### (GAVIN)

Amanda is still looking at me in that way that says, "I didn’t understand a single word you tried to convey, but I’m trying." I still can’t look at her. Maybe I’m a bit afraid to see what she really thinks of this. Perhaps I need this lack of eye contact to muster the courage needed to say what needs to be said.

I keep my gaze fixed on a specific point on the ceiling, my face turned upwards. I don’t change the tone of my voice; I remain calm and neutral, not letting emotions take over. It’s something almost unprecedented, but I maintain my focus.

— If you want to leave, and feel that it’s the necessary thing to do, know that you can always come back here whenever you like. But… But you don’t even need to go if you don’t feel up to it. Or…

I take a deeper breath before continuing.

— Or if you think this is the place where you should stay.

Amanda doesn’t say anything. She just continues looking at me. I don’t know if her lack of response is a sign of surprise or if she just doesn’t know how to politely say that I’m mistaken.

And if I am, so be it. I had nothing left to lose from this point on. I would need to hear from her own lips that she didn’t want me; that she didn’t need me and would be better off alone somewhere else. If that didn’t happen, there was no reason for her to leave and… abandon me.

I know I could be acting recklessly, but once I start speaking, I simply can’t stop. I begin to play with the fabric of my button-up shirt as I continue:

— You and I… we’ve been getting along so well since you came here. I believe you’re having all your needs met and are progressing in ways we couldn’t have imagined. — I finally look at her, who has a pale but fixed gaze on me. — There’s no deadline to leave, nor any reason for it.

— Gavin… — Amanda murmurs. But I can’t stop what I’m saying now, or I’ll lose my train of thought and the courage that’s overtaking my body. So I interrupt her, hoping she forgives me for it.

— Dr. Solloman told me that your traumas might last a lifetime, just like Donovan’s. And although he’s fine most of the time, triggers still exist. Your crises don’t happen as they used to, but even he took a long time to master everything, Amanda…

Her lips are pressed into a thin line. Is she upset? However it is, I can handle it. But I should conclude my reasoning, take it to the end. There’s no turning back now.

— Donovan had my support, therapy, and years of improvement and self-control. He will never be a hundred percent cured. — My voice wavers slightly, recalling when Donovan had anger outbursts, terrible fits, and how difficult it was to deal with that directly. — But he’s stable, Amanda.

— What are you trying to say? — Her expression isn’t exactly friendly, and yes, her voice has a note of disappointment. Or is it irritation?

— I mean that maybe… Maybe you will never be a hundred percent ready to… live alone. Live away from here.

For the first time since the conversation began, she averts her gaze. It seems she’s holding back all the words that came to her throat. This hits me hard because it’s the first time I’ve seen her like this… and it’s also the first time I’ve made her feel something unpleasant. I begin to regret saying all that. Damn it, what was my problem? I could have been more measured with my words, but I chose to be blunt and more forceful to get my message across.

When I start to open my mouth to apologize, Amanda raises her palm, signaling me to be silent.

Yes, she literally tells me to be quiet with a simple gesture. Then she stares at me.

We just look at each other. Her lips tremble slightly before she takes a breath and begins to speak.

— I understand your concerns, Gavin — her tone is firm and serious. — But there’s one thing I don’t understand in this line of thought. It’s true that Donovan had some serious problems and still suffers from the echoes of traumatic consequences. But as far as I know, he is perfectly capable of living alone. Why couldn’t I do the same when I felt ready?

Her question remains unanswered. Because she was completely right in pointing out this flaw in my argument, and a ridiculous and petty pride takes over me. Ashamed, I look down and continue fiddling with the fabric of my shirt. I remain silent.

My silence is the answer Amanda was waiting for, as she doesn’t press further. Sighing, her brown hands reach for the mug resting on the coffee table, and she resumes drinking her tea. There’s an awful discomfort between us, and I want to fix things, but I have a horrible feeling that if I even open my mouth, I might ruin everything and say goodbye to any chance of doing the right thing.

I never thought it would be difficult to deal with my feelings this way. To be completely honest, I thought everything would flow perfectly after my confession and Amanda’s own declaration of feelings. I wasn’t counting on a third element between us, or that I would have to take it seriously. If it were just some random guy, I wouldn’t care as much and might even judge it as a lesser concern that wouldn’t impact the situation as a whole, but this was my best friend. Not only that, but also a man completely capable of taking care of her, protecting her, and making her happy.

How could I compete with an adversary of that magnitude? How could I even consider vying for this girl’s heart knowing that Donovan would be the one suffering if I won?

Donovan had always been very reserved about his relationships, only indicating he was with someone if he felt it was going somewhere and not just random flings. It was the case when he had a three-year relationship with Samanta, and as far as I knew, it was the only time he truly gave himself to a woman. It didn’t end well, and even though he never touched on the subject or the name of the woman he loved so much, I knew it might be a possible interference in how he felt about Amanda. Or not.

I try to compare the feelings I had for Alexandra with those my friend had for Samanta, and I realize I can’t make a decent comparison. He and I have goals and other things in common, but we are also too different in aspects. The way I love is different from the way he loves. The way I give myself is not the same as his. What matters to me, what makes me feel it’s worth it to care for and give myself to someone, is not what matters to him. And of course, he never spelled out exactly what all of that meant. It was all based on observations I had made over the years.

So I don’t know if it was luck, misfortune, coincidence, or a peculiar mix of these three elements, but both of us were at the feet of this girl, and in our own particular ways, we had our attraction confirmed. More than attraction. There was indeed a connection, a sort of bond that tied us together. How did Amanda manage to be equally special to both of us when we were so different in this regard?

