The Spanish Love Deception

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded, not looking up. I simply limited myself to chowing down the snack.

Only a few moments later, Aaron was back. All determined strides and stiff back. “Water,” he announced, dropping a bottle on my lap. He placed my phone beside me too.

“Thanks.” I unscrewed the lid, chugging down a quarter of the bottle.

When I was done, I looked up again. Aaron was standing in front of me now. Still looking all angry and bunched up. I let my gaze fall off his face, feeling extra tiny, sitting there while he towered over me.

“So, I guess this will be your office soon. I hope they let you redecorate.” I eyed the horrible painting behind him.

“Catalina.” The way he said my name held a warning.

Ugh. I was not down for a lecture.

“That was so stupid. Not eating, risking hypoglycemia when the whole building is deserted. What if you had lost consciousness and no one was around to find you?”

“You were here, weren’t you?” I answered, still not looking at him. “You are always here anyway.”

A noise came out of his throat. Another warning. Don’t give me that shit, it told me.

“Why are you not eating?” His question felt like a punch, right in my stomach. “You always, always used to have something in your hand. Jesus, you used to pull pastries out of your pockets at the oddest and most inappropriate times.”

That had me looking up, meeting ice-cold eyes. I had; I was a snacker. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“Why are you not doing that now? Why haven’t you done that for the last month? Why are you not eating like you usually do?”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I clasped my hands together. “Are you calling me a—”

“Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t even try it.”

“Fine.”

“Tell me,” he insisted, his gaze hardening like stone. “Why are you not eating?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” My breathing quickened, every word costing me more and more effort to spit. To admit the truth. “Because I want to lose weight, all right? For the wedding.”

He reared back. Appalled. “Why?”

Most of the blood that had left my head earlier rushed back. Awful timing. Just like everything else about my life. “Because,” I breathed out. “Because that’s what people do before an important event like that. Be

cause I want to look my best, as much as you won’t believe it. Because I’d like to look as amazing as I possibly can. Because, apparently, I have been going around, stuffing my face with pastries twenty-four/seven, and my body has definitely been storing it. Because I just … did it, okay? What does it matter?”

“Catalina,” he said, and I could hear in his voice how disconcerted he was. “That’s … ridiculous. You’ve never been like that.”

Did he think I couldn’t possibly want to … look beautiful?

“What, Aaron?” I whispered, not finding my voice. “What is so ridiculous exactly? Is it so hard to believe that from me? That I’m like that? Like I care about how I look?”

His throat worked. “You don’t need any of that goddamn shit. You are smarter than that.”

I blinked.

Then, I blinked some more. “Did you just say goddamn shit? At work?” I lowered my voice. “In Jeff’s office?”

Now that I thought of it, he had dropped a few bad words earlier, hadn’t he?

Looking down, he shook his head, his shoulders falling with something that looked a lot like defeat. “Jesus,” he breathed out. “Fuck, Catalina.”