After the Curtains drop.
Elisa didn't paint the next morning.
She didn't check her email, didn't open Instagram, didn't even reply to Ava's running thread of "ARE YOU OKAY?" texts. Her mind was still standing on the rooftop with Mateo, her skin tingling with the ghost of his words.
"I won't kiss you. Not until you ask."
She hated how often she'd replayed that line in her head- how her stomach still flipped like some giddy teenager imagining what it might feel like to say yes.
But she didn't want yes.
She wanted to want yes.
Instead, she curled deeper into the couch, wrapped in a sweatshirt too big to be flattering and socks with holes in the toes. Her curls were piled into a half-hearted bun. There were crumbs on her chest from toast she didn't finish.
She didn't feel desirable. She didn't feel seen.
She felt... watched. Digitally dissected. Picked apart by strangers, people with too much time and too little context, who now had her name in their mouths and her image on their screens.
This wasn't what she'd wanted.
The deal had been simple. One outing. One photo. Control the narrative, thank each other politely, walk away.
But now she wasn't sure if she was controlling anything. Least of all herself.
Three days passed.
Mateo didn't call.
He didn't text. No discreet check-ins. No invites. No new headlines, no Instagram likes, not even a repost of the event photo. Nothing.
Elisa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
So she did both.
She threw herself back into her studio, dragging half-finished canvases out of storage and reworking them with new color, harsher lines, bolder textures. She painted until her fingers cramped. Until her back ached. Until her eyes burned.
But she couldn't stop thinking about his hands. The restraint in them. The promise.
The way he said her name like it wasn't just something to pronounce, but something to earn.
By the fourth day, Ava had enough.
"You're brooding," she said, storming into Elisa's studio with iced coffee and absolutely no warning. "Like, full-on tortured heroine. You look like someone whose fake boyfriend forgot her birthday."
"He's not my boyfriend," Elisa muttered.
"Right. Just your 'let's-pretend-we're-dating-for-publicity' business partner."
"There's no business. I didn't sign a contract."
"No, you just signed your soul away with a smile and a burgundy wrap dress."
Elisa gave her a flat look.
Ava sighed. "Talk to me."
"I told him it was just one appearance."
"And yet you haven't stopped checking your phone."
"I'm not- "
"You are."
Elisa took the coffee and sank onto her stool. "It's just... I expected him to reach out."
"Why?"
"Because he seemed like the kind of man who would."
Ava studied her. "Did you want him to?"
"I don't know," Elisa whispered.
Ava nodded slowly. "You're scared."
"I'm always scared."
"No, not like this. You're scared because he didn't push. Because he waited. And now it's up to you."
Elisa looked away.
"I don't know how to want something without feeling ashamed of it."
Ava softened. "You don't have to make a decision today. But pretending you're indifferent is just another lie. And you promised yourself you'd stop hiding."
That night, Elisa stood in front of the mirror for a long time.
Not sucking in her stomach. Not turning sideways. Just looking.
Her reflection stared back- tired eyes, round face, full arms, softness where the world told her there should be sharpness.
But there was something beautiful in the stillness.
In the fact that she was still here.
Still standing. Still creating. Still herself.
She picked up her phone.
Hesitated.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Elisa: Thank you for not pushing.
She hit send.
The reply came two hours later.
Mateo: You asked for space. I gave it.
Elisa: I wasn't sure if you would.
Mateo: I told you- I'm not in the business of touching what hasn't been offered.
She stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Elisa: I don't know what I want. But I think I want to keep figuring it out.
This time, the reply was immediate.
Mateo: Then let me know how I can be part of the figuring.
She didn't sleep much that night.
Not from anxiety- but from the quiet hum of something else.
Something unfamiliar.
Hope.
The next day, a small black envelope arrived at her studio door.
Inside was a folded note card on heavy cream paper.
In Mateo's elegant handwriting:
I'm sponsoring a youth art program in the West District.
They're hosting their first exhibit on Saturday.
I'll be there. No cameras. No press. Just kids and paint.
Come if you want. I'll save you a chair. – M
Elisa stared at the card for a
long time.
No pressure. No posturing.
Just an invitation.
An opening.
She smiled- small, secret, and for the first time in days, entirely real.