Bárbara smiled. “I mean, brave. That dress is very brave.”
Before Renata could feel the old shame rise, Gabriel looked at Bárbara and said, “It is elegant.”
Bárbara’s smile froze.
He continued, “Bravery would be wearing kindness in a room where cruelty gets more attention.”
A few people looked down to hide their reaction.
Renata almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was the first time someone had answered that kind of insult for her without making her feel like the insult had power.
Mauricio stepped in. “Gabriel, with respect, you don’t know the history here.”
“No,” Gabriel said. “But I heard enough.”
Renata looked up at him.
Mauricio laughed again, more sharply this time. “Enough? From Renata? Careful. She has always had a talent for making herself the victim.”
The words hit Renata in an old place.
Victim.
Dramatic.
Sensitive.
Too emotional.
Too hungry.
Too much.
Her breath shortened.
Gabriel turned fully toward Mauricio now, releasing the dance but not abandoning Renata. He stood beside her, not in front of her, as if making sure the room knew she was not hidden behind him.
“What did she make herself the victim of?” Gabriel asked.
Mauricio gave a polished sigh. “Personal matters.”
“Then why did you bring them to the center of a public gala?”
“I didn’t. She grabbed you.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Because you were staring at her like a man waiting for a wound to reopen.”
Mauricio’s face hardened. “You misunderstand.”
“I rarely do.”
That sentence changed the air again.
Renata still did not know who Gabriel Beltrán was, not really. She knew only the way people reacted to him. A man near the bar whispered his name to a woman in emerald earrings, and she turned pale. A hotel manager straightened his jacket. A senator at the far table suddenly found his champagne fascinating. Whoever Gabriel was, he carried a history large enough to quiet people who usually paid to be loud.
Mauricio swallowed. “I meant no disrespect.”
Gabriel looked at Renata. “Did it feel respectful?”
Everyone turned to her.
Renata’s mouth went dry.
This was the part she hated. The moment people watched her, waiting for her to be gracious enough to make the room comfortable. She had spent years performing ease after Mauricio embarrassed her. He would squeeze her waist at parties and say, “We’re working on this,” as if her body were a failing department. He would tell waiters to remove her plate. He would joke that she loved cake more than discipline. People would laugh because he said it with charm. And then Renata would smile, because crying would prove him right
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