Page 69 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Ramiro tapped twice on a surface.
A desk.
“This is your new station,” he said, voice smooth again. “Right outside Mr. Pérez’s office. Only a single door separates you.”
I exhaled slowly.
Of course.
As his personal assistant, my office couldn’t have been far from his.
I carefully released Zara’s hand.
Immediately, her fingers tightened on my sleeve instead.
I gave her a reassuring squeeze before shifting my attention forward.
My fingertips found the edge of the desk.
Cool woodgrain. Smooth finish.
The surface was wide—L-shaped, extending further than I expected. I traced along it slowly, committing every detail to memory the way I always did when sight wasn’t available to do the job for me.
Keyboard centered. Monitor slightly to the left. Phone dock to the right.
Everything placed with intentional precision.
I stepped forward half a pace, cane sweeping.
Clear path.
Two steps forward led to the visitor seating area.
I brushed my hand lightly over the armrest of one chair—leather, soft, new. Another chair beside it. Symmetrical. Controlled.
I pivoted slightly left.
My cane caught the faint resistance of a corner.
Filing unit.
Sharp edge avoided.
Three steps from the corridor to the desk. Two more to the seating area. One careful pivot left.
I mapped it again internally, reinforcing it until it became muscle memory rather than thought.
A soft tug pulled at my skirt.
“Mommy...” Zara’s voice was small again, thinned by exhaustion. “Can I sit?”
Something in my chest tightened immediately.
“Of course, baby,” I said at once, the firmness in my tone softening into warmth as I turned toward her.
I guided her carefully by the shoulders, lowering her into the visitor chair beside my desk.
The leather creaked faintly under her small weight.
