Chapter Text
A few days pass. And they pass with the two of them simply enjoying each other’s company. They have breakfast every morning at the kitchen table, where they share anecdotes with each other. They have lunch together every noon, during which they discuss all the newest developments in Cynthia and Pablo's company. And finally, every evening, they eat dinner, giggling non-stop about nothing in particular.
As the week progresses, however, there is a realization. On both sides. That, as great as it is to be so carefree, to live freely, bask in ignorance, they cannot continue in the same way. Not if they actually, genuinely want things between them to become serious. And that means that they will have to talk. Not like teenagers too in love to recognize that the real world exists, but like adults. Because there are things that haven’t been mentioned since they happened, and those things need to be addressed. Otherwise, the emotions they instill will build and build and build, and then, one day, they will explode right in their faces, and nobody will have seen it coming.
So they need to converse.
For one, they have yet to acknowledge the fact that they slept together on what was technically an important business trip. That they got drunk together, and had sex. Of course, both have admitted to the fact to outsiders. Have, individually, engaged a neutral third party. But as it stands, neither has made any effort to talk about their emotions to the other involved party.
On top of the very obvious shared elephant in the room, Ana wants to finally get into who she is with Mariana. She wants to tell her about the journey of self-discovery she has been on. A journey which had been prompted by the very incident they now so routinely ignore.
Mariana, on the other hand, hasn’t yet expressed that she knows how terribly she’s hurt Ana. She desperately wants to convey to the woman that she understands now, and that she’s incredibly sorry. It has never been in her nature to act selfishly, yet that is exactly what she had done—she had told Ferrán about a plan that nobody was supposed to know about, that nobody got to know about, not her mother, not her grandmother, not even Ana’s own children. She finally wants to at least admit her mistakes, out loud, to the person that she’s hurt so badly, wants to apologize for not trying to mend their relationship sooner.
Everything, all the bad things, all the things to be addressed, have been put on halt. Were pushed to the back of their minds, not to be resolved any time soon, with the notion of Mariana leaving.
And now they’ve spent their days continuing to blissfully ignore them. Despite the fact that they are what have led them to this point to begin with.
Ana lets her eyes dart around the room. Lets them wander in search for any kind of indication that this is it, this is the moment to speak up. It is a Saturday night, they’re in the living room, on the couch, and she is lying in her love’s arms. It is perfect, it is something that, a week ago, she would have considered but a dream, one to remain as such forever. Now she’s here, living just that.
Yet in order for things to be one hundred percent right, in order for her and Mariana to be really, truly okay, they need to take it further. Just one more step.
It is Mariana who speaks up. The woman untangles herself from Ana and sits up straight. Her new position forces the blonde to do the same. After clearing her throat, she asks, “Do you maybe have some wine? I think that may make things easier.”
“Sure,” Ana responds, “Let me grab some.” She gets up to fetch a vintage bottle of red wine and two glasses. Liquid courage couldn’t hurt. They can’t go past that slight initial buzz, however. For this particular conversation, they need to remain relatively sober.
Once the wine has been poured, Mariana instantly takes a sip. It’s bitter, she decides right away, but there’s a sweet, somewhat fruity, aftertaste. She takes a deep breath, almost inhaling the wine in the process, and closes her eyes for a second. It’s going to be hard, this. But Mariana needs to do it. Everything needs to be out in the open, she thinks, and resolved, especially, before they can talk about entering a relationship. (Which is what she wants. One hundred percent.) Carefully, she starts. “I want to talk about everything that’s happened. Between us, that is.”
“Okay,” Ana agrees. There are so many things on her mind, too. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
WIth a nod, Mariana says, “First of all, I wanted to apologize for not telling you about my ma and Juan Carlos.”
Ana is taken aback for a second. “But that was ages ago,” she argues.
