly started down.
SIXTEEN
Vaeda
Iopen the door to my penthouse, revealing a dimly lit living room. My heart still races from the chaos at the studio, each breath strained by lingering anxiety. I pause in the doorway, willing myself to appear composed, to bury the guilt and turmoil that threaten to surface.
“Gerardo?” I call softly into the quiet space, stepping inside cautiously. He stands by the window, a packed suitcase resting at his feet. The sight stops me abruptly, my stomach tightening painfully. His usually confident posture now slumps with exhaustion and worry, his gaze fixed distantly on the city skyline. “Gerardo?” My voice quivers slightly, betraying my concern. I’m flooded with fear. Does he know what happened? “What’s happened?”
He turns slowly, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening in the dim lighting. “It’s my mother,” he says quietly, his voice strained and thick with suppressed emotion. “She’s fallen ill suddenly. My brother just called. I need to fly to Spain tonight. I know it’s Christmas, but I cannot wait.”
“Oh, Gerardo,” I whisper, the genuine ache inside my chest temporarily overpowering my own conflicted emotions. Swiftly crossing the room, I wrap my arms around him tightly, holding him close. The comfort feels natural but tinged with the shadow of my earlier indiscretion.
He leans into me briefly, then stiffens slightly, pulling back just enough to study my face with confusion etched into his features. “Vaeda, why do you smell like Irish Spring soap?”
Panic jolts through me sharply, my pulse racing again, but I quickly mask my anxiety with a casual smile, offering a plausible explanation, praying it sounds convincing enough. “I was at the studio. Grey and I danced and it got intense, and I guess I must’ve picked up his scent. You know how passionate he gets during practice.”
Gerardo’s eyes narrow momentarily, a shadow of doubt lingering in his gaze, but then he exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Of course,” he mutters, clearly trying to dismiss his suspicions amid the more pressing concern. “My flight leaves in a few hours. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. It could be days, maybe weeks.”
I take his hands gently, forcing sincerity and calmness into my tone. “Gerardo, just focus on your mother. I’ll be okay here. I’ll take care of everything.”
He nods slowly, his eyes softening slightly. “I know you will. You’ve always been strong, Vaeda.” He cups my face gently, his thumb brushing tenderly over my cheek. “I promise I’ll call as soon as I land.”
“Please do,” I murmur, pressing my cheek into his palm, guilt tugging painfully at my heart. His gentle touch intensifies the ache, reminding me of the man who has always been there for me, unwaveringly supportive and loyal. How did I let myself stray so far?
