Previously:
Lucia admitted their no-strings arrangement was no longer working and braced for Matteo to walk away. Instead, he asked to tell everyone they were dating, leaving them to decide what the label meant. Lucia agreed before fear could remind her that labels came with expectations she could not control.
New to the Serial? Start Here | Need the previous chapter? Chapter 19: Strings
Lucia
I lock my door upon myself, and bar them out…
~Christina Rossetti
“I would like to do something special this Saturday.” Matteo’s fingers skimmed over her braid, slow and unthinking, the light pressure making her skin tingle. He wasn’t looking at her, but his voice filled the distance between them with warmth.
Lucia tried to control her breathing, but her chest felt tight, caught in her desire to twist around and find his lips. His dimples were bad enough, but the tiny freckles on his upper lip had become her obsession.
“Special?” He hadn’t kissed her since the beach. Yet he kept getting close enough that she felt his breath on her skin, watching her as if she had the answer to a question he had not asked. Frustration coiled under her skin, tight enough that she almost demanded to know what he kept leaving unsaid.
“To celebrate your birthday.” Sweet of him to remember.
“Abuela wants us to celebrate my birthday as a family. Maybe next weekend.”
“You’re working on Saturday?”
“What?” She was losing her ability to concentrate around him.
“Saturday?” His fingers rested on her braid as he watched her with that quiet attention that made it impossible to consider lying to him. “A family party?”
Her shoulders tensed before her mind assembled the yearly ritual. “Not really.”
Afraid he would mistake the lack of an invitation for rejection, she blurted, “Abuela is going to make carne asada because it’s Uncle Bruno’s favorite. Johnny will be tense and fidgety, shadowing me until my uncle leaves. Cousin Olivia will whine about being bored until her mom makes their excuses. Then, Abuela will say, ‘it’s nice to have the family come together.’ Johnny will take off, stressed out but relieved I didn’t get hurt. I will deadbolt myself in my bedroom to read. And just like that, party over.”
She wasn’t ready to name the danger out loud. Were he ever to step inside her home, insults would be the gentlest thing waiting for Matteo. Her uncle could send him to the hospital with one blow. In her house, a boy like him would not be a boyfriend. He would be evidence, and she would be the one left to answer for it.
A crease appeared between his brows, but he did not press. “Are you scheduled to work on Saturday?”
“Yes, no one else wants to work at the bookstore on weekends but me.” It was a wonderful excuse to stay away from home. Safe, and now even happy.
“Then we should celebrate before I take you home.” He rubbed her arm and slipped his hoodie around her shoulders. “Otherwise, I can’t give you my gift.”
“Not necessary.” She hated gifts. They always proved how little people understood her. But if he had to give her a gift, a kiss would do.
“Is that so?” Surprise flickered across his face, as though he’d expected a hint, not a refusal.
“The last time I enjoyed my birthday, my mother made the cake.” The memory felt distant, like one of the faded photographs of her family tucked away in an old album.
“You were three?” His voice lowered, turning into a tender whisper that made her throat tighten.
“I was three.” She kept her eyes on him, expecting the little flinch people gave when pity made them uncomfortable. He remained steady.
“Then we need to make this one different.” The words touched the ache she refused to acknowledge.
“I really don’t care for birthdays.” That was an understatement. She hated them.
“Are you seriously turning down a homemade cake?” A glint lit his eyes as his grin turned challenging.
“Homemade?” She blurted out, skepticism edging into amusement. Who, exactly, would he rope into making it for him?
His grin softened, but something stronger settled beneath it. “Yes, I’ll even make it myself.”
“You can bake?” The thought was so absurd that a little laugh bubbled up before she could stop it.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice as though the outcome were a secret they would only share. “We’re about to find out.”
Matteo was waiting for her when her shift ended, flour dusting his blond hair and clinging to his eyelashes. A streak of bright, glossy strawberry frosting ran across one cheek. He looked endearingly rumpled in sweatpants and a sleeveless tee. His eyes shone with triumphant pride as he held up a single, slightly lopsided cupcake topped with a flickering silver candle.
“Turns out I’m not much of a baker,” he told her, his voice warm with humor. “Here’s what’s left of a sack of flour and a dozen eggs.”
She stared, her throat tight with unshed tears, because no one had ever eviscerated a cake for her before. “A pink masterpiece!”
He leaned in, pressing a soft, sugar-sweet kiss to her lips. “Happy birthday, baby.”
“Thank you,” she said, the words sticking slightly in her throat. She leaned in to blow out the candle. The flame danced, then surrendered to her unspoken birthday wish. She could still taste the answer on her lips.
“You better take a bite before it falls apart.” His tone was light, but his gaze remained on her face.
“Let’s take a bite at the same time! One, two, three, bite.” Sugar hit her tongue first, then strawberry, then the soft crumble of cake he had no business being so proud of. She dabbed frosting on his nose and laughed at his delighted grin. “It’s amazing! Next time, figure out how to keep the cupcake upright.”
He laughed, still dusted in flour and far too pleased with himself. “It is, isn’t it? But I’m not doing this again until your next birthday.”
“Promise?” she asked, then startled at the shape of her own voice. No strings. Yet he was already thinking about next year, and his fingers were brushing frosting from her lips like that was something people got to have.
“Yes.” He smiled, licking the frosting off his finger.
“I’d better get going.” It was the first Saturday since their day at the beach that they would be apart. All she wanted was to stay with him. “Johnny changed the plan. He and his friends insisted on picking me up at the bus stop since it’s my birthday.”
