19: Mario (2)

It was more than obvious that Manuel would suggest it — he should have done so before, and yet he had waited until after the signing.
Mario knew his father had no ill intent in resenting Marta for having been with another man. It wasn't Manuel's fault — falling for a woman and feeling let down because he hadn't been the one to give her that glow of happiness.
That touch of magic had been granted by the man he lived with. His own son had unknowingly stolen his father's joy.
And Mario, with his heart split in two, could only think about that paragraph attached to the merger contract — the one about what marriage meant.
His hope was screaming for Marta to take the papers and tear them to pieces and run to his arms — but he knew she wouldn't, because acting on impulse was not her natural state.
He watched his father and Marta from three steps ahead, over his shoulder. He didn't know whether he wanted her to say no, so as not to feel jealous of his father — or to say yes, because that would give him the chance to see her every day.
The suspense was torturing him, and he stopped, turning his torso slightly.
He realised Marta was looking specifically at him when she broke the silence.
"If that were the case, I would need a room of my own."
"I was counting on it!" Manuel replied easily. "There's a reason I said six!"
Marta turned to Manuel, astonished.
"I beg your pardon?"
"One room each — it's the least!"
Marta's bewilderment drew a half-smile from Mario.
"Dad—" Mario exhaled with feigned suspicion "—now that you won't be alone, I could move out."
Mario decided to be the one to put distance first — the damage was already done with that wretched clause. He even raised his hand to his shoulder instinctively, where a twenty-hour-old tattoo burned into his skin from the inside.
Marta, her face full of surprise and a flicker of pleading in her eyes, rushed to stop him.
"If it's because of me, don't worry — you have no reason to leave home."
Mario swallowed, holding his breath. He would have thrown his arms around her if it weren't for the audience — his body even betrayed him, one foot stepping slightly forward.
Felisa slapped her own forehead in despair at Marta. Melisa looked at her aunt strangely. It was Julián who broke the silence.
"If the top of the new company is all living together, Melisa and I would be missing. Does it have to be six?"
The conversation settled into how many bedrooms and bathrooms the hypothetical shared house should have.
After seeing Marta's reaction to his attempt to withdraw, Mario knew she was fighting the same internal battle between desire and duty.
Mario didn't want Marta to cry out of guilt — but the tears came from something darker than merely being twenty-three years apart in age. The guilt of feeling desired by someone younger, when the sensible option was to grow old alongside someone with shared interests — that was what he hadn't seen.
And the clause, so impulsive and one-sided, written to protect his father, did nothing to make Marta feel any less overwhelmed.
Everyone went home. Mario felt relief when he saw that the understanding Felisa would be staying with Marta.
Mario and Manuel, each in their own car, reached the company car park quickly. When they got to their respective offices, Mario's secretary knocked at his door.
"Don Mario — were you able to make it to the wedding?"
Another sharp pain through his heart. He smiled as best he could.
"Yes, thank you, Liliana." He looked away. "Don't risk everything for someone you know nothing about."
The blonde girl, face full of questions, straightened up like a soldier on parade and blinked nervously.
"I'll keep that in mind for my next date — thank you, boss!" Liliana went back to her desk with a feeling of familiarity that was slightly jarring.
Mario raised his hand to his shoulder again and looked at the tattoo beneath his clothes.
He knew he should have looked into GOZZE's leadership before the companies merged — but he had been satisfied with researching their client portfolio.
He found himself wondering whether things would have gone differently, and searched for their corporate website.
A group of people — mostly men, with Marta, Melisa, and another woman who had the air of an Austrian governess barely visible among them. In the photo, Marta looked almost younger than her daughter, and that did nothing to help with the idea that if he had looked her up, he might never have allowed himself to fall for her.
A call pulled him out of his thoughts. It was Melisa.
"Good afternoon, stepsister." He tried to sound light.
"Well, that's a fine start!" she complained. "I was calling to invite you out sometime. You're... different."
"And you're acting strange — fancy that!" Mario didn't like the direction Melisa was trying to steer the conversation.
"That's exactly what I mean — you wouldn't have said something like that before."
Mario realised he was taking his frustration out on Melisa, who was blameless in all of this.
"Sorry — I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"So shall we get a drink sometime?" Melisa pressed.
"My heart is taken." Mario could at least say that much.
"I understand this girl is the one who's broken through that coldness you had—" there was no malice in her words "—but we can still be friends."
"I'm not sure she'd take kindly to seeing me with another woman." The image of Marta asking through a bathroom door who had him so completely gone came to his mind. He smiled.
"Oh, how insecure!" Melisa laughed, playing her cards. "You don't deserve someone who gets jealous seeing you with your own stepsister!"
"Don't talk about what you don't understand." Mario's anger flared — properly. "Because we will never be anything more than that — stepbrother and stepsister."
He hung up before she could reply — because he could no longer go back to what he had wanted, and because he couldn't go back to what he had been before, either.
Melisa's comment had left such a bad taste that he understood he would never be able to see her as anything more than just another person.