“I know, but I’ve realized that I never actually apologized for—well, for that day, I guess.” The younger woman takes a deep breath. She wants to do this, and she wants to do it properly. And ‘properly’ includes working through everything that has happened. As much as it pains her to dig up this old stuff, it’s still something that’s happened. Something that matters. “When I first saw Juan Carlos and Tere together, I didn’t know what was happening. I confronted her, she denied knowing him outside of the business.” Mariana takes a sip of the wine, careful not to make any noise when she puts the glass back down. “When she finally told me the truth, I was hurt. Very hurt. And all I wanted, in my own pain, was to keep you from going through the same. I felt like, I don’t know—” She gestures around the room, looking for the right words— “I was suffocating, in a way. To me, it was just my ma. But to you…” She trails off, and the unfinished sentence lingers in the air. “I couldn’t bear thinking about what would happen to you if it came out. I planned on telling you. I did,” she swears, “but then I never found the courage. And I’m not even sure why. The only thing, and that is the truth, is that I found you incredibly intimidating. With everything that you’d achieved, all that you and Juan Carlos had lived through together, I feared that, if I told you, you’d somehow—” She lets out a puff of air— “I don’t know, hold me responsible. Because I’m her daughter. And—and I just, instead of doing what I knew, deep down, was right, I ended up convincing myself that he’d tell you. Eventually. And that—” Mariana shakes her head, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Another drink would be great. “It was a multitude of things that got mixed up. For one, I was hurt, and I didn’t want you to feel that way. On the other hand, I started feeling confusing things for you. Add that to the frustration of not being entirely sure what to do… and you get a fatally wrong decision. In trying to protect you, I somehow made what was supposed to be the most beautiful day of our lives turn to shit.” She takes her wine glass, slumps down on the couch while bringing it to her lips. Continuing to hold it after taking her sips, she swirls the remaining wine around. “I’m really, really sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through. And I wish more than anything that I could have been there for you. I understand, however, that you felt betrayed, and I understand your kicking me out.”
Ana is quiet. Right now, she wants to listen. She fears that, if she says something, anything at all, it will sound like she is judging Mariana for her words. But she isn’t. And so she stays silent.
The brunette straightens her posture, but keeps the glass in her hand. She looks down at it as she says, “By the time we decided to fake being a couple, I thought that I was over you. With all the distance, and you having every right in the world to hate me for betraying your newly gained trust, it would have been the natural course of things. Ferrán happened, and I jumped into it. For what felt like the first time in forever, I genuinely felt desired, felt wanted. And then that rat Pablo—” She puts the glass down, and it soundly meets the table.
Both wince.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to call him names. Pablo—he came to me one afternoon, whining about how I still have a chance to salvage things with Ferrán after hurting him by publicly kissing you, and—and he got to me!” She clenches her fist, angry at the memory. “I swore I wouldn’t let their constant nagging about how we were fake and all that get to me, but I—I broke, and I saw Ferrán that night, and I told him about everything. And I—the worst thing?” She chuckles breathlessly, but rolls her eyes. She knows it was stupid. But that’s why there here right now. “I didn’t even feel bad. Because I was one hundred percent convinced that you didn’t feel anything for me, that we’d just go about our ways once the six months were over. That, once we won the court case, I’d get to make my relationship with him public, and everyone would be happy. I know I risked a lot, but at the time, just like when I kept the thing with Juan Carlos and my ma from you, it felt like the right thing to do. I thought I loved him, and I thought the person I loved had a right to know this huge secret I was keeping.”
Mariana hoped that, with everything out on the table, a weight would be lifted from her shoulders, but it’s not yet happening. Not when Ana hasn’t said anything.
She slumps down again, now looking up at the ceiling. “Then, when you told me about your feelings, I—to tell you the truth, a part of me was angry. Angry at you for taking so long—” She shifts again, this time to raise her arms in defense— “I know that one cannot force feelings, I knew that back then, too. But I still felt the way I felt. I don’t think I even meant it. I think I was just angry that I had been there, for ages, suffering. After the baptism, I mean. And then, when I finally get into something else, you just show back up, throwing these feelings at me. I just wasn’t prepared. Hadn’t expected it. And—it was too much. So much that I shut my feelings off. Only allowed anger.” She closes her eyes. “Anger because you wouldn’t hear me out, anger because I suddenly didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Honestly—when I found out about Ferrán and had a reason to break up with him, I jumped at it. Suddenly, I started thinking I had never truly let you go, even after all those months. Still, I had to let everything sink in. And for that, I needed time. But not being with him, not being with anyone, made it a lot easier to come to terms with it.” For a moment, there is silence. Then, Mariana picks her speech back up. “There was another set of emotions between that and getting together, though,” she recalls, “when I wanted to leave. I was sad that you thought so little of me. I was convinced you only tried so hard to get me to stay to work here because I’m bad at what I do.”
