16

"It's because he's busy making Teresa's life impossible," my phone interrupts us.

I pick it up as he enters the room, looking at me with curiosity, eager to know who's calling me. I answer the call, and seeing Frida's name along with "lawyer" beside it leaves me speechless.

Her voice is heard through the speaker.

"Michelle, I have good news."

I drag myself across the bed until my feet hang off the edge. Axel approaches me, forcing me to stay seated.

"Lawyer, tell me everything, please," I stutter.

At the mention of the nickname, Axel furrows his brows. He has no idea about my brother.

I hear her taking short breaths. It surprises me that she was calling me at this hour; she told me she has a very important case right now. Could everything be okay now?

It's about your brother. We need to meet, and don't worry. It's not something serious.

When it comes to my brother, everything is serious.

"What stupid thing did that idiot do now?" I grumble softly, glancing at Axel out of the corner of my eye. I bite my lip, nervous. "Okay, when do we meet?"

She tells me in three hours, she'll send me the location of a restaurant to talk to. I'm terrified of going out and encountering some journalist, but I can't live inside these four walls forever.

I end the call, exhaling without knowing how to feel about what just happened. Part of me desperately wishes for good news.

But this feeling that everything is going too well to be true tells me to expect something bad.

"Lawyer?" I nod, and he furrows his lips.

I toss my phone aside and rest my head on his shoulder while caressing his hand in search of the calmness I've longed for.

"I have a brother," I confess, waiting for him to say it all. "He's in prison." I felt him tense up, and his grip on my hand loosens. I blink, pulling my hands away too. "He's innocent, I promise."

He doesn't look at me, just keeps his gaze fixed ahead. Until his eyes capture me, and the glimmer in them, confusion stealing away any trace of amusement that characterizes them, makes me wonder whether to tell him or not.

"Why is he there?"

"Theft," I swallow, scratching my cheek. "He was accused of theft, and he's been without a defense lawyer for three years and seven months."

He maintains seriousness in his tone, just as my face tightens with a new feeling of rejection.

I perceive it in the way he processes the news, I've seen it on his face, the same look people usually give me when they find out who my brother is and where he is right now.

He thinks I'm the same as him.

A criminal.

Because if you go to jail, it's because you did something illegal.

"Do you have to see him today?" I nod, and he mimics me. "Why not say it?"

"Because I was afraid you would reject me," I bite my cheek, feeling his gaze on my face. "When some people found out, they used to judge me first and tell me I'm like my brother. A criminal, without even stopping to think about how things happened," I swallow hard. "He's a good guy, I promise."

"I believe you, shorty," he scoffs, putting his arm around my shoulders. "It just bothered me that you thought that of me. You know I love you. You're like a sister to me. It would be stupid of me to think that of you when you can't even kill a mosquito."

"But it's a life..." I try to defend myself.

He laughs.

"Yes, a life that feeds on your blood. Why don't you adopt mosquitoes? After all, they carry your blood," he jokes, kissing my cheek.

"Can you come with me to see Frida?" He nods. "And can I go into the art room?"

"No."

He stands up, and I sigh, lying down for failing in my attempt. One day I'll go in there, I have no doubts.

"Whatever you're painting, I'll see it someday!" I shout from my spot, provoking laughter as his response.

"Stay still while I tidy up. Don't do anything stupid," he comments before leaving me alone.

I roll my eyes, and with that gesture, his lips come to my mind along with the words he usually tells me when I do it.

"Don't make that face."

I sigh, letting my mind torture me with his face in my retinas.

His smile, his eyes. Oh, his delicious and provocative lips.

I was crazy to see him, burning inside to have him away from me.

As much as I burned to have him close.

"Damn Arthur Müller," I exclaim with a small smile on my lips. "I miss you."

I delight in imagining him looking at me with confusion for speaking to him in Spanish.

Oh, I have to visit my girls. It's been a while since I spoke Spanish with someone. Since the idiot of my brother isn't around.

I remind myself to visit him soon and then.

Hmm, maybe Axel will come.

He doesn't let me go out alone, and sometimes it's annoying. Other times it's not, at least not when we go downtown to buy food.

It's better to come eating than carrying the bags, a thousand times better.

(...)

I remained silent as I drove.

My hands tremble, and I feel the urge to vomit, and not because of the pregnancy.

"Hey, calm down. I don't want to have to wash the car again," he says with a playful smile.

I accidentally vomited in the car the other time due to nausea, yes.

Despite that, I allowed myself to laugh at his threat.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's my brother. It's his freedom."

He nods, his gaze fixed on the road, and his artist's hands steady on the steering wheel. The long lilac purple shirt he chose matches my bag and my loose but wonderfully fitting black dress. It matches his shoes.

It's unusual for us to dress like this, but we're used to it.

"How did you manage to get the most prestigious and coveted lawyer in London to take your brother's case?" I pout, thoughtful.

I ask myself the same question. I thought money was the main problem, but as I read about her while researching after Harold's recommendation, I realized she only took cases she was guaranteed to win.

Something inside me said she was the right one to set my brother free from those bars.

"I guess she was feeling generous that day," he chuckles.

"I hope her news is good too."

I mimic him, whispering a "me too" that churned my stomach.

And everything I had eaten hours ago threatened to come out.

"Stop the car!" he does.

That's how a few minutes earlier, I end up vomiting with Axel caressing my back and comforting my sobs.

"Aw, so sensitive," he murmurs, I hit his foot. "Damn it, Michelle."