Chapter 78 CHAPTER 79

Chapter 78 CHAPTER 79


Ana had found the cabin.

Facing the ocean, an hour from the coastal town where Julieta had lived in hiding during her pregnancy. One story, two bedrooms, a kitchen opening onto a large terrace. No staff. A woman from town would arrive at noon to drop off food and then leave. The rest was up to them.

Ten days.

Lucio and Gabriela stayed at the mansion with Marta, Rosa, and Mario. Marta, don’t call me unless it’s a medical emergency. Mario, don’t call me unless it’s an armed emergency. Everything else can wait ten days.

The first morning, Julieta woke up late.

Vladimir wasn’t in bed. The terrace door was open. She found him sitting outside, a cup of coffee in one hand and the other resting on his cane, which was propped against the chair. He was looking out at the sea.

“Good morning, Mrs. Rossi.”

“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.”

“That sounds strange.”

“It does sound strange, yes. Well, then.”

She sat down in the chair next to him. He handed her half of his coffee. He’d done it on purpose; he knew she wouldn’t be able to wait until she made her own.

—Did you sleep?

—Like a log.

“Me too.”

“Vladimir.”

“Tell me.”

“I haven’t slept like that in seven years.”

He said it matter-of-factly, gazing out at the sea, coffee in hand. Vladimir didn’t answer right away. He took her other hand across the table.

—Okay.

“All right.”

That night they went to bed early.

Julieta had learned, over the previous months, that her body was gradually adjusting to his. Slowly. Patiently. Vladimir never rushed anything. That helped. But so did the cabin, the new bed, the sound of the sea outside, and the small, reassuring certainty that tonight there was no little girl who might knock on the door, no baby next to the crib, and no nurse down the hall.

Just the two of them.

And for the first time in a long time, Julieta didn’t find herself waiting for a flashback. It didn’t come. It didn’t come on the second night either. By the third night, she had stopped expecting it.

On the fourth night, she was the one who reached out to him first, and that—small, so very small—seemed to Julieta like the greatest wedding gift she could have given herself.

At four in the morning on the fifth day, Vladimir spoke into the back of her neck.

“Are you awake?”

“I’m awake.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t been able to sleep more than four hours straight since Lucio was born. My body is programmed to wake up at this hour, even though Lucio is three hours away.”

“Wow.”

—What about you?

—I heard you breathing differently and woke up.

—Vladimir.

“Tell me.”

She turned around. She stood facing him in the darkness. The moonlight streamed through the window just enough to make out his profile.

—I want you to promise me one thing.

“Tell me.”

“That the life ahead will be peaceful.”

Vladimir took a deep breath.

“That’s a lot to promise, Julieta.”

“I know.”

“I can’t promise you that nothing will ever happen again. I can promise you something else. I can promise you that when it does happen, we’ll be there for each other. No running away, no letters, no early-morning flights. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. That I do promise.”

She looked at him.

“That’s enough for me.”

—Really?

“Much more. There’s no such thing as peace of mind, Vladimir. I’ve already learned that. But I do believe in the other thing.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll promise you one thing, too.”

—Tell me.

—That I’m going to believe it.

—What is it?

—Whatever you promise me. Without asking for proof every two weeks. Without doubting you deep down like I sometimes do. If you tell me we’re in this together, I’ll believe you. That’s my part. Learning to trust you.

—I know that part is hard.

—I know it’s hard, too.

He kissed her on the forehead.

They stayed like that, awake, talking in whispers until it began to get light outside. Little things. What they were going to have for breakfast. Whether Lucio had slept through the night or if Marta had had to get up. Whether Gabriela was with Ana or with Donatella. Family stuff.

At six o’clock, they fell asleep again.

They returned to the mansion on the tenth day.

Lucio had learned to sit up on his own. They treated it like breaking news. Marta had recorded it on video and was showing it off with the pride of nannies who don’t want to admit they’ve fallen in love with the baby they’re caring for.

“Marta, I appreciate it, but this is called emotional blackmail.”

“Ma’am, I’m just taking care of him.”

“You take care of him too well. Any day now, he’ll be asking for more from you than from me.”

“No, ma’am.”

Gabriela met them on the stairs. Capitán under her arm. A question written all over her face.

—Did you bring any gifts?

“We brought gifts.”

“Good ones?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

Three weeks after their return, the brand was released.

Julieta had been working on it with Sofía during the last months of her pregnancy and the months Vladimir was in a coma, quietly, without telling almost anyone. A small women’s clothing brand. Twenty pieces to start with. Long sleeves incorporated into all the designs because that was the signature style. So that no woman would have to hide her skin with something borrowed, she had explained to Sofía during one of their first video calls. Let the sleeve be the design, not the excuse.

The brand was called Carrasco.

Without Rossi. She’d decided that on her own.

“Vladimir.”

—Tell me.

—The brand is named after my maiden name.

—Okay.

—Doesn’t that bother you?

—Why would it bother me?

—Because there are men who do mind.

—I’m not one of those men, Julieta. The brand is yours. Name it whatever you want. If you want to call it Rossi when you have thirty brands, you can name the thirty-first one Rossi. This one belongs to you.

The launch took place online.

No fashion show, no gala, none of that. A webpage, clean photos, the twenty pieces, a short interview conducted by a digital magazine that had been asking for it for months and that Julieta had put off until she had something concrete to show.

The interview ended with a question.

“Why long sleeves on all the pieces?”

“Because women have the right to cover up whatever we want without anyone asking us why. That’s the brand. The rest is just clothes.”

Within six hours, the first collection was sold out.

By midnight, there was a waiting list of three thousand women.

Julieta watched it all from the living room sofa, with Lucio sitting on her lap trying to grab the phone. Sofía was sending her the numbers every hour. Three thousand, four thousand, five thousand.

Vladimir sat down next to her.

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going well enough that I have to call Sofía tomorrow to discuss a second collection ahead of schedule.”

“That’s good.”

—That’s work.

—It is, too.

Julieta rested her head on his shoulder. Lucio put down the phone and grabbed his father’s ear.

“Vladimir.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you remember what I promised you at the cabin?”

—“That you’d believe whatever I promised you.”

“That’s the one.”

—So?

“I’m starting to believe it.”

He didn’t answer. He kissed the top of her head. Lucio kept tugging on her ear, silently, with that intense focus of babies who are learning to hurt others without realizing it.

And for the first time in a long time, in that mansion, there was nothing urgent on the next day’s to-do list.

Just a second collection to design.