Sinbound (18+) | ✓

14 | paradise

14 | paradise

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I'm convinced I have a mental illness, or snort coke in my sleep, or I'm cursed by some witch that makes me stupider than I usually am, because why in my right mind would I accept Santiago's offer for dinner?

Alone.

Together.

Looks like Matteo fucked the sense out of me too.

Speaking of him, his words rang true considering I hadn't seen him throughout the day. I honestly didn't even know how to feel about that. I just don't know what's wrong with me.

I tell a man I'll think about pursuing more with him only to go out to dinner with another man — one Matteo doesn't even like in the first place.

Yeah, brain cells? Nonexistent.

The entire cab ride to the address Santiago gave me was filled with me overthinking and scolding myself for acting so foolishly.

The restaurant, Paraíso, is beautiful — the golden accents on the outside did nothing for the decorations inside. A grand chandelier hangs above a cluster of white cloth covered tables and cream colored chairs and booths. And that's all I can see from the reception desk.

Is this what Spanish people constitute as a friendly dinner spot?

By the time I'm seated across from Santiago, my eyes had been too caught up in the decor that I barely even noticed him.

"I'm glad you accepted, Monique." He greets. My eyes draw to him as he smiles at me. I catch sight of a shallow dimple but shale my head and look down.

"Did I have much of a choice?" I joke which he chuckles to. "So, a friendly dinner... What do those include?"

Santiago scoffs in amusement and lifts his glass of wine, "Food and conversation."

"Ah," I say, sarcastically, "My favorite."

Santiago chuckles lowly and shakes his head, "You're a surprising woman."

"Am I?"

"Yes," He confirms, "Usually, women in Matteo's vicinity are easily persuaded. You, however, have a stronger reserve."

I try not to roll my eyes, "If you're trying to tarnish Matteo's name, don't bother. I, sincerely, do not care what or who he did before I came in. And even then, I don't care, because we're not together. We're nothing."

He seems to see through my facade because he snickers, "For now. Knowing him, he'll have his claws in you faster than you can blink."

I don't answer because, frankly, I haven't come to a decision about Matteo. As much as all signs point to saying yes to him, there's still the case of him being my client and long distance relationships don't always work. I have to go back to America eventually.

But to think that Santiago thinks I have such thin skin that I'd allow a man like Matteo to pull me under — that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Before I can say anything, Santiago leans back and tilts his head, "You see, Matteo and I were friends many years ago — business partners, if you'd like, and we had a set plan. We threw money down towards this plan — one I was so sure would work. Then it didn't. He took certain insurances that I was too stubborn to follow and pulled his money out, leaving me with a mountain of debt."

"I begged him to stay a little longer and see the project through but he with his pride said that he couldn't bare to watch me crash and burn. That his reputation was more important than our long standing friendship."

I listen, intently, shock rushing through me at the words leaving his mouth. This is all coming from one person. I can't damn the other without his side of the story.

But then again, I didn't ask to know this. I didn't ask to be caught up between them as if I'm some pendulum ball swinging one way and another.

That's why I take his words with a grain of salt.

Santiago leans forward with a clenched jaw, "That's the kind of man he is, Monique. A man who'll leave you behind at the drop of a hat."

"Trust me or don't, but I'm just here to tell you my side."

Ugh, men and their egos.

Part of me wants to get up from my seat and leave but I starved myself for two hours so I could save space for food — and Imma eat.

But this just feels like an ambush on my intelligence and my naiveté — one I don't appreciate. But, then again — food.

I nod, "Okay — I don't want to talk about this anymore. Are we eating or not?"

I just hope the dinner conversation isn't focused on the man I came here to avoid.

somebody please take my phone *sigh*