In the charming town of Edinburg, Dulce runs her late mother's bakery. Her life changes when she agrees to a house exchange with a famous couple in Paris. Upon arrival, she is startled to find not one but two men-twins-sharing the house.
Drawn into...
After Angelo decided to go out to work, Pierre and Dulce, in order to kill time, set their sights on the theater. As they strolled through the bustling streets, Dulce could not help but observe that the protests had only intensified since her arrival; the densely packed crowd surged around them, the passion palpable. The oppressive atmosphere ignited a frustration within her. She wanted nothing more than to be in their nice apartment, just playing games, eating and maybe even kissing sometimes . Yet now, deprived of resources, they found their fantasies slipping through their fingers.
With a deep sigh, Dulce's discontent did not escape Pierre's notice.
"What's wrong princess?" He asked, enveloping her hand in his with a gentle touch, as if to shield her from any unspoken hostility.
"You know, I thought your parents had money. Back at home, you mentioned they owned the bakery. And weren't they filmmakers of some renown? That's what Eliza told me." Her voice was full of an uncharacteristic intensity.
"They are comfortable," he replied, a simple statement that only deepened Dulce's frustration. She desired to know more.
"How come you never talk about them? None of you do," she pressed, a genuine interest sparking within her.
"Why should we? They're not a significant part of our lives," he responded, his tone unexpectedly matter-of-fact. Dulce was taken aback.
"What do you mean by that? They're your parents, Pierre. You're fortunate to have them." Her words, loaded with a bittersweet tinge, evoked memories of her own mother. A pang of guilt nestled in her heart, something she only felt whenever she thought sexual things about the twins. Such feelings would surely bring her mother no pride.
Pierre's demeanor changed after her statement. The warmth of his smile dimmed, and she felt a rush of remorse. Yet, the yearning to understand them better replaced any desire to apologize.
"Hey, so, what movie are we gonna watch again?" he asked, a subtle shift in his tone betraying a reluctance to delve deeper into his family matters. Dulce, unsure of her own boundaries, chose silence. What were they, after all, to each other? That was a real question.
"Hm?" He asked, bringing her back to reality.
"Oh, uhm... I don't know. You choose" she replied, a touch of command in her voice.
By that time they had already reached the theater and could see all of the posters in display. Pierre's finger traced the outline of a familiar title—The Night of the Living Dead. Instantly, a wave of memories washed over Dulce, recalling her date with Arthur, a time she both cherished and wished to forget.
"Let's pick another one." She said, rolling her eyes at the embarrassing recollections she had been avoiding but seemed to linger.
"You're too scared, huh?" he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Dulce, despite her affection for the genre, opted for the simpler response. "Mmh."
The title of the film Pierre had chosen held little significance for Dulce in that moment; all she truly wished for was a lighter film. As they settled into their seats at the back of the theater, she felt a bittersweet relief. The shadows offered her a sanctuary, a place to conceal the tears that threatened to spill. Her thoughts spiraled back to her mother, memories flooding in like unwelcome intruders. Earlier, when she thought about her and how disappointed she could have been, she didn't think the thoughts would come back to haunt her, but there they were.
The dim light shrouded her features, masking the glimmer of tears that shimmered in her eyes. But even in the darkness, she could not stifle the soft sniffles escaping her. Realizing Pierre might notice, she quickly excused herself, slipping out to the restroom, desperate for a moment of solitude to compose herself.
In the restroom, panic washed over her like a cold wave. Dulce stared at her reflection, eyes puffy and red, her nose a mess of streaks and dampness. Each breath came in rapid, desperate gasps, and she pressed her hand against her chest, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace. But it beat on, wild and untamed. She turned on the sink, the sound of running water mingling with her quiet sobs as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Each shaky inhale felt exaggerated, and she silently prayed that no one occupied the stalls nearby.
Desperation surged through her as she cupped her hands, splashing cold water over her face, indifferent to the mascara that streaked down her cheeks. She didn't want to appear red and pitiful, yet each attempt to steady herself was in vain. Just as she was about to regain her composure, the sudden sound of a toilet flushing startled her, and she bolted from the restroom, her heart racing.
As she made her way back to the theater, she hastily dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel, determined to mask her tears. In her distracted state, she collided with something solid.
"Oop, I'm sorry-" she murmured, her eyes still cast downward, eager to move past the encounter. But then she felt a firm pull on her arm, drawing her back. She stumbled slightly, disoriented.
"I said I'm so—" Her words faltered as she looked up, her heart plummeting at the sight of a tall figure with piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. It was Arthur. A wave of dread washed over her, sinking her heart deep into her stomach.
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