I take a deep breath. I finally break that awful silence.

— When you’re done with your tea, let’s go to the balcony.

The girl nods her head, completely detached and probably lost in her own thoughts. But she doesn’t share any of them.

. . . . . . . . . . .

### (ALEXANDRA)

James doesn’t come home with me after our dinner. He said it would become increasingly difficult for us to have frequent meetings, that we needed to show everyone that our contacts were strictly professional. We were allied CEOs, but not friends — and it was essential for everyone around us to think the same way.

As soon as I get home, the first thing I do is take a bath. Talking to James without using his body to reach the peak of pleasure was frustrating but unfortunately necessary. Maybe I was just imagining things, but I saw a different glint in his eyes; some sort of distrust or curiosity. That’s exactly why I didn’t fully reveal my concerns and the persistent calls from an unknown number to my cell phone.

I step out of the bath wrapped in a fluffy white towel and head to the closet, where my phone is resting on one of the several small shelves where my shoes are kept.

The only people who had that number were my right-hand man, Hugo Ferrera, and vice president of Jewel; as well as James, Ketlin, and my mother. No one else knew about this phone, and I am absolutely certain none of them would have the audacity to pass it on without consulting me first.

It could be a mistake, of course, but if that were the case, why restrict the number? It was obvious that whoever it was didn’t want to be identified or tracked.

As if just pondering that weren’t enough, my phone vibrates again, and it’s exactly the unknown number. I watch the screen and the “incoming call” icon flashing, but decide not to answer. If I’m to be approached, it would have to be on my terms. And for that, I would need a little help… But not from James.

The persistent and invasive anonymous caller gives up, and the phone stops vibrating.

That little buzzing fly near my ears would meet its end. However, more important matters were coming up, and I would need to endure the annoyance for a little longer.

I look for the coolest

pajamas I can find. Sleeping is the only thing that matters to me now, and at least until the following week, I shouldn’t worry about anything else.

Already lying in my beloved king-size bed, I allow a triumphant smile to spread across my face in anticipation of the disasters that would surely fall upon Gavin and his faithful puppy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

### (AMANDA)

The rocking chair is comfortable and warms and steadies my back. The view is the same as always, and the full moon is so magnificent that I can’t stop looking at it. To complete the peaceful and quiet atmosphere, Gavin’s agile and soft fingers are shaping each of my curls with the help of a cream he bought.

We haven’t exchanged another word since I placed the empty cup in the sink. It was obvious he was feeling guilty for what he said, but he didn’t need to. As always, Gavin said what he thought, and aside from the flaw in his reasoning, the only thing that bothered me was the somewhat harsh way he expressed his words. He wasn’t like that. Even when he needed to say something unpleasant, he would try to make it sound as painless as possible.

As he brushes my hair and shapes my curls, I wonder if there was any reason for him to judge me incapable of taking charge of my life again someday. Did my host really think that way, that I would never be completely ready for an independent life? Or was that whole speech just a — horrible — way to mask his own fear?

It was clear that now that Gavin knew that Donovan and I were aware of our feelings for each other, and that there was a real chance he might not be the chosen one when all of this came to a head, he was clinging to a desperate attempt to keep me by his side. A grotesque and quite wrong way, but understandable.

Gavin was afraid of losing me, and although he was genuinely concerned for my well-being, he was also trying to justify his own selfishness with empathy and a sense of preservation.

Did Donovan think that way too?

I feel a shiver running down my back and arms as I remember his powerful and firm words: that he would understand if I wanted Gavin, but wouldn’t even remember him if Donovan was the chosen one; because I would have paradise at my feet, hands, and all the other parts of my body I desired.

In my heart, I know I would be very happy with Donovan, and there would be no room for anguish, doubt, guilt, and hesitation in my mind. He would take care of me with all the dedication and reverence in the world, would hold me in his lap and threaten anyone who dared to harm me. He would be a monster to my enemies and a devoted prince to me, the little one who cherished him so much and made him sigh.

But I also knew that Gavin would be a warm, kind, gentle, and wonderful lover who would be completely devoted to me. He would dedicate himself like never before, or rather, as always to all my needs and desires. He would walk with me through valleys and parks, always with a proud smile for being the one I chose. He would give me many gifts, both material and emotional, and wipe away my tears every time my bad memories surfaced. He would be my guardian angel, bringing light and chasing away the shadows.

The worst part of all this wasn’t giving up one to have the other; needing to choose between two wonderful possible lives they both promised me.

What really made me feel like the worst woman who ever walked the Earth, a harpy and witch who used men to obtain total satisfaction of her desires, was knowing that, with absolute certainty, one of them would be completely devastated.

Both Gavin and Donovan said the same thing; that they wouldn’t be upset with me if I chose the other, that our relationship wouldn’t change and they would never be angry or resentful. But it was obvious they wouldn’t be able to stay close to each other, maintain the friendship they had for years without feeling a lot of hurt and a constant sense of betrayal.

Yes, they would continue wanting the best for me, hoping for my happiness, but at the cost of their own. They would go to bed knowing they lost the woman they loved, not to a lucky stranger who happened to come into our lives, but to the man they once called their best friend; the same guy who was there for better and worse, offering support when needed and mutual joy when possible.

How could I do that to them? How could I face my reflection in the mirror with the certainty of the destruction I left behind by following my heart?

Was there any choice I could make that wouldn’t hurt them terribly?

Was there any alternative route that could be taken to avoid that imminent disaster?

There was no answer.

So I continued looking at the moon, immersed in my conflicting emotions and profound silence.

And the moon continued looking at me.