Page 9 of Minha Dona

The necklace. In Caitlin’s most recent professional headshot, her new partner portrait, Helena had spotted it. The thin silver chain, the green jewel clasped in interwoven strands. The necklace Helena had bought her in the Heights on that Sunday afternoon, the one Helena had commanded her to wear and nothing else. It was there, visible, in a professional photograph that thousands of colleagues could see.

It could mean nothing. It was a beautiful necklace, even if Helena said so herself. People wore beautiful jewellery in professional photos.

But Helena couldn’t help wondering if it meant something more. If Caitlin wore it every day. If she touched it sometimes and thought about what it had represented.

She hadn’t told Isabella about the necklace and the photos, she wouldn’t tell anybody, because some hopes were too fragile to share, and she knew that if she said it it would sound exactly like what it probably was: clutching at straws.

“You’re right,” Helena said, looking back at Isabella. “I know you’re right. I just need a bit more time.”

“You’ve had nine months, querida.”

Helena smiled wryly. “I know. A bit more. Not lots. A bit."

Isabella looked at her with the exasperated fondness that only a lifelong friend could manage. “Fine. But I reserve the right to stage an intervention if you’re still moping at the one-year mark.”

“I’m not moping.”

“You’re a little bit moping.”

“I’m reflective. It’s different.”

“That’s just moping with better vocabulary,” Isabella grinned, and Helena couldn’t help but laugh, the tension breaking. “Come on, eat up and tell me about what’s going on at work.”

Helena was grateful for the shift to professional ground, and they spent the rest of lunch talking about her upcoming presentation, and then about Isabella’s upcoming product launch.

When Isabella left, kissing Helena goodbye at the door, making her promise lunch again next week and with a loose plan to do something together that weekend, Helena walked back to the office alone, the early afternoon sun warm on her skin, the city bustling around her.

Silence is a choice.

Maybe Isabella was right. Maybe Caitlin’s silence was all the answer Helena needed, and the sooner she accepted that, the sooner she could stop checking her phone the moment she woke up each morning just in case there was a message waiting for her.

Right now, she had work to do, she had a personal training session tonight, and tomorrow she had Juliana coming over. Full days, full evenings. A full life.

She was fine. She’d be fine.

Her phone buzzed as she reached the office lobby. She glanced at it reflexively, her pulse spiking the way it always did before she saw the name on the screen. Just in case.

A calendar reminder. Team meeting at two.

Helena slipped her phone back into her pocket and took the lift to her floor, trying not to think about how disappointed she felt.

Chapter 3

Juliana arrived on the Tuesday at seven with a bottle of wine and a grin that announced, before she’d even said a word, that she was in a good mood and looking forward to the evening.

“I had the best day,” she said, kissing Helena on both cheeks and handing her the wine as she walked past into the apartment. “My supervisor told me my research proposal was, and I quote, the most original she’d seen from a master’s student in three years. So, I figure I’m basically a genius.”

“Basically.” Helena smiled as she followed Juliana into the kitchen, watching her pull two glasses from the shelf. It may have only been a few months that they’d been doing whatever this was, but she’d been to Helena’s apartment as Mariana’s friend many times over recent years and certainly knew where the wine glasses were kept. “Congratulations. That’s great.”

“It is great. I deserve wine and praise.” Juliana turned and leaned against the counter, looking at Helena with an expression that was equal parts playful and expectant. “In whatever order you think is best.”

Helena looked at her properly. Juliana was twenty-three with dark, curly hair that she wore in a way that told everyone who cared to ask that she’d given up trying to control the chaos years ago. It suited her, either way, the hair and her deep brown eyes, not to mention a body to die for… Helena had had a thing for Juliana for as long as she could remember, longer than she should probably admit. Juliana had always been the one that she got on with best out of Mariana’s friends.

Juliana’s beauty was so different to Caitlin’s. Where Caitlin had been polished and immaculate, Juliana was spontaneous bordering on the chaotic. She wore what she liked, said what she thought, and approached life with an openness that Helena found both refreshing and, in the context of their arrangement, exciting. It was that playfulness, the irreverent, up-for-anything energy that came off her in waves, that had made Helena anticipate their switching sessions with particular pleasure. Having Juliana take the lead meant being on the receiving end of someone who found genuine delight in every new thing she tried, who laughed when it went wrong and celebrated when it went right.

Helena had known Juliana for years. She’d been Mariana’s closest friend since their school days, a constant presence at their house and when they went away to her family’s beach house, the girl with the wild curls who argued with Helena’s father about politics over Sunday lunch and made Mariana’s mother laugh so hard she had to leave the room. Helena had watched her grow from a gangly teenager into a smart, confident young woman doing her master’s in psychology, and she’d always liked her… well, maybe a little stronger than that, but she’d have never done anything about it.

That had changed three months ago. Helena had been out with Mariana and a few of their friends, and Juliana had stayed behind after the others left. She’d been uncharacteristically nervous, fidgeting with her glass, before finally saying that she’d heard something through a friend of a friend, the sort of gossip that couldn’t always be relied on, about Helena having had some experience with a particular kind of dynamic. She’d been vague about the specifics, clearly unsure of how much was true and how much was embellishment, but the core of it was right.