Page 22 of Please, Forgive Me
CHAPTER 9
“The past can be a shattered mirror, reflecting who we truly are…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I glanced at my watch.
I’d always been punctual, a habit I never broke. But tonight, strangely, I caught myself feeling… impatient.
I was seated in an upscale restaurant next to the five-star hotel where we were staying. The lighting was warm, intimate, the tables around me filled with low conversations and the clinking of wine glasses. Yet none of it managed to distract me. My mind was focused on one thing only: Maria Gabriela.
And then, finally, there she was.
She appeared at the entrance, moving with that quiet confidence I’d always admired, though tonight it seemed almost hypnotic. She wore a black dress—elegant, simple, yet impossibly sophisticated—that traced her figure in all the right ways. Her hair, usually tied back at the office, now fell in soft waves over her shoulders.
A pair of earrings caught the glow of the restaurant lights, highlighting the natural radiance of her skin. On her feet, delicate heels made her look taller, even more graceful.
I knew I should’ve been focused on the meeting we had the next day, on the problems waiting for solutions. But in that moment, all I could think about was how breathtaking my secretary looked.
She reached the table with a quiet smile and slid into the seat across from me, adjusting her dress with practiced elegance. I watched her, every movement deliberate yet effortless.
“You are, by far, the most beautiful secretary I’ve ever had,” I said, my voice pitched lower than usual, my gaze locked on her. There was no point hiding my admiration tonight.
She looked at me, rolled her eyes, but that little smirk gave her away—she knew exactly the effect she had.
“I’m the only secretary you’ve ever had,” she shot back, her voice dripping with irony.
“Which only proves how unique you are,” I countered, my eyes still tracing every detail of her. The truth was, in that moment, I couldn’t see anything else. Not the food, not the crowd—only her.
She dropped her gaze for a second, fidgeting with her earrings, though I knew it was just a distraction. A faint blush colored her cheeks, and for someone like Maria Gabriela—always in control—that felt like a small victory.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, still trying for irony but with a flicker of genuine curiosity beneath it. “You’re going to make me self-conscious.”
I smiled, because this time there was nothing clever or calculated to say—only the truth.
“Because you’re beautiful, Maria Gabriela,” I said simply, without looking away.
She stayed quiet, her eyes locked on mine, as if trying to decode me. But there was nothing to decode. No teasing, no hidden meanings. Just honesty. Maybe that’s what unsettled her most.
“That’s not something you say to your secretary, Diego,” she finally replied, her tone slightly more serious, though humor still tugged at her lips.
“And who said I was talking to my secretary?”
She blinked, a few times, as though searching for the right comeback. But before she could, the waiter appeared to take our order, breaking the moment with surgical precision.
I welcomed the interruption, if only to steady myself. Because as much as I wanted to keep this in the realm of playful banter, something told me we were stepping into uncharted territory. And that thrilled me almost as much as it terrified me.
Once our orders were placed, she looked at me again, her gaze sharper, assessing.
“You’re different tonight,” she remarked, half-teasing, half-serious. “Something tells me dinner isn’t the only thing on your mind.”
I gave her a slow smile, leaning back in my chair, eyes never leaving hers.
“And what if it isn’t?” I asked, deliberately unhurried, knowing it would intrigue her even more.
She sighed, shaking her head with a weary, amused smile.
“And here I was thinking this would just be a quiet meal after a long day,” she teased, though I could see the shift in her eyes. Something deeper. Something I knew she was starting to feel too.