Ana laughs quietly.
And Mariana can’t help but join in before continuing, “In my mind, I was so preoccupied with trying to understand my own feelings that I didn’t even, for a moment, consider that, maybe, just maybe, you were trying to get me to stay for you. I—” They chuckle again, and Mariana turns to look at her partner. “Can you believe it?”
“So oblivious,” comes the teasing reply.
“I thought you were trying to protect me because of how little experience I had. Even after the presentation with Marcela.” Mariana starts fiddling with her hands, anxiously recalling the events. “I thought that businesswoman Ana was trying to keep small, foolish Mariana from going out into the world and being knocked right back down for not being good enough. And then…” A smile replaces her anxiety-filled expression. “Then you showed me that profile with my strengths and weaknesses, and I saw the way you looked at me, and—and I think something clicked, you know? Even when you said you wanted me to stay because you’d miss me, I still didn’t quite believe it. But then, when we sat there…” The memory makes the smile even bigger. “I believed you. And I started to realize that, perhaps, we could make it work together. There you were, naming all the reasons why I should go, while in my mind, I was thinking about the opposite. I was busy making a list of all the reasons why I couldn’t possibly leave. I was busy thinking about how, provided you could forgive me once more, I’d be willing to try things with you. I realized that I want—” She shallows. “That I want you.”
They sit there for a few minutes, just letting all the words that have been said sink in. Reflecting, maybe, but mostly just taking their time to let it all register.
Finally, the blonde whispers, “Thank you.” She’s grateful, so grateful. That they finally get to address everything, to forgive each other for all the things that haven’t been forgiven. They need this. In order to be with each other. “The truth is,” she begins a moment later, “that I was never actually mad at you for their cheating. I didn’t make you responsible for anything. What I did feel was incredibly overwhelmed by your confession.”
Mariana looks up from her lap, and their gazes meet for the first time in what feels like hours. The look on her face is mostly apologetic, but with it comes the love they feel for each other; and it makes Ana feel hopeful. For what’s to come. Their future. Lets her know that, indeed, this is what they need. To talk, openly, about everything. About their emotions.
“I was furious at them for ruining the day. I went on to blame you because you were there, and because it was the comfortable thing to do. Something short-circuited in my brain, and suddenly, to me, simply knowing made you just as bad as them. It didn’t, of course. All my anger, it just came spilling out, and unfortunately you ended up being the punching bag. But—again,” she repeats, and emphasizes the words, “I never blamed you. I felt a lot of anger, yes, but I never felt that anger towards you.” She breathes in, and lets her eyes wander away from Mariana. “I—then you hit me with your confession, and I—I think I thought that you were trying to somehow, I don’t know, save yourself, get me to let you off the hook. I thought that you were looking for any reason, no matter how absurd, to excuse betraying me. And I just—everything had become too much, and I needed you to go.” Ana stays silent for a moment, thinking about how to continue. “When I realized, a few days later, that my anger at you was misplaced, that it was in fact directed at my husband and your mother, I was starting to think that maybe there was some truth in what you’d said and, well, confusion hit me. Full force. And that confusion just added fuel to the fire.” She sighs. “Turned into more intense anger. So much so that, when I did see you again, all I wanted was for you to leave again. Preferably forever. And, I mean, clearly there was something wrong with me. Who the heck would suggest something as absurd as to adopt someone else’s child, out of nowhere? For God’s sake!”
She can’t help but let out a short laugh at her own ridiculousness, and Mariana smiles along with her.
