Chapter Four: June

I was planning to leave early but ends up leaving almost at the same time. Leaving the office, I plugged in my earphones and hit play. Blake Rose’s Gone filled my ears as I stepped onto the sidewalk. The cool evening breeze brushed against my skin, and for a moment, I let myself relax.

“It’s a lovely day for a walk,” I murmured to myself in Spanish, staring at the pastel hues of the sunset. The moment felt peaceful, almost too peaceful.

Then someone grabbed my wrist.

My heart jolted as I was spun around. “Is that why you didn’t call me?” a familiar voice said, laced with quiet annoyance. “So you could stroll around freely?”

“¡Santa mierda!” I gasped, clutching my chest. “Mr. Watson, you scared me!” My breath came in quick bursts as I steadied myself.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. Damn him. Damn that face, like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. The rolled-up sleeves of his crisp button-down shirt revealed forearms that shouldn’t be allowed to exist outside of magazine covers. And those sunglasses, perched so casually—it was like he was daring the world to swoon over him.

“I finished early,” I stammered, attempting to sound nonchalant. “I thought I’d take a stroll before heading home.”

“Earth to Miss Luper,” he said, waving a hand in front of my face. The corners of his mouth twitched, almost forming a smirk. “I called your name, but you ignored me. I had no choice but to come over.” He gestured at my earphones.

“Oh.” I scrambled for an excuse, my cheeks burning. “I didn’t hear you. Sorry about that.”

His gaze softened—just a fraction—but it was enough to throw me off balance. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing to the sleek car that was now pulling up beside us.

I glanced at the car, then back at him. “I’m fine, really. You go ahead. I have a quick stop to make first.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Since when do I let you walk home alone?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “Besides, don’t you hate having women in your car?”

He chuckled, low and deep, and removed his sunglasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket. “Don’t worry. I picked up the cake already, and my mother sent a driver. She’s expecting us soon.”

I froze. Us? Heaven or hell, I couldn’t tell, but both sounded equally likely at this point.

“Miss Luper,” he said again, his voice laced with impatience. “Are you getting in?”

Before I could respond, he walked over to the car and opened the door for me. My heart did a somersault. He opened a car door for me.

What was happening?

The driver looked at us, a knowing grin spreading across his face. I scurried over, mumbling a quick thank you to Mr. Watson as I climbed in. My pulse was racing, but I didn’t dare look at him.

One thing was certain: Mr. Watson was more than just a thorn in my side. He was a storm, and I was caught in the middle.

________________________________________

The evening unfolded like a staged play. The music swelled around us, elegant and sweeping, as Watson and I found ourselves in the spotlight. Dancing. Together. At a ball. A. Freaking. Ball.

I shot a glance at the crowd, their faces glowing with delighted awe, then turned back to him. “Mr. Watson?” I hissed under my breath.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his voice annoyingly casual, as though this were a normal occurrence for us.

“I know you hate this kind of thing. Why didn’t you just tell your mother you didn’t want to dance?” I whispered, careful to keep my expression pleasant for the onlookers.

He tilted his head slightly, a flicker of irony in his blue eyes. “I couldn’t say no. She’s been asking me to dance with you for weeks.”

Before I could respond, he spun me effortlessly, pulling me closer in the process. My heart stumbled, betraying me in the worst possible way. Now, pressed against his chest, I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

I forced myself to look up at him, offering a small smile for the benefit of our parents, who were watching us like hawks. “Poor choice on your part,” I said lightly. “Choosing me for your first dance? It’s irrelevant anyway. We’re parting ways tomorrow morning.”

The words felt final, but Watson’s reaction was anything but. His hold on me tightened imperceptibly, his expression shifting into something unreadable. He bent slightly, his breath warm against my ear.

“Oh yes? Then let me ask you something,” he said, his tone low, private.

A flicker of unease crept up my spine. I knew we had agreed to act affectionate in front of our families, but this? This felt different. Intimate. Dangerous.

“Why did you refuse the money?” he asked, his voice calm but piercing. “I thought you were doing this for the money.”

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him. We were so close, our lips barely inches apart. Does this man even know what he’s doing to me?

“Because I don’t want your money,” I murmured, finally finding my voice. “I have my own, Mr. Watson. And I hate owing anyone—especially you. So, be happy. Spend the money however you like. Besides,” I added, my tone firm, “I’ll be out of your life in just a few hours. Don’t worry. I already have a plan for what to tell our parents.”

