The thing is, I wasn’t sure how many people in the country cared what an ex-football star got up to, but this magazine apparently did. Shit was about to hit the fan in a major way, if it hadn’t already, and I had no idea what to do to prepare for it. I was not only humiliated and embarrassed but goddamn terrified of what this would do to Mateo and I. I felt like my heart was receiving tiny fractures that would one day lead to a break.

Eventually, Mateo came back into the apartment. I turned away from the computer, numb to the core, and eyed him warily. The magazine was gone, probably in the trash somewhere, where it belonged. He looked as terrible as I felt, though it seemed the anger that had overwhelmed him had left and now he just looked lost and defeated.

“Vera,” he said, his voice hoarse, as he slowly came toward me. He dropped to his knees right in front of me, lacing his fingers with mine. He rested his head on my thighs for a few moments, eyes pinched together, breathing in and breathing out. He looked so small at my feet, so meek. It unnerved me deep inside, making me feel unstable.

He raised his head and his brow was wrought with sorrow. “I am so sorry, Vera,” he said softly. “You have no idea how sorry I am.” The way his voice cracked made my soul ache.

I gripped his hand tight. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is,” he said. “I asked you to be a part of this.”

“You didn’t ask me to be a part of this,” I told him adamantly.

“Yes, I did. I wanted you to be a part of my life. I wanted…you. I never thought about the consequences, how they would affect you. I didn’t think much about anything. I was so caught up in finally having you, here in my life, by my side. I didn’t think.” He kissed my hand and gazed up at me. “I’m still not thinking. Vera, you make me mad, you make me crazy.” He shut his eyes again and spoke, his lips brushing my fingers. “Love is like a thief, it robs you of all thought and logic, and all you have left is a heart that you can only pray is strong enough to survive the rest.”

Goddamn it, even in the face of all this scrutiny, his passion never wavered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he said quietly, his eyes imploring mine.

Something inside me crumbled. “Why would I leave you?”

“Because,” he said slowly. “I can see it in your eyes. That you’re afraid.”

“I’ve always been afraid, Mateo,” I said. “From the very moment I met you, I’ve been afraid. But it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

“This isn’t fair to you,” he said, as if not hearing me. “I thought we were safe in Barcelona. I didn’t think anyone would notice or care. I was wrong because I didn’t think and that mistake has cost us dearly.”

I sighed and stared down at our hands. Just how dearly was this going to cost us? Isabel was going to find out now, his friends would know. What he tried to keep hidden—me—that was all going to be in the open now. It wasn’t just Mateo’s fault, it was mine too. I had known we had to lay low for a little bit longer, that we had pushed our luck already, that it was only a matter of time. I had just hoped and prayed that when we were found out, that it would happen after he was granted joint custody, after he had his rights to see his daughter.

“What do we do now?” I asked, looking at him again.

He gave me a sad smile and a subtle shake of his head. “I do not know. In the past, I have gotten mad at the publications. You know, when I was young and doing stupid things that I would never do again. But it never got me anywhere and I am not sure it will now. I can try.”

I shook my head, knowing that fighting the tabloids was always useless unless it was something extremely slanderous. The magazine was not presenting anything as fact—just speculation—so there was nothing illegal about it.

He exhaled, long and hard. “I guess the only thing we can do is wait.”

“You could tell Isabel,” I said. “Before someone else tells her.”

He winced. “Yes. But there is that chance that perhaps she won’t find out at all.”

I gave him a look. “Really? If that’s what you believe, then you’re going to be in for a rude awakening.”

“I don’t know what I think,” he said. “Let’s just see what happens tomorrow. We have the party. I will tell her after that.”

“Oh god, the party,” I cried out. “What will they all say?”

He squeezed my hand. “Vera, please, they will say nothing, and if they do, it won’t be anything bad. These people were all there, they all know. They have their own battles to fight.”

I leaned back onto the couch, utterly exhausted. This kind of shit served me right, especially after such a fun and frivolous trip as Barcelona. We had pushed our luck and we didn’t care because we just wanted to be with each other. But the truth always has a way of getting out.

And now we were still together, but having to deal with the truth: that our love affair wasn’t as pure as we wanted to believe. That good intentions meant nothing. That we chose each other despite the consequences and now they were ours to pay.

That night we lay in bed together. We didn’t make love, we just held on to each other in the dark, wrapped in our bodies and the madness of our own minds.

“Remember what I asked of you,” he murmured in my ear as we were drifting off to sleep.

“Hmmm?”

“Promise me you won’t give up on us.”

I won’t, I said, though not out loud. I was too afraid to say it, in case it didn’t end up being true.

The next morning we hadn’t heard much about the scandal. There were no phone calls from Isabel or anyone disgruntled. A part of me thought that maybe we were going to sneak out of this one, that everything was going to be okay. The other part of me thought that the net was just waiting to drop, preferably when we were relaxed and unaware.

I never wanted to let my guard down. The whole day I was a nervous wreck, shopping for party supplies and the menu and expecting the ball to drop at any moment.

And it did—just not in the way I expected.

I was making the appetizers—things I knew how to make like bacon-wrapped scallops and goat cheese flatbreads—and Mateo had jetted out to pick up the alcohol from the store, when my cell rang. Again, it was Claudia.

“Please don’t tell me you’re cancelling,” I said as I answered. “Because I cannot handle this alone!”

“I’m not cancelling,” she quickly assured me. “Ricardo and I will be there in an hour to help. I just…”

“Oh Lord, what now?”

“They know your name.”

My heart froze. “What do you mean they know my name?” I asked slowly. “Who is they?”

“They,” she said. “The magazine, Diez Minutos, they know your name. It is online now with the pictures.”

“What?!” I roared into the phone, seconds away from having a coronary. I shoved the tray into the oven and ran over to the laptop, frantically going to the page, which I had bookmarked.

“Did you talk to the press?” she asked me as I clicked along.

“No,” I said, my chest feeling heavier than lead, my breathing shortened and painful. I pulled up the page and scrolled down to the description. Now it said, “With a Canadian woman, Vera, whom Casalles had met at an English language program this June. This young woman, who is said to be in her early twenties, is rumored to live with Casalles in an apartment in the Salamanca barrio.”

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I gasped, my hand curling into a fist over the phone. “How the fuck did they figure this out?”

“Someone must have told them.”

“But who? Someone from Las Palabras?” My paranoid mind began scrolling through everyone, from the guests who were coming over, to Lauren. But everyone had liked us, and Lauren, as much of a bicycle as she was, wasn’t in Spain as far as I knew.

“I don’t know,” Claudia said. “I wouldn’t think so.”

I thought back to the only other person who knew, the woman who heard us doing it in the washroom stall when Mateo got all jealous over that guy. Sonia.