it started in spain, which felt unfair from the beginning.
you’d been in barcelona for a few weeks filming a series, and it was long enough for the city to stop feeling temporary and start feeling personal. long enough to know how summer smelled after dark: heat sitting in the walls, something sweet blooming somewhere nearby, dinner still hanging in the air through open windows. the city always felt a little too intimate at night, like everything meant more there than it should.
you’d known rosalía for years by then. long enough that she no longer felt like someone you knew, but someone you trusted with your soul. you loved her in that easy, permanent way reserved for the people who had seen you at your best, your worst, and every rude, exhausted version in between. she could tell when you were lying, when you were tired, and when you were about to make your life harder for no reason. which meant she was usually annoying, but rarely wrong.
she’d invited you over for dinner one night, calling it casual.
that should have been your first clue.
casual, with rosalía, still meant her house looked better than most people’s actual events. but it was intimate enough. just a few people, music low somewhere in the background, windows open, food already on the table. the kind of night where everyone was supposed to relax, which you didn’t actually believe in.
when you got out of the car, rosalía was already outside waiting, a glass of wine in one hand and a look on her face you didn't trust.
she looked at you for a second.
"i want you to meet someone."
you shut the car door and stayed where you were. "no."
"you don't even know who it is."
rosalía smiled, slow and pleased. "that's fair." she took a sip of her wine. "but i think you'll like her."
"did i say her?" she asked innocently.
she linked her arm through yours before you could retreat, steering you toward the house. "just one introduction. five minutes. if you hate her, you can go back to brooding by the pool."
"i wasn't going to brood."
"bebé." she patted your arm. "you were absolutely going to brood."
inside, you recognized a couple of faces, said hello to people you knew, took the glass of wine rosalía handed you without thinking, and tried not to feel like she was setting you up for something.
then the front door opened.
"mira," rosalía said, too casually, her eyes on the door. "alexia's here."
you turned to look at her. "you're being weird."
"i'm hosting." she didn't meet your gaze. "hosting involves noticing when guests arrive."
but she was already lifting her glass, already smiling, already acting like alexia's arrival was a pleasant surprise instead of something she'd clearly orchestrated down to the minute.
alexia stepped inside, and your irritation found a new target.
she looked put together in a way that was immediately annoying. dark jacket, light shirt, sleeves pushed up once at the wrists, like she hadn't tried very hard and still got it exactly right. no big entrance, no scan of the room to see who was watching. just a quiet, calm presence that somehow made her more noticeable than anyone else there.
and you definitely noticed her right away.
worse, she noticed you noticing. her gaze found yours across the room, held for a beat too long, and then the smallest shift in her expression. not quite a smile. something more private than that.
rosalía caught it, obviously. she was already moving before you could stop her, crossing the room to pull alexia into a quick embrace, saying something in her ear that made alexia glance in your direction again.
then she brought her over. of course she did.
"this is the friend i was telling you about," rosalía said, and the way she said friend made it clear she'd used a different word when you weren't in the room. "alexia, this is una de mis mejores amigas”
alexia shook your hand. her grip was warm, steady, brief but not rushed. "hola."
she looked at you for a second longer than necessary. you looked back for a second longer than you meant to.
that should have been it. a handshake, a hello, and you could have spent the rest of the night avoiding her from a safe distance.
instead, you ended up seated near her at dinner, the kind of near that wasn't accidental, the kind of near that had rosalía's fingerprints all over it. and things got irritating almost immediately.
she started with normal questions. how long you'd been in barcelona, what you were filming, whether you liked the city. easy things, surface things, the kind of small talk you could do in your sleep.
you answered in the driest tone you had available. short answers. no openings. the verbal equivalent of a closed door.
most people either got thrown by that or tried too hard to keep up, overcorrecting with nervous laughter or forced charm until the conversation collapsed under its own weight.
alexia did neither. she just adjusted, like you were a rhythm she'd figured out. stayed calm. answered you right back. not pushy, not impressed. just quietly amused, a flicker of something warm behind her eyes, like she'd met people like you before and had decided, for reasons you couldn't fathom, that she didn't mind.
it got under your skin faster than it should have.
you’d say something dismissive; she’d answer with something better. you’d try to shut a door; she’d somehow make it seem unnecessary. every time you thought you’d thrown her off, she only looked more entertained.
by the end of the night, you’d already made two mistakes: deciding she was amusing, and letting her make you laugh before you could hide it.
unfortunately for you and your rapidly deteriorating peace of mind, that was only the beginning.
sometimes because rosalía had invited both of you, making no effort to hide that she’d done it on purpose. sometimes because your worlds kept overlapping in barcelona: dinners, events, people who all seemed to know each other. sometimes because alexia had a way of appearing exactly where your attention did not need to go.
