You know that feeling when you're about to be kissed?
Like, a real kiss.
Not the imaginary kind you practice with your hand during shower concerts.
A legit, sparks-flying, knees-buckling, "Is this really happening?" kind of kiss.
Yeah.
I was there.
Cairo's hand was already cupping my cheek.
His thumb brushed against my jaw, and I swear—I stopped breathing five seconds ago.
My knees?
They'd already filed for early retirement.
His eyes locked onto mine—serious but soft—and I knew.
He was going to do it.
The kiss.
And just as i tilted my face, bracing for contact—
"Cairo!"
I screamed.
Internally.
Not because of the voice—but because of the timing.
The voice was female, warm, familiar.
No. No no no.
Not again.
I stepped back like the air electrocuted me. Cairo's hand dropped, and in my panic, I instinctively clutched the nearest object.
Unfortunately, that object… was his arm.
Still counts.
Standing there like she had just materialized from my nightmares: his mother.
The Vogue-editor energy.
The same woman whose hallway i desecrated in his hoodie.
The one i mistook as his sugar mommy.
The one who heard me call her son my future husband.
God. Why is it always her?
"Oh," she said, blinking slowly at our clingy, mid-kiss scene. "Did i… interrupt something?"
Cairo didn't even blink. "No, Ma."
I, on the other hand, was buffering like a cheap livestream.
"Hi," I said, waving—with the same hand that had just been on her son's bicep. "I was just… checking if he had a fever."
She tilted her head.
"With your lips?"
OH MY GOD.
"Nononono! It wasn't—I didn't—I mean—it wasn't on the lips! Yet! I mean—not that lips are bad! Everyone has lips!"
Cairo turned his face and laughed.
Laughed.
His mom blinked. Twice.
"I'll pretend i didn't hear that," she said calmly, like she'd attended finishing school in the Underworld. "Anyway. Cairo, I came to drop off the invitation."
"Invitation?" I echoed, voice suddenly two octaves higher. Was this how executions were scheduled?
She handed a crisp, expensive-looking envelope to Cairo, then looked at me again. Slowly. Like she was scanning me for emotional bacteria.
"You're welcome to come too, Elara. If you're… free."
I blinked.
Had i just been invited?
By the same woman who saw me in her son's hoodie, who i once accused of being a sugar mama, who heard me invent a twisty elevator?
"Dinner," she clarified. "At the house. This Saturday."
I had questions. So many.
Was this a dinner or a setup?
Was i walking into a trap?
Was i about to be judged by a room full of linen-wearing relatives?
But Cairo glanced at me and said, like it was already decided,
"She'll be there."
And i—still holding his arm like a fainting goat—nodded.
"I'll be there."
Because i'm brave.
Or stupid.
Or both.
And because when you really like someone, you walk straight into the mansion of his judgmental family—for the plot.
-
SATURDAY – CAIRO'S FAMILY MANSION
Let me just say this wasn't a dinner.
This was a season finale.
Their mansion had a fountain.
Not like a cute decorative thing. Like… the kind people throw coins into to wish for better choices.
I stepped out in a freshly ironed dress and shoes that doubled as medieval torture devices.
Praying i wouldn't trip, roll down their marble steps, and land in a koi pond or something equally rich-people-coded.
Cairo, in a dangerously tailored button-down, offered his arm. Again.
"I feel like i'm attending my own sentencing," I whispered.
"You'll survive," he said, too smoothly.
"Bold of you to assume that."
The door opened.
I braced for chaos.
What i didn't brace for was walking into what looked like a mini gala.
Because this wasn't just any dinner—it was his uncle's retirement from racing celebration.
Yes.
There were speeches.
Mood lighting. Champagne.
And—
Plot twist: my parents were there.
Yes. My mom and dad.
Fully dressed. Fully composed.
Not sweating. Not panicking. Unlike me.
"Hi, sweetheart!" my mom said sweetly, blinking in surprise. "We didn't know you'd be attending tonight!"
"I didn't know you would be either," I said through a smile so tight i could've cracked a gemstone with my jaw.
Cairo, beside me, tensed.
He was very much not briefed for this.
And then—because life was a circus—his mom reappeared.
"Dra. Zulueta," she greeted, walking straight toward my mother.
What.
No.
"I didn't realize you were acquainted with my son's… guest."
I felt my soul exit my body.
"Oh, we're quite acquainted," my dad said, chuckling. "She's our daughter."
Pause.
Beat.
Silence.
Clink.
(That was either someone's wine glass or my spine shattering into dust.)
"You didn't mention this," Cairo's mom said.
Not to me. To him.
"We were going to… tell you," Cairo said carefully. "Eventually."
She nodded. Once. Twice. Like her brain was buffering the diplomatic consequences.
