At that moment, the door rang."Come in," said Carla.Maximiliano opened the wood and raised his eyebrows at the sight of the three women gathered in that alcove, with drinks, snacks, and laughter. For a moment he felt afraid to be there."What's going on here?"Seda rolled her eyes and stood up."We are conspiring against you, dear son, don't you see? Lenis, let's go. The bride and groom will want to be alone.""What? No, don't worry, Mrs. Seda, we can continue talking," a nervous Carla said.Her mother-in-law was serious, they were leaving the bedroom.And they did so without looking back or adding anything else, closing the door.Carla tilted her head a little to one side and went about arranging things that were already taken care of, all to avoid the idea of being alone with him, now that they were husbands and wives."We're going on a trip tomorrow afternoon.""What?" The information caused Carla to turn all her attention to Maximiliano."If you want to rest now, do it, but then
"FAMILY UNION?" was the almost joking headline, playing at not being sensationalist, that read the showbiz section of the newspaper that Daniel Glint was reading that December morning.His toast, coffee, jam, and slices of ham and cheese were forgotten thanks to the absolute concentration that the owner of that city's nightlife poured over the pages."Businessman Maximiliano Bastidas, founder and CEO of one of the most powerful consortiums in the country, and Carla Davison, daughter of the recently deceased Fred Davison, founder of the English corporation Davison & Associates, have married in the intimacy of the Bastidas mansion, this twenty-sixth of December of this year."Under a simple ceremony, the only guests were the couple's closest friends."Bastidas and Davison had already known each other for several years, the bride being part of the Bastidas payroll, serving as head of the corporation's Protocol Department."'We decided not to let any more time pass for our love to be bles
"Good morning," greeted Maximiliano, entering the dining area of his house, to a self-absorbed Carla, reading that morning's entertainment headline.She didn't say good morning back, because, after all, it wasn't good anymore.She managed to get some sleep after the sleeplessness of the early morning. It was snowing outside, so the heating, working perfectly, generated warmth in her room, and waking up, being able to open the curtains and watch the snowflakes fall without pressure, calmed her down a lot. At last, she didn't have to deal with a broken boiler or a boiler that was running at half speed, or maybe the hot water wouldn't come out, or worse, it would come out, but frozen.If she had to travel to London with her new civilian status, she would do so and at the same time would take the opportunity to fulfill her promises, such as visiting her mother on her deathbed, leaving her flowers from her aunt, perhaps meeting again in the cold streets of that beautiful and gigantic city.
The plane landed at London City Airport, one of the six air terminals, the best located and most exclusive, almost always dedicated to business flights.The short crew left the aircraft, dressed in winter clothes because of the mild weather with which the city welcomed them.At the foot of the stairs, a black Bentley with a local license plate was waiting. The chauffeur, dressed much like the bodyguards (black executive suit and tie), adding a luxurious overcoat and dark leather gloves, welcomed the couple as security, being part of the passengers, and opened the doors. After making sure they were inside the vehicle, the driver got in, the engine was already running, and driving the auto on the left side, as was customary in that part of the world, they managed to start the car and leave the airport.Before the Bastidas couple disembarked, the CEO's security did. B.J. and his assistant corroborated that the vehicles they would be using during their stay were out of danger. They activa
Maximiliano could not change his clothes, dawn came. He had chores to do and errands to run, but he could not move. She didn't know that he was watching her sleep.Max felt so guilty... especially when Carla, almost without realizing it, began to rant words about her aunt in the midst of her crying, data stipulating how well she saw her the last time went to visit her in the mountains, how safe she felt contemplating the idea of her defense before that gentleman who supposedly would not be capable of doing anything so perverse.Carla asked what her death was like. He didn't want to tell her too much right now, and if given the choice, he never would. He only gave the facts in a very precise, concise, and summarized way, devoid of cumbersome details that could worsen the strong feelings that were trying to break his wife.He had never seen a woman cry so much in his life and almost ran out of options to help him handle the situation. His instinct was to wrap his arms around her, be the
Carla clasped her hands to her chest, wrinkling part of the fabric of her white sweater.Slowly she moved her body towards the inside of the room. The door closed and she slid like ink to the floor, dragging her body against the wall.Her eyes flooded with tears, and she could not even emulate what she felt, as if the word "lie" was bouncing in her neurons, as if they, the neurons, were "that" word and others, such as "deceit" or "betrayal", were slowly destroying her interior completely.She could not believe it, what that guard said could not be true. Did her husband hide the death of her aunt just to avoid the delay of the wedding? A wedding that (Carla thought) benefits him in all aspects, despite not wanting to succumb to it in the beginning. A contract wedding where truth entertains reason. Carla Davis, or rather, Carla Davison d'Bastidas, felt trapped, deceived, and with no way out.Outside, the agents looked at each other as they heard the door close. It was obvious or very li
She just needed to get away from him, at least away, away for a while, and she didn't realize the magnitude of that decision until her eyes collided with the Christmas decorations, the snow, and the bustle of people making life on the streets of London.She walked, needed to.Bundling up tightly, adjusting the thick scarf around her neck, and covering her head with the hood of her coat, Carla walked around the hotel and beyond, her eyes on everything, her mind elsewhere, and her heart trying to arm herself to survive.Sadness gripped, but her tears were already shed. Anger argued with the former feeling to rule her heart. Life was simple until her famous father passed away; she never thought she had longed for him to live. Fred Davison was not a man enlisted in her mind, she never remembered him, not even to hate him. Between living across the ocean, her job, the gym, keeping her house warm, paying the bills, and saving to someday take out the housing plan she had dreamed of, her Mr.
The days passed slowly for Maximiliano and extremely slowly for Carla.Max tried to get his wife to leave the room. He would involve her in topics of interest concerning her late father's company, showing her plans and important data, as well as communicating his ideas about the new season for the consortium based on the Protocol area. The only thing the CEO got out of her was that she complained about being in charge of the department. Carla threatened to call Bobby Clarence to tell him the truth about what was going on.Very upset at being subjected to such blackmail, Max reminded her that the management position she would not hold, that it was just a well-articulated lie for the press. Carla then shared with him data that was mentioned in group chats created by coworkers and mentioned that they congratulated her on the new job.The CEO was aware of the existence of those chat groups but didn't tell her. What she was able to do was to come up with a plan for herself to announce to e