“¡Cristina!” he called out as soon as he closed the door behind him, frantically making his way upstairs to the bedroom.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Christina was basically throwing David out in the nicest, most polite way she could think of-through the basement door.

In her English with a strong accent, she spoke to David, “Thank you for my phone. I… I have to go.” With that, she shut the door in his face-his words, not mine.

Now, I’m just assuming this is how their interaction went because no one really knows for sure. I mean, sure, Christina has spilled some details to me… but not entirely.

He met her downstairs as she was emerging from the basement.

“Christina, ¿por qué estás-? No importa. Tenemos que hablar.”

The last thing she wanted was a conversation with him.

She wanted to scream, yell, maybe even shove him against a wall or throw a picture frame at him. Anything but talk.

“¿Tú piensas que yo quiero hablar contigo, Arturo?” Her voice was firm, unwavering. She was mad, and he knew it.

“No, Christina, ¡no es lo que tú piensas!” he said, pacing the living room, following her every step.

She couldn’t control her body movements; her arms flung, and her legs moved as she tried to make sense of anything.

“¿No es lo que yo pienso? ¡Que estás comprometido! ¿Y el anillo?” She scanned for his missing wedding ring, which he had been proudly wearing last night. “¿Adónde lo dejaste, cobarde?”

“Te lo juro, Christina, nunca quise hacerte daño,” he pleaded. “No sé cómo llegamos hasta aquí, pero yo… yo te amo.”

She let out a bitter laugh. He couldn’t play the I love you card -how could you love someone and hurt them so badly?

“Tú no me amas, Arturo. ¿Cómo me puedes amar si estás comprometido con Carmen? ¡Y vienes a la boda de mi prima con ella! Venimos juntos, Arturo.”

He knew he had really hurt her this time. Christina was never his only choice. He loved her, adored her, wanted her in every way possible… but he also loved women even more than David and her brothers combined. And not just any women. Arturo had the kind you couldn’t compete with: flawless, untouchable types most people only dream about. Faces that belonged on magazine covers, bodies sculpted by trainers and good lighting. He could have them with a glance, or a phone call… and he did.

Worse, Christina knew this but would never admit it to herself or anyone else. Maybe it was even worse that she had known about Carmen the entire time, but considered her just a temporary stand-in, like all the others who had been in the way. She never thought it would lead to this.

“Yo no lo hice para lastimarte. Te llamé, varias veces, para avisarte,” he tried to explain.

“¡Pero te levantaste conmigo esta mañana!” she yelled, remembering waking up in his arms the morning of the wedding.

He inhaled like he didn’t want to replay the whole thing again, mostly because he hated confrontation.

“Sí, me levanté contigo, y iba a ir contigo a la boda, como lo planeamos… pero, ¿te acuerdas que fui al aeropuerto para recoger a mis papás? Pues… también estaba Carmen con ellos. ¡Te llamé, Christina, por Dios!”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was almost painful. How convenient for her to arrive with his family.

“¡Ya con el pinche teléfono!” The damn thing had been a nuisance since the beginning.

All the words she had for him escaped her. “Esto no te lo puedo perdonar. ¡Vete!” she yelled. All she wanted was to be alone.

“No, Christina, no hagas esto. Nada va a cambiar. Lo de nosotros no cambia,” he said, a little too casual for someone supposedly afraid of losing her, which only pissed her off more.

“¡Todo cambia, Arturo! Y más yo, porque veo que nunca voy a ser suficiente para ti.”

He tried to soothe her worries like he normally could, but not this time.

The damage was too much… but not enough to keep him from trying.

“Christina, mi amor, por favor escúchame,” he said, moving closer, slow and deliberate.

She didn’t back away, even though she knew she should.

He closed the gap in just a few swift steps, holding her chin so she had to look up at him. “Yo nunca te quiero lastimar. Eres mi vida.”

Those words shouldn’t have had any effect on her. Her mind was shouting at her to think, to push him back, to resist his charm. The same mouth that kissed her was the one that lied to her. The same hands that held her had touched someone else.

“No quiero que nada cambie. Te quiero como siempre,” he murmured, kissing her neck, that one sensitive spot she could never resist.

She hated herself for feeling it, that flicker of wanting him. But she wanted him. She always wanted him. And she knew the second she let herself, she’d want him in her arms, in her bed… and she wouldn’t tell him to leave.