Lena Martins

Chapter Twenty four

"When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time."

- Maya Angelou

MARIANO'S POV 

The drive back from the party was  silent , filled with the quiet rumble of the car engine and my own tumultuous thoughts. Sacha occupied my mind in a way that irked me. It wasn't typical for me to dwell so much on someone outside my immediate circle of family and friends. The idea of using someone else to distract myself from thoughts  of her had crossed my mind but then it  seemed not only unhealthy but utterly futile. It was as if she had cast some spell over me, her defiance and independence sparking a curiosity I couldn't quell.

All evening, my gaze had been fixed on her. Once she caught my attention, the rest of the world faded into insignificance. She made it abundantly clear that she wasn't going to let me in easily, not even as a friend. And while that might sound strange, given the undeniable physical attraction between us, I couldn't help but think that friendship could be a possibility, regardless of my desires

Yet, I had to remind myself that this was all it was—attraction, lust. Nothing more. To think it could be anything deeper would be sheer delusion. Love, in the romantic sense, was something I believed existed, sure, but not for me. I didn't see myself as deserving of it, nor did I particularly yearn for it. 

My history with relationships, or rather, my explicit avoidance of serious ones, was testament to that. I've always been upfront about my intentions, never wanting to lead any woman on . If they ended up getting attached, well, they had been forewarned. It wasn't my intention to play with anyone's heart.

The car came to a stop  and when i look around i realized we were home . I stepped out, the night air cool , and entered the house without a word. My father's voice broke the silence. "Mariano, we need to talk." I sighed, knowing full well the direction this conversation was headed.

My reputation was in shambles, a topic that had become all too familiar. Being Mario Tate's son came with a weight of expectations I had long struggled to bear. It seemed people forgot that despite the name, the prestige, we were all human, all prone to mistakes. For years, I'd maintained an impeccable image, a facade of perfection that eventually became too much to uphold. The pressure of that charade led to a breakdown of sorts, a desire to break free and live on my own terms. But freedom came with its own set of consequences led by careless actions . 

"I'm all ears, Dad," I replied, managing a slight smile . It felt like we'd had this conversation countless times before, yet each time, the weight of his disappointment seemed to grow heavier.

"You're not just any idiot, Mariano, you're my son. You can't afford to make these kind of stupid mistakes," he started, his tone more of resignation than anger. "I've always been there to clean up after you, but that won't always be the case."

I let out a sigh, a mixture of frustration and acceptance. "Okay, Dad. I'll do whatever it takes to make it right if it'll ease your conscience." The truth was, I had grown tired of the constant scandals, the whispers that followed me wherever I went. It was exhausting, trying to live up to the Tate name while simultaneously rebelling against it.

"The women who are after you like the plague, what are you going to do about them?" he asked, his voice sharp, cutting through my thoughts.

"I don't sleep with them," I answered honestly.

"The media think otherwise," he countered, and I could hear the concern in his voice, a father worried about his son's future. "Maybe a fake girlfriend would ease the bad attention you've got for basically just addressing basic words to any girl."