“Well, before I could really right my wrongs, the whole lawsuit thing started. And that’s when things just got so—so frustrating. When Juan Carlos hit me with that document in which that damn lawyer called you a stranger, someone who forced me into doing drugs and having—” She rolls her eyes as she brings her hands up to form air quotes— “lesbian relations in my own home—God, I just wanted to stick it to him. Make him suffer.” She scoffs. “I screamed at him that morning. After he’d presented it to me and I’d read it. I screamed at him that the stranger has a name, and that she’s the best thing that’s happened to me all year.” The Juan Carlos part of it isn’t exactly a fond memory. Still, she can’t stop a smile from spreading on her face; and when her eyes settle on the woman next to her, said smile is immediately reciprocated. Ana blushes under it.
“I am?” Mariana asks coyly.
“You are,” Ana confirms.
Mariana gestures at the rather large space in between them. “Can I—” Come closer? Upon receiving a nod at the unfinished question, she scoots closer, almost touching Ana’s thigh.
“I went to see Laura that day. When she first mentioned us two being together, I—I think I looked at her like she had three heads,” Ana remembers the situation. “So when she told me that it was either us two together, in a relationship, or not seeing you for six months, my mind immediately latched onto the latter, never even considering the former. Even though it would tear me apart. It wasn’t until we sat on the patio together that it occurred to me that, in fact, on paper, we made all the sense in the world. Two mothers, their babies switched at birth, falling in love with each other. So as I was sitting there, looking into your eyes, being so incredibly proud of you, it felt so right, telling you about the other option. And while it may not have worked out for our business in the end, it kind of worked out for us. In the long run, I mean.”
Marina immediately echoes her words. “Yes. In the long run.”
“I struggled with the fake relationship for multiple reasons. At first, as we were starting out, I struggled because I had no idea how to behave with another woman,” Ana continues earnestly. “But as we started to get more comfortable and I realized, because of what you said, that every relationship is different, that we would behave just like us, even as a couple, I think something inside me started looking at you in another way. I saw how passionate you were about your rights, how much the whole discrimination thing pained you. Consciously, I had no clue what was going on, clearly. But subconsciously… I mean.” Her cheeks grow red as she recalls the Santa Perpetua incident. “Obviously, some part of me knew what was going on.”
She can practically feel Mariana’s smirk. She wonders, for a second, why, before she realizes that what she’s said has indeed sounded the tiniest bit sexual..
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she scrambles to defend her inappropriately worded sentence, “I meant—I just meant that I think I knew, subconsciously, that I had feelings for you. But before I had the chance to properly evaluate them, everything went downhill. I was as glad as the next person when the lawsuit was over, but with everything happening between us, I kind of forgot we weren’t actually real. So, when you suggested we tell people about out break-up—our fake break-up—I was taken aback. I even sabotaged our breakfasts with Ceci and Ro so as to prevent it. And then—” The worst part started.
“And then everything went even further south,” Mariana finishes for her.
Ana hums, and when she does, there’s a very subtle sadness engulfing the sound. “Yeah. That day, in the office, you hurt me. You really hurt me. I would have been able to accept your not liking me back. I could have dealt with that. Differently, but I could have. But then you admitted the whole Ferrán thing, and I just felt like absolutely everything, from start to finish, had been a lie. Every single word we’d spoken. Every feeling you’d opened up about. It all felt like it had had no meaning whatsoever. In that conference room, it felt like you’d broken my heart not just once but multiple times. To me, you hadn’t simply betrayed me. You had been putting our kids’ safety on the line. And it felt awful. I was sad, was disappointed that I didn’t mean anything to you.” Her voice has grown quieter towards the end. In order to restore it to its initial power, she clears her throat, fighting through the painful memories. “But while I had every right to feel the way I felt, at the end of the day, I realized that, given the circumstances, I would have done the exact same. Had I been in your shoes, had I had someone I loved, truly loved, someone I trusted to keep my secret, I would have done the same.” She cautiously glances at Mariana. The brunette’s features show how surprised she is at the admission. Encouraged by it, she continues. “I don’t think I would have been able to stand being close to you, though. Even if I had been aware of what I just told you, even if we hadn’t lost our project. I just—I wouldn’t have been able to bear it. I couldn’t look at you. I didn’t want to see you, hear you. Simply couldn’t. So I thought, you know, once I’d get enough space, I would eventually be able to get over my feelings. And that’s how Elena comes into this. She—” Ana racks her brain for the right word— “helped me. In the process. With my process.”