little by little, she became hard to ignore.
you noticed the specifics first. the clean, understated perfume. the simple clothes that somehow always looked deliberate. the way she listened properly when you spoke. the fact that she never wasted words.
and then you noticed something worse.
if she’d been arrogant, you could have hated her properly. if she’d been obvious, you could have laughed it off. if she’d pushed, you could have walked away and called it self-preservation.
she just stayed close enough to be impossible to forget.
the almost-kiss happened three weeks later, at another one of rosalía's "small" gatherings.
you remember it so clearly because your body kept every detail.
the pale stone warm beneath your heels. the thin strap of your silk dress slipping off your shoulder every few minutes. the cool weight of your earrings brushing your neck. the city below, distant enough to feel like a dream you were about to wake up from.
and, unfortunately, you remember the woman alexia had been talking to.
you didn't know her well. you didn't need to. she was beautiful. red lipstick, matte and flawless. one hand resting lightly on alexia's forearm while she laughed, fingers curled just enough to be intimate but not enough to be obvious.
it could have meant nothing.
if it had meant something real, your irritation would at least have had shape. instead it sat under your ribs, small and ugly and impossible to justify. you didn't like the way she touched alexia. you didn't like the way alexia lowered her head to listen, her whole body inclining toward the woman like a plant turning toward light. most of all, you didn't like how quickly your own mood had turned over something you had absolutely no claim to.
rosalía found you staring into your drink and smiled immediately. the smile of someone who knew you better than you wanted to be known.
you didn't look at her. "what is?"
"that face. very tragic. very repressed. very…"
"finish that sentence and i'll drown you in the pool."
rosalía laughed into her champagne. "so you do like her."
you finally looked at her. "i like lots of people."
"no, bebé." she tipped her glass toward you. "you tolerate lots of people. this is different."
"then why are you dressed like this?"
you glanced down. "like what?"
you hated that enough to know she'd landed it. before she could become any more insufferable, you walked away with your drink, finding a quieter stretch of terrace at the edge of the garden.
alexia found you a few minutes later.
you sensed her before you saw her. she leaned one shoulder against the stone column beside you.
close enough to share the silence but not enough to corner you.
you swirled your drink once. "you noticed."
just that. no teasing. no deflection. just yes, steady and certain. you hated.
you nodded vaguely toward the party. "i thought you were busy."
alexia glanced back once before looking at you again. "are you talking about lucía?"
"i'm not talking about anyone."
a beat passed, thick with everything you weren't saying. then, quietly:
a dry laugh escaped you. "that's a very confident thing to say to someone you don’t really know"
she didn't move. "am i wrong?"
one corner of her mouth lifted. "that's not an answer."
"it's the only one you're getting."
the silence settled between you. not empty. waiting.
alexia watched you the way she always did when you tried to make yourself unreadable. patiently.
"you make everything difficult."
"you’re here, aren’t you?," you murmured.
usually that would've been enough. one dry remark, one careful step backward, and the moment would become manageable again.
alexia only looked at your mouth. then your eyes. then she stepped closer. barely. just enough to steal the air from your lungs.
"maybe i like difficult."
you should've had something sharper waiting.
"that sounds like poor judgment."
her smile softened. "probably."
close enough to catch the wine on her breath. close enough that every frantic thought in your head disappeared.
because the awful truth was that you wanted this.
for one reckless second, your body wanted it more than your pride.
then your mind caught up. lucía's hand on alexia's arm. rosalía's knowing smile. the simple fact that wanting something was usually the moment everything began to fall apart.
at the last second, you turned your face. not much. just enough.
her lips brushed your cheek instead.
it was somehow worse than pulling away. too close to deny. too deliberate to misunderstand. the spot where she'd touched you burned.
alexia froze. so did you, though you were better at hiding it.
when she finally drew back, there was no anger on her face. that would've been easier. only surprise. and beneath it, something quieter. recognition. as though she'd finally understood exactly what kind of wall she'd been standing in front of all along.
"you should get back to your friend." your gaze drifted toward the party. "she looked invested."
something changed in her expression then. not because of lucía. because she understood you. and somehow, that was worse.
"is that what this is?" she asked softly.
you lifted one shoulder. "i don't know what you mean." a lie. not even one of your better ones.
alexia held your gaze for a long moment. for the first time since you'd met her, she wasn't smiling.
that almost made you apologize. almost.
instead, she nodded once. "okay."
just okay. no argument. no chasing after you. no asking you to explain yourself. only patience. again.
you watched her disappear into the house, her silhouette swallowed by the light.
only then did you realize you were gripping your glass hard enough that your fingers ached.