“But I haven’t given you your gift.” Matteo’s smile faltered for a second, as though she’d brushed him off.
“I thought the cupcake was my gift. Such a sweet gift.” She kept her voice playful, but his eyes found hers and held for a moment too long.
“Monday then,” he said at last, pulling her into a one-armed embrace, his other hand balancing the lopsided cupcake.
“Are you surfing today?” she asked, forcing herself back to the day ahead. Johnny was waiting to usher her into that disaster, and she was making him wait.
“Don’t worry,” a striking young man said, stepping out of the car. “We’ll keep him entertained. See the gear in the back seat?”
His movements were fluid, confident, and too practiced to look natural. His voice had a slightly musical rhythm, his accent softening certain consonants, like the “th” in “this” or the “r” in “right.” Her memory clicked into place. Matteo had mentioned a French friend.
“Lucia, this is Aloïs, a childhood friend.” She heard Matteo’s voice shift as his arm settled protectively around her.
“And she is?” Aloïs raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint smirk.
He looked like the type who knew exactly what made him beautiful. Androgynous and polished, he had flawless alabaster skin, black eyes, and long black hair he shook back like someone who expected to be watched. Ellie and he belonged in the same categories. Beautiful. Performative. Desperate for acknowledgment.
Her mind cataloged each piece, but failed to give the moment shape. The gear looked like backpacks, not for students. More like those worn by soldiers in movies. Aloïs. French. Met in ballet class. Traded dance for medicine. He wanted to be a plastic surgeon, like his father. The gear didn’t fit. Something wasn’t right.
“New friend,” she replied curtly. Aloïs’ deliberate, lingering gaze felt as if he were flipping through the private pages of her life. She refused to give him the reaction he wanted and turned her attention back to Matteo. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Be careful.” He gave her another light kiss. The tension around his eyes betrayed what he was trying not to say. A sharp pang of guilt tightened her chest. He was worried about her uncle.
Aloïs interrupted. “How much trouble can he get into? He just has to pull the cord.”
Her voice snapped. “What is he talking about?”
Matteo’s shoulders stiffened. “We have a family home in Borrego Springs where Dad keeps his private planes and the helicopter. Some of us were thinking about going skydiving.”
“Oh.” Her voice was flat. His father had been a Navy pilot and was now a commercial pilot. The man treated the sky like an ordinary road. Now she placed the gear. The paratroopers in the movie Red Dawn had worn something similar.
She almost pulled Matteo closer and asked him not to go. Only she couldn’t stay. She released his hand.
After a couple of steps, Lucia looked back. He was standing where she had left him. Surprise had broken through his usual composure. Frosting on his cheek. She wanted to lick it off. None of it helped.
Wasn’t it enough he had health problems? Now he was choosing to risk his life by jumping out of a plane. Was he trying to kill himself? Give her a heart attack? What was wrong with him? Nothing! He was just a guy. Guys did stupid shit. Only he was rich, so of course there were planes, helicopters, other ways for rich boys to flirt with death.
Fear surged up her throat, thick and sour. Who would let her know he was hurt? Dead? No, no, she wouldn’t do that to herself. Rain pouring over her parents’ station wagon. Hands pulling her out. Strangers passing her from one life into another. She couldn’t afford that kind of pain again.
“You have fun with that.” Turning abruptly, she walked faster until she was almost running.
“Lucia, hey, wait…” Matteo called. She recognized the panic in his voice but didn’t stop. He hurried after her, words spilling out in a rush. “I won’t jump.”
“What? Are you crazy?” Aloïs interjected, exasperation edging his voice. “We’ve been doing dives since…”
“Fuck off,” Matteo hissed, and Aloïs went silent. A faint cloud of flour puffed from his hair as he stepped into her path. “I’m staying in the helicopter with Dad.”
“You don’t need me to tell you what to do.” She closed the door on him. No, slammed it. They had made a deal, no-strings-attached. If he wanted to kill himself, it was time to walk away. Run.
“Alright, alright, point taken, you’re serious about her.” Aloïs raised his hands in mock surrender, his eyes glittering as if Matteo’s anger only confirmed something amusing.
“Shut your mouth.” His control made the words cut cleaner. His hand closed around hers without his gaze leaving Aloïs. “I’ll be here Monday, waiting with your present.”
Lucia forced a tight smile and pulled her hand free. She didn’t want him to touch her. Wished he hadn’t kissed her, ever.
“You do you.” The words came out colder than the fear beneath them. Ignoring the pain in his eyes, she walked away before Monday could become another promise she wanted to believe.
Author’s note
Lucia doesn’t ask Matteo not to board the helicopter because asking feels too close to taking. In her home, questions don’t function as questions. They carry an expected answer, and refusal gets treated as defiance.
That history has taught her to distrust her own wants. Speaking them aloud feels coercive. Silence feels like restraint. The error sits there.
A request does not own the answer. She can ask him not to board the helicopter. Matteo can refuse or comply. By not asking, she removes his choice.
At the end of the scene, Lucia releases his hand because she believes freedom requires that kind of surrender. She hates herself for letting go, but doesn’t see the trap she has built. Matteo never gets to decide what he would have done if she’d asked.
When he promises not to jump, nothing changes in her mind. She wraps herself in the fear of death, but the real fear was being chosen.
Would that lopsided pink cupcake win you over, or are you asking what happened to the other eleven?
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