I, meanwhile, was imagining my mom texting my dad under the table like:
#SoonToBeMrs
#SurpriseDinnerWithInLaws
#PrayForOurOnlyChild
"I think we'll get some air," I whispered, tugging on Cairo's sleeve like a desperate raccoon.
We ended up in the garden.
Peaceful. Quiet.
Unless you count the scream on loop in my head.
"I'm going to die here," I groaned, flopping onto a fancy stone bench like i was auditioning for Bridgerton.
Cairo sat beside me, handing me a glass of water like it was just another Tuesday.
"They didn't seem mad," he said gently.
"They didn't seem mad," I repeated, voice shrill. "They seemed one pasta course away from negotiating a dowry."
He chuckled.
CHUCKLED.
Sir, I was spiraling.
Now was not the time to be cute.
I groaned into my palms. "Your mother already thinks i'm emotionally unstable. Now she knows i'm an heiress who lied about knowing you. This is how rom-coms become horror movies."
"Elara."
I peeked at him through my fingers.
"You're fine," he said quietly, brushing his fingers against my wrist.
I exhaled.
Then inhaled wrong, because my brain betrayed me and i remembered:
The hoodie incident.
The almost-kiss.
The "future husband" declaration… in her presence.
I swallowed. "So… you told your mom you're courting me?"
"I did."
"…Did you mean it?"
He paused.
Then nodded. "Yeah. I meant it."
My stomach flipped.
And then kept flipping.
I was about to respond when we heard someone approaching.
I turned.
Prayed it wasn't my dad.
Or worse—my guidance counselor.
It was… his mom.
Holding a tray of desserts.
What?
"I thought you might want something sweet after all that," she said, placing the tray on the table in front of us.
"Thank you, Tita," I said automatically, blinking like a confused puppy.
She didn't leave right away.
She just… stood there for a second.
Then she looked at Cairo.
"Just don't break her heart, okay?"
Her voice wasn't stern.
It was soft.
Almost… real.
"I won't," Cairo said quietly.
She nodded.
Then turned and walked back to the house.
I didn't breathe until she was completely gone.
"Okay," I whispered. "That was… oddly gentle?"
Cairo smiled.
"Do you think she likes me now?"
"Let's not push it."
"Fair."
We sat there in silence under the garden lights, hands finally—finally—linked.
And for once, I didn't panic.
I just smiled.
Because maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the beginning of my downfall.
Maybe it was the beginning of something else.
Something chaotic.
Something ridiculous.
Something possibly… worth it.
Then i blurted, "Okay, fine. Yes."
Cairo glanced at me, one brow raised like a suspicious telenovela husband. "Yes to what?"
I looked at him, dramatically exhaling like I'd just come to terms with my destiny. "To you. To this. To us."
"…You're saying yes?"
"Don't make me say it a third time," I muttered, then pointed at our interlocked hands. "I mean, we're literally holding hands under fairy lights. This is either a confession scene or a shampoo commercial."
He laughed softly. "But i never asked anything."
"Well, I saved you the trouble," I shot back, nose in the air. "You're welcome."
Cairo shook his head, amused. "So i guess I'm your boyfriend now?"
"You guess?" I turned to him with a fake gasp. "Excuse me, Raceboy, this is a privilege. I don't just make anyone my boyfriend. There was a whole process. Screenings. Background checks. Heart evaluations."
"And i passed?"
"Barely," I teased.
He gave my hand a little squeeze. "Then i guess we're official now."
"Officially chaotic," I said.
We stood up, still holding hands like two weirdos who accidentally fell into a rom-com subplot.
As we headed back toward the house, Cairo paused at the sliding doors.
He tugged me gently, just enough to make me turn.
"What now?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer and placed his hands on my waist.
Then—
He swayed.
Like… danced.
"Are we slow dancing?" I asked, my voice catching somewhere between confused and floored.
"There's music," he said, nodding toward the speakers in the garden. The instrumental playlist we'd forgotten about was still playing something soft and lo-fi.
"I'm not dressed for this."
"You're wearing dress," he said, grinning. "That's better than a ballgown."
So i put my arms around his neck and let him sway us, just slightly off-beat, just slightly too close, just slightly perfect.
The lights flickered gently above us.
The night was still.
And for once, the world stopped making noise.
"I can't believe.. not really can't, it's can, i'm dating Cairo freaking cairo, my neighbor, the one who i stalked every single day" I whispered.
He smirked. "And i can't believe i'm dancing with a woman who made me crazy and then forced me to sleep in her condo."
"Because you look lonely at that time and that was character development," I said. "You're welcome again."
He just looked at me.
Really looked at me.
"Don't run away after this," he said quietly.
And for the first time, I didn't joke.
I didn't deflect.
I nodded.
"I won't."
And just like that—under a sky that didn't need fireworks—we kept dancing.
Not as almost.
Not as a maybe.
But as a yes.