Carla was sent for Enrique and came back with Óscar. The world is laughing at me.

Laughing.

If I weren't literally caught in my dress right now, I'd laugh too.

"What is going on here?" Óscar asks.

"What's happening is Carla was supposed to find Enrique," I grit out, refusing to turn to face him and then doing it anyway, carefully twisting without moving the position of my back and head. "I'm stuck in this dress. I requested pliers and Enrique and I got you and..." I look down at his hands. "You and your bare hands, I guess."

I shrug without thinking and my hair, which is also caught in my stuck zipper, pulls in a way that is highly uncomfortable. A shriek leaves me and Divya jumps.

"I can get someone from the hotel to help us," she offers. "Maybe some scissors?"

"No scissors," Óscar says at the same time as me.

"Turn," he says, gesturing with his finger. "If I can't do it, I'll find Marcia. Promise."

"I'll go get her," Carla says, racing for the door and dragging Divya by the hand. "We'll find scissors just in case."

It's a good thing she wasn't going for subtle because she is anything but. "Do not get scissors! I'd rather die in this dress than ruin it."

"I think they're gone," Óscar says, not making any move toward me.

"Yeah, I know they're gone. I wouldn't be surprised if Carla crushed the zipper with her pliers or the sheer force of her will just to get us in the same room as each other."

"What would she do that for?" he asks. I can hear the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

I spin to face him, ready to rage entirely. But we're alone. And he's dressed in the most laid back clothes I'm almost certain he was sleeping in and his hair is standing up at odd angles. He's not primped or prettied up and ready for the media. It's like he doesn't have his fútbol star facade on yet and it's honestly kinda doing things to me.

The smirk and playfulness falls off his face and he stares at me from across the room, holding his hands behind his back as though that will keep us away from each other.

The entire United States Armed Forces couldn't keep us away from each other.

Which is bad.

Very, very bad.

"What would she do that for?" I repeat his question, stepping closer to him despite myself. "Probably so she could get us in a room together and convince you to take my clothes off."

He chokes and covers it with a cough, eyes burning under ridiculously beautiful lashes that should be illegal for a man to own.

"I don't think I'd need much convincing," he says. "I'm leaving in the morning. If you'd let me..."

He doesn't say the rest, and I don't finish it for him. I can't cross that line. Not right now. Not with him. I need to let him go be a fancy rich fútbol player and go back to my not-so-miserable existence as a hopeful travel writer. "No, it's best if we keep this professional. For Enrique and Bianca."

"I—"

I don't let him finish. "Please don't make this harder, Óscar. You might be the best person I've ever known and I'd give my left arm to get to know you better. But I cannot change that you and I live nowhere near each other. I cannot change that you are about to head off on a tour of the country and I am about to beg for a job at the thrift store around the corner from my parents' house."

"Would you rather die in that dress than let me help you out of it?" he asks after a moment of pause. "Or will you allow me to spend my last day here being the man I want to be?"

His eyes rake down my body and the heat rises in me, settling in places I'd rather not admit to.

"You're too nice," I sigh. "It was so much easier to resist your charms when you were a jerk."

"I was never a jerk," he counters, taking a tentative step toward me.

"Yes, but I thought you were. So it was easier."

"I've heard." He takes another step, stopping halfway between where he was standing and where I still stand. "Do you want help or not?"

Of course I do. But with everything going on right now and the fact that I have to get through a whole wedding at his side tonight, I'm really feeling like letting him see all of what I have going on under this dress will tip me over an edge I can't handle falling over.

"I can go," he says, tipping his head to the door. "I'll go see if maybe my mom can help you out. She's very good at handywoman tasks around her house."

I don't say anything. My hand clutches at my stomach as though applying pressure will keep me together.

It doesn't.

"Okay," he says, looking everywhere but my eyes. "I guess this is goodbye then, Lorena. I'll see you at the wedding this afternoon. I'll be a pleasant acquaintance; like we've never met before."

His smile is small and pained. He looks like I feel when he turns away and walks to the door, turning the handle.

"Wait!" I shout before he manages to unlatch the door. "I don't want any of that."

His shoulders fall, and he huffs out a sigh. "It's fine, Lorena. We'll just act like we've never met each other. For Bianca and Enrique. It's..."

His voice is pained, and I realize he doesn't understand.

"I want you to help me with my dress," I whisper. "I don't want to pretend we're strangers. I want to spend what's left of the day having fun with my friend. I just can't..." I wave my hand as though that will explain the rest of my jumbled thoughts.