“Elena?” Mariana questions, followed directly by, “Your process?”
“Yeah, she—she hid me,” Ana explains with a blush creeping onto her face, “in her bathroom, whenever I couldn’t—didn’t want to see you.”
Mariana doesn’t say anything else. Just nods encouragingly, and waits for her to continue.
“She also, upon my request, helped me try to figure out who—what I am. I—you know me, I need cold, hard facts,” she laughs breathlessly, “I need something to grasp at. Something to hold onto. And it was driving me insane, not knowing whether I liked you for who you were, or whether I liked you because you’re a woman. In fact, that’s exactly what I said to Elena, too. That I wanted to define myself. I wanted to know whether I was gay, bi—you get me. She told me about her own journey, her girlfriend’s. Told me you’re bi. We ended up going to this bar together, and it—it was…” She tries once again to find the right descriptor. “Something,” she finally concludes. “But I didn’t find anyone attractive. Until—”
The last word lets Mariana’s head shoot up. Scandalized by the one single word, she gasps. Impatience practically written all over her face, she presses, “Until?”
“Until I was trying to call a cab, and someone started talking to me. Tamara, her name was—is.” Mariana noticeably tenses, but Ana pays it no mind. She knows the tension won’t last long. “As it turns out, she’s someone from Rodrigo’s class’s mom. We hit it off, and while we were waiting ages for a taxi, we had dinner together. Nothing fancy, just tacos. Though we did agree to have dinner at her place the next day.” She bites her lip, knowing how all this must sound. But again, it’s not quite as big as her telling makes it seem. Before Mariana can argue, though, or think anything, she quickly continues. “We found out how much we have in common, and she, too, told me about how she figured out that she likes women. We, uh—” Her cheeks grow red. This is the part that may just sound particularly bad. “We kissed.”
Mariana lets out a breath. Ana thinks she may have heard a hint of annoyance. So she acts, fast—tells the part that truly matters.
“But all I could think about was you.”
This time, Mariana doesn’t do anything. Or make any kind of noise. She just swallows.
“I excused myself right then and there. I went home, and told Elena about it the next morning. I just—it just didn’t feel right. That’s what I said to her, to Elena. I couldn’t get used to the feeling of—of, I don’t know, her, I guess, against me.” She wasn’t disgusted, just didn’t find it as comfortable as she thought it would be. She tries to convey that, somehow. With her voice, her face, her body language. “At least Elena had a word for what I was experiencing, and I think I’ve found a label that fits me,” Ana states, “Demisexual, she called it.” She’s sure Mariana doesn’t need the lesson in terminology, but she deems it necessary to explain, anyway. “It’s when I don’t feel attraction to anyone but those that I have a deep, intellectual connection with. Essentially—” she clears her throat and readjusts her position on the sofa so she can easily grab her glass of wine— “I need to find someone’s mind sexy to, you know, find them sexy. That explains why, besides Juan Carlos and you, I’ve never really felt attracted to anyone.” She finishes, and finally gets to take a sip of her beverage. It feels smooth and warm on her tongue, exactly what she needs while waiting for a reaction from the woman beside her.
There’s a very long pause before anything does follow. “And…” Mariana trails off again immediately to swallow, unsure about how to approach this without sounding insensitive. “You’re—you’re sure that you’re attracted to me?”
Ana faces her, glass still in hand; really looks at her, intently, before insisting, “Yes, Mari. I am insanely attracted to you. I—” She takes a deep breath, and decides to place the alcohol back down on the table after all. Mentally preparing herself for making her next admission of the night, she makes sure to continue looking at Mariana. “After we had sex, I sort of told my therapist—it slipped—and she tried to get me to tell her that I felt, you know, something. For you, about our night, anything. I didn’t at the time, but afterwards, it became increasingly clear to me that, yeah, I had felt—and still did feel—some kind of way. Like I said in the conference room—” She bites her lip— “The truth is that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My mind constantly—” Why is she embarrassed about this? “It constantly went back to it, and I kept thinking about just how much I enjoyed it. And that’s—it just weighed heavily on my mind. Because prior to it, I’d never thought about having sex with another woman. Like, it hadn’t been something I felt like I had to or wanted to try. But then you came along, and somewhere along the way, I obviously started wishing for it to happen. Still, when it did, it knocked me out and—yeah. I mean, Jesus.” She laughs a breathless laugh, and covers her face. “It took my breath away.”