The music came to an end, and I stepped back, relieved to break the spell of the moment. Watson looked as though he wanted to say something, but before he could, his mother swooped in, beaming with joy. She clearly thought she’d interrupted something far more romantic.

I caught sight of Stella descending the staircase, her sharp gaze slicing through the room like a blade. Something twisted painfully in my chest—an emotion I wasn’t ready to name. But whatever it was, it vanished the moment Watson’s mother grew visibly agitated.

I plastered on a smile and called out, trying to distract her. “Oh, Mother, I have something to announce! ”

Her attention snapped to me instantly. “Yes, sweetie?” she said, her voice brimming with hope.

Before I could think of what to say, Watson’s arm slipped around my waist. “A child,” he declared, loud enough for the room to hear. “We’re planning to have a child. Isn’t that right, hon?”

I froze. My eyes widened as his words settled over the crowd. Gasps of delight erupted, followed by a flurry of congratulations. Tears of joy shimmered in our mothers’ eyes as they pulled us into tight embraces.

Watson’s mother grasped my hand, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you, darling. You have no idea how much this means to us.”

I nodded weakly, unable to form coherent words. My mind was racing. A child? What the hell is he talking about?

Across the room, I caught Stella’s icy glare. Her fury was palpable, and I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t my fault Watson had dropped this bombshell, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. I quickly averted my gaze, feeling a knot of guilt tighten in my stomach.

Why would he say that? I wondered. Sure, I knew Watson had a history with Stella—a complicated one at that. The miscarriage, the stress she endured, and the precarious dynamic they shared. But how was dragging me into this mess going to help?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and awkward exchanges. Watson and Stella disappeared for a while, and I was left fielding questions from our mothers. My own mother, of course, found an opportunity to guilt-trip me.

“When did you find out you were pregnant?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake concern as she leapt onto the bed beside me.

“Today,” I replied dryly, glaring at her. “By the way, ¿no tienes casa para volver?” (Don’t you have a home to go back to?)

She feigned shock, but I wasn’t buying it. “I care about you, mi hija,” she said sweetly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Ah, de verdad,” I muttered sarcastically, folding my arms. “Just how much did you ask him for this time?”

Her expression faltered for a split second before she deflected, switching back to English. “Don’t get angry at your own mother, sweetie,” Watson’s mother said who was now rubbing my hand reassuringly.

I suppressed a groan. I really hope my mom isn’t getting too close to Mrs. Watson. If she does, she’ll just end up taking more money from them. Even though I told Mr. Watson I didn’t want anything from him, my mom has already taken so much—so many checks that have just disappeared into her bank account over the past five months. I found out accidentally when I bumped into Mathew and the papers fell out of his hand. It’s been hard to keep calm about it, but I can’t confront her now—not with everything else going on.

Mrs. Watson sat my mom down on the bed and tried to comfort her. “Hon, don’t be like this. Your mom’s so happy. Let her stay here tonight,” she said, with that overly sweet smile that made me want to roll my eyes. I know my mom’s glad to be here, but she needs to leave soon. She’s got a job she needs to get back to, and it’s not like she’s in the best position to just up and stay with strangers.

I’m grateful that they haven’t scolded me for this—yet. But I can’t shake the feeling that they’re just trying to smooth things over. It’s not fair that my mom’s been taking money behind my back. It’s embarrassing and frustrating, and I can’t let it distract me from what I need to do now. I need to make sure she doesn’t hurt Mr. Watson or his family any further.

I need to figure out a way to talk to her—find out why she’s doing this. Maybe it’s just about getting by, but I can’t accept it. I know I have to put a stop to it, but I’m not sure how. How do you tell your own mother that you don’t trust her? That you think she’s taking advantage of someone else’s generosity? It’s a mess, and I’m caught in the middle.

Mrs. Watson was trying to be nice, but I could see the tension in her eyes. She’s probably wondering how long my mom will stay, and whether she’ll be a permanent fixture around here. I just want to go back to where we were all strangers—before all this mess started. But now, with my mom involved, everything’s gotten so much more complicated.

I can’t help but feel responsible for her actions. I don’t want to lose Mr. Watson’s trust—or his family’s. They’ve been kind to me, and I can’t let my mom ruin that. So even though she’s sitting there on the bed, talking to Mrs. Watson like they’re best friends, I’m already planning my exit. I need to figure out how to get my mom out of here without causing a scene, without making things worse.