"I understand," he says, turning to face me and closing two of the steps it would take me to reach him. He stops abruptly in the doorway, slamming his hands behind his back and twisting them together.

"I don't think you can help with this dress fiasco from there," I laugh. The room is still charged but something has shifted. A dark cloud that used to be right above my head is now floating somewhere above the sea. I can still see it, but it's no longer blocking out every ray of sun.

"May I?" he asks.

"I think you'll have to." I turn around and steady myself. He is a friend. It is not going any farther than that.

Okay maybe one kiss at the end of the night but then THAT will be it. This cannot go anywhere.

My body disagrees. The second his fingertips ghost across the skin at the nape of my neck, I'm gone. A small shudder rippling through my spine and goosebumps erupting on every free surface of my skin.

He pulls at the zipper and tugs gently until it's halfway down, where it keeps getting stuck.

He tugs twice more, gently, before pulling at the zipper. I'm about to ask what he's doing when I feel his breath against my skin and his hair tickling my back.

"It's got some fabric stuck, I think," he concludes. "I think if I..."

I'm not even sure what he does, because at this point my whole back is on fire with his closeness. When his hands reach inside my dress and pull, I swear the dress listens to my body and just melts off of me.

"There," he says, slipping the zipper the rest of the way down. "I'll see you at the ceremony. Save a dance for me?"

"Yeah," I answer, but it's futile. The door is already closing, leaving nothing but Óscar's lovely morning scent to keep me company in Carla's room.

I close my eyes and sink down onto the bed, taking in a deep breath of him I'll keep with me forever. Today is going to be long. I am going to cry. But there is so much to be thankful for.

The days I got to spend with that man included.

~ * ~

The wedding preparations go as smoothly as wedding preparations ever do and, besides a missing knife to cut the cake with, everything is perfect.

We all stand under a floral archway, the ocean breeze rustling our hair as Bianca and Enrique pledge their love to each other for a third time. I've been to two of their three weddings and I think this one might be the worst one, but it does have the best weather. And I can't help but watch as the two of them seem completely unbothered by the whims of Enrique's mother.

No matter what comes at them, they're a unit. They look at each other like the center of the universe is in the other one's eyes. Come rain or shine or potential oncoming hurricane, those two have each other's backs. I couldn't leave her with anyone less worthy than him.

By the time they've said their vows and exchanged their rings for the final time, I'm not even trying to keep the tears out of my eyes, a tissue now a permanent fixture in my hands.

"You may now kiss the bride," the officiant declares, and Enrique's whole family erupts into applause as Enrique draws Bianca in and whispers something in her ear, drawing a joyful laugh out of her before he kisses her with everything he has.

I have to look away. It feels like a private moment I shouldn't be witnessing.

But my eyes betray me. I look away from the love of my friends and right into the watchful eyes of Óscar. The resemblance to his brother is in every way uncanny. Now I'm imagining him looking at me with all the love in the universe and I desperately need to leave. I need to get away.

"Leaving won't make you forget someone like him, you know," Carla whispers in my ear while the rest of the wedding guests are cheering Bianca and Enrique's race down the aisle. "You'll always wonder 'what if?'"

"But we'll never see each other again," I grit out behind a forced smile.

"Then you'll have a great story to tell. And you'll never wonder what would have happened if you tried. Come on, girl. You have the attitude in you. Don't be shy."

I don't get to decide if I'm shy, though, because it's time to leave. Which means my arm threading through Óscar's and my fingers betraying me, brushing at the edges of his suit jacket as though the act would keep him with me that little bit longer.

"Still going to let me have that dance?" he asks when we enter the reception area that has been completely covered in a myriad of flowers at Sra. Calderón's request.

"It looks worse now than it did before," I spit out. "But I would love to dance with you."

"You would?" He turns to face me and his eyes betray him.

"Anyone would love to dance with you, Óscar. I mean, look at you!"

"They want to dance with the idea of me," he says with a shrug. "But you..."

"I want to step on your toes," I finish for him. "And probably you'll get a bruise or two."

"I've seen you dance before, remember?"

Heat flushes my cheeks again. Because I remember it like it was yesterday the way his hands kept me safe. The way the music flowed between us like we were one and not two.

The way his lips felt against mine.

I don't know which of us moved first. I just know the next thing I remember is the whole crowd erupting into cheers as Óscar's lips met mine again.

I couldn't even worry about them, though, because my legs and lungs have ceased the ability to function. Turns out I'm not going to die wearing my dress from this morning.

No. That would have been too easy.

I'm going to go out kissing Óscar Calderón.