Mariana starts chuckling as well. “Tell me about it. I literally ran to Elena’s to talk about it.”
“You did?” Ana had been aware, of course, of the fact that Mariana had told Elena. But, clearly, she hadn’t known quite how quickly after the fact this had happened. Her hands leave her face, and she looks at a very embarrassed Mariana.
“I mean… yeah,” the younger woman slowly admits, “I told her about the whole situation. That, you know, in trying to convince a particular investor, we somehow got lost, drunk, and ended up in bed together.” Her cheeks grow an even deeper shade of red. “She was like, and I quote, ‘Right, hang on, because this is a lot of information to process. You lied about being in a relationship in order to win the lawsuit. To keep your children. But, like… sleeping with Ana was not because of the babies.’ And then she claimed I’d fallen back in love with you. And in trying to convince her that, no, that’s not the case, we were drunk, that’s it, I made her more and more suspicious, instead. S, yeah. That backfired. By the end of the conversation, I felt like I’d been interrogated.”
Ana laughs. “Yeah, that’s Elena. Evidently.”
“During the conversation, after she asked whether I’m back in love with you, that’s when I told her that I thought the night was incredible,” Mariana admits further. She quickly looks at Ana, only for a millisecond, before letting her eyes settle back on the coffee table, on a tiny wine stain next to her—now discarded—glass. “That’s genuinely how I felt about it. I felt like I was crumbling under her gaze. I couldn’t lie.”
“I’m glad you thought so. I’m glad I managed to do fine, you know, on my first try.” An embarrassed chuckle leaves Ana’s mouth. God, why is it so hard to talk about something so natural? “In retrospect, I wish I had told someone, anyone, about it. If not Elena—considering I didn’t exactly know her, at least not as a friend—I wish I’d at least told my therapist the truth. Keeping it to myself, something I’d never done before and something I clearly felt rather strongly about, wasn’t healthy. So, yeah—” Ana leans back, now relaxed from having gotten all the words out that she’s wanted to say— “Just to summarize: I enjoyed sleeping with you, Mariana. I really enjoyed it. And I’m glad I got to have my first—” she stops to reconsider— “second first time, I guess, with you.”
Rather boldly, Mariana asks, “Would you do it again?” Before anything can be answered, though, she specifies, “With me, I mean?”
Ana is still somewhat embarrassed, but she laughs through it. She even dares look at the woman next to her again. “Yeah, definitely.” She reaches out to intertwine their fingers. “I’d love to do it again, in fact. But maybe sober, this time. I want to—” She swallows the lump in her throat which has suddenly formed upon the sheer thought of eventually doing this again, with her— “I want to feel everything, and I want to make sure I don’t forget any part of it. I want to remember all the details. How your skin feels on mine. How your tongue feels—how you feel. I want it to have its own special place in my mind.”
Mariana looks down at their joined hands. “I’d like that, too.”
“Good,” Ana says, and after a long pause, she adds, “Can I kiss you now?”
Without another second of hesitation, Mariana leans in, connecting their lips. And of course they have kissed before. But this—this kiss feels different. Like there is nothing holding them back anymore. Like there is nothing being kept from the other. Like there are no hidden shadows, no surprises hiding in plain sight. Like there are no further secrets waiting to be uncovered at the worst possible moment.
It’s a promise between the two of them; a promise that they want this, really want it; that they’ll try it. Together.
It’s a new kind of loving one another. This kind—it’s free. There is no holding back. Just pure, unadulterated passion, a connection shared by two women who want nothing but the best for each other. And it slowly replaces the old kind, consisting of keeping things at bay, of not letting oneself truly feel.
But no—their old love is no more.
Now, they get to enjoy. They get to touch, smell, taste one another. They get to memorize every single thing that there is to memorize. They get to know every single fact that there is to know. It’s just them, nothing else in the world is left. No worries, no stress, no anxieties. Nothing. The universe is made up only of them and their love.
And that is exactly the way that it has always been meant to be.