4: The Envelope

Marta knew perfectly well that Julián was delighted to come and pick her up — it meant he could park his own car in the director's space.
They arrived at the office building ahead of schedule.
Marta greeted Fil as always, and for the first time he whistled at her. The colour rose in her cheeks, which Melisa noticed. Julián shot the security guard a withering look.
"She's one of your bosses, Filemón — a little professionalism, please."
The guard startled slightly and sat back down at his post.
They took the lift up nine floors to the office, and just before eight o'clock, each went to their own desk to start the day.
Marta hung her large scarf and her bag on the coat rack, ready to begin — then had to turn back because she had forgotten her phone.
And there it was. The envelope.
She assumed one of her children must have left it as a joke — they had done that sort of thing regularly well into their teenage years.
She carried it to her desk to look at later.
Between balance sheets and files, the morning flew by.
An email arrived. It was Manuel.
"Dear namesake, Marta Solís — I am overwhelmed by your suggestion, and have also consulted my partners and investors. Everyone is in agreement about formalising the merger. My son has suggested we make it official with some kind of agreement, and I would like to propose dinner this evening at the restaurant in the Hotel Estuardo, near Caleido. I dine there most Fridays. I have already mentioned to the restaurant that I may be bringing a guest, and I sincerely hope that guest will be you. Yours, Manuel Ruiz, CEO of ADAN."
A grateful smile crossed her face as she thought of Manuel's warmth.
She wrote her reply with ease and sent it.
She stood up to go and have lunch with her children, and her eyes drifted to the small envelope on the desk.
She picked it up with a proud maternal smile and opened it.
As the card slid out from the folded paper, her expression slowly darkened.
Memories came flooding back — his kisses, his body, his voice, the scent of chocolate.
Mario Ruiz Montenegro.
And a phone number.
She turned the card over. She did not want to look at that name. She did not want that number. What she read on the back was worse. Her legs gave way beneath her and she nearly fell.
"You gave me your laugh — one I will never forget."
Marta knew perfectly well what she had done the night before, and laughing — of all things — was not something she had done at any point.
She was tempted to call the police, but her argument fell apart the moment she admitted to herself that this was not harassment. At least, not yet.
She looked at the number written on the card. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, just behind her ear, where that mark had been for the past few hours. A smile appeared on her face — and she caught herself.
She saved the number in her phone with a flutter of excitement she had long since forgotten — and the moment she recognised her own adolescent impulse, she threw the card in the bin as though it were a live grenade.
She grabbed her bag and opened the office door to go and have lunch with her children. One foot already in the corridor and one still in the office, she turned on her heel, her eyes going straight to the bin — and with a resigned sigh, she let the urgency of the memory win, rescued the card, and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her.
She had lunch with Julián and Melisa at a modest restaurant around the corner from the office that served Basque-style tapas.
They always ordered the same things — but Marta surprised both her children and the waiter by ordering a bowl of marmitako.
Using the excuse of sharing, she convinced herself that a small change would not affect her more than usual.
Melisa was mildly concerned. Julián was delighted by the changes he was seeing in his mother.
Marta told them about the email from Manuel Ruiz, CEO of ADAN. Julián was already mentally drafting figures for the contract. Melisa sat with her arms crossed, shaking her head with a resigned smile. But the news steered the conversation in a different direction, and Marta was able to forget — just slightly — everything that had upended her life in less than twenty-four hours. Though only she knew it.
They went back to work and their usual routine of reviewing orders and managing client and supplier contacts, as they did every day.
At six in the evening, Julián drove her home, with Melisa along for the ride. She thought what a lucky mother she was to have such devoted and loyal children — and that was precisely why the previous night weighed so heavily on her conscience.
When she reached her bedroom, she was surprised to find herself enjoying the faint lingering scent of chocolate from her bed, and forced herself to turn to the wardrobe in search of something more fitting for that evening.
She found a navy blue suit with lapels in lapis lazuli and matching pinstriped trousers. A modest-necked sky blue sweater completed the look.
She approached the bed hoping to catch one last trace of the chocolate scent she had noticed coming in, but her nose had already adjusted.
She opened Manuel's email to note down the address. She took her coat, went to her car, pulled out of the car park and drove to the Cuatro Torres area where the restaurant was.
Marta tried to deny the changes that meeting Mario had already made to her habits — and resigning herself for the umpteenth time, she told herself what she had already told him: that she would never see him again.
She put on her best smile and prepared to spend a pleasant evening with the man who offered her the stability that was already part of her life — and that she was not about to risk.