I panicked. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. If I pushed him away, I might lose my only friend, and I didn’t want that.

His lips were wet and salty, too hard. Our mouths didn’t belong together, like a lid trying to cover the wrong jar. His fingers squeezed my cheeks, his growing beard scratched my chin, and I stared horrified how he closed his eyes, immersed in this kiss that only produced in me a desire to run away.

What was wrong with me? I’d been wanting for years to have the affection of a man, but this was a mistake.

I didn’t love Franco. I pitied him because he had nothing and knew very little. His parents never paid him any attention. Nobody did. He’d been my project, my lost cause, but I couldn’t imagine a life married to him. Having his children. Living under the same roof. Goodness, when was this kiss going to end? I didn’t want to be the one to end it, but I didn’t want it to continue any longer. This was all I could take.

He was breathing hard now, pushing his body against mine. I had to stop him. Angélica told me years ago the consequences of being intimate with a man. I didn’t even want to think about Franco, naked, on top of me.

I didn’t know where the miniature violin went, I must have dropped it because my hands were suddenly empty when I pushed them against his hard chest.

“Franco, please.”

But he ignored my plea and found my mouth again. “Catalina, mi Catalina, I’ve loved you for so long.”

What had I done? I’d given him the wrong idea for years.

This had to be a punishment from the Virgin for all my lies. I was losing my only friend. I could see it happening already because I was not going to let this go on for much longer. My sister Angélica used to say I was a romantic; someone who didn’t see reality. I now understood what she meant. How stupid I’d been to think that Franco’s feelings for me were just as innocent as mine.

“We should stop,” I said weakly.

He seemed to be in some sort of trance. He pushed me toward the bed.

“I love you so much,” he was saying against my mouth.

“Franco, listen . . .”

As these rational thoughts muddled in my mind—how wrong this was, how I didn’t love Franco as a man, how our friendship would be ruined—something unexpected was happening to me.

My body had turned into a noodle, a slave to someone else’s will. Whereas seconds ago, I’d been somewhat repulsed by Franco’s intimacy, I now craved his proximity. Oh, God, I was being taken over by carnal desire.

My mother’s face came to mind. Frowning.