Page 125 of Please, Forgive Me
Diego opened the car door for me—a gesture that, I’ll admit, I found unexpectedly charming.
We got in, and as he drove, he told me about the restaurant he’d reserved for us.
Not just any restaurant, of course. Diego always had this need to impress, to make everything just a little extravagant.
“I booked the entire restaurant for us tonight,” he said with a smile I knew all too well. “Just us—and the staff, of course.”
I looked at him, surprised, though not entirely.
“An entire restaurant just for the two of us? Don’t you think that’s a little… excessive?” I asked, trying to hide the amusement in my voice.
“Maybe,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I wanted it to be special. No interruptions—just us. Like old times.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. Like old times.
There was something nostalgic about it—a longing for the days when what we had was all teasing and innocent flirtation, before everything fell apart.
Maybe, in some way, we were both trying to find something we’d lost, something worth holding onto again.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I realized he hadn’t been exaggerating. The place was completely empty, except for us and a few staff members.
Diego had always known how to set a scene, and this time was no different. The space was elegant but warm, lit by soft lights with gentle music drifting through the air.
It was the kind of place that would normally take months to get a reservation for—but with Diego, nothing ever seemed impossible.
“I’ve missed this,” he confessed as he pulled out my chair before sitting across from me. “Us. Talking like this. Being myself without feeling like I have to hide.”
There was honesty in his voice, and it did something to me.
“Me too,” I admitted, though the words weren’t easy. “You know, part of me always wished you’d been the man I met at the start. The one who made me laugh, who drove me crazy in equal measure, but who, deep down, I knew cared.”
“I think we’ve both changed a lot since then,” he said quietly. “But our essence, Maria Gabriela—what made us—that’s still here. And that’s what I want back.”
We talked about so many things that night—about Clara, about Arthur, about how much life had changed for both of us. And we joked too, slipping back into the rhythm we once had. The sharp humor, the gentle teasing—it all felt natural, like time hadn’t passed at all.
“I missed this,” he said again at one point, and I just smiled because I knew exactly what he meant. “Us. I’m not gonna lie, Maria Gabriela—I hope this is the first of many dinners.”
The comment was direct, but it didn’t catch me off guard. I’d been expecting something like that. And in that moment,watching him under the restaurant’s soft lighting, I felt that maybe—just maybe—it could be possible.
“Let’s just see where things go, Diego,” I said, my tone calm but lighter, the kind of tone that hinted I wasn’t closing the door on the idea.
“You know…” he began, absently turning the napkin between his fingers, “I’ve had a few assistants since you left… but none of them, absolutely none, ever came close to you.”
I raised an eyebrow, already bracing myself for whatever was coming next.
“Really?” I asked, my tone dripping with irony. “And why’s that?”
Diego laughed—a lighter, easier sound than the serious tone he used to have back at the office.
“Well, I could say they were all… incompetent.” He paused dramatically, watching my reaction. “But the truth is, you’ve always been irreplaceable. They didn’t have your efficiency, your sharp sense of humor, or your saintlike patience when it came to dealing with me.”
I smiled, appreciating his effort to make me laugh. There was something different about Diego now. He seemed more relaxed, lighter somehow, and the way he included me in the conversation made me feel… seen. Like I belonged there.
He wasn’t the distant boss anymore. He was a man who finally seemed willing to let his guard down.
“I’d say you have a special talent for testing people’s patience, Diego,” I teased, remembering all the times he’d purposely pushed my buttons just to see how long I’d last.
He shrugged, as if accepting the blame without the slightest bit of remorse.
