For dinner, Miguel and Thalia savor the delights of Chinese cuisine. Their table hosts an impressive feast–Chow Mein noodles, beef and veggies, pork spare ribs, and lemon chicken–all served in generous portions.

Afterward, they head back to the hotel, and Miguel carries the delicious leftovers. As the elevator ascends, he asks, "Are you okay? You didn't like the food?"

Thalia, having barely eaten, explains, "I enjoyed it. I wasn't hungry. That's all."

She doesn't want to have a full stomach for what she has planned.

"Okay..." Miguel yields, though unconvinced.

The room is cozy and quaint, reminiscent of a rustic cabin in the woods, a fake (at least Thalia hopes) head of a reindeer mounted up top of another non-functional fireplace. Miguel takes care of stowing away the leftover dinner in the fridge, while Thalia examines the queen-sized bed. A tentative press suggests a bouncy surface, making her wonder about its comfort.

"What are you doing?"

She straightens her back, cheeks turning warm. "Nothing," she answers.

Thalia rolls her small suitcase to the side, zips it open, and starts to rummage through her belongings to find her first piece of ammunition.

"Wanna get some drinks downstairs? There's a bar. I haven't been since forever."

She pauses, looking up from the suitcase, as she tucks in the lingerie she so meticulously purchased from Victoria's Secret during a sale.

A bar, huh? Maybe it'll be a pleasant diversion. It can set the mood, or so she imagines.

The dimly lit bar pulses with the smooth rhythms of jazz music, setting an intimate ambience for the evening. Despite the day being Friday, the establishment is surprisingly sparse at 8 PM—either they're early or perhaps the city is taking its time to come alive. Feeling a sudden surge of nervousness, Thalia unconsciously hooks her arm around Miguel's. This is her first visit to an actual bar, and the newness of the experience quickens her pulse.

News flash —  in university, she'd only ventured into a night club once. After a brief thirty minutes, she hastily decided that it wasn't her scene, vowing never to return. She'd much rather cocoon herself in her room like a shut-in, protected from the boisterous crowds. Fortunately, her peers paid little attention to her, as Thalia was among the brightest students. There was a prevailing assumption that she wasn't up for anything unrelated to school, a notion she found utterly untrue. Her hobbies were just different, revolving around the quieter joys of reading, writing, and occasional binge-watching.  In short, she was, and is an introvert. The fewer people there are, the better.

So, the bar being deserted is a treat. She likes hearing her thoughts, regardless if they are sometimes depressing.

The waiter ushers them to a high table by the window, with a view of Banff Avenue, still busy and crowded with people exploring stores and local pop-up shops.

"I'll just get a draught beer. You?"

Thalia, feigning familiarity with what's on the drink menu, replies, "That'll be fine as well."

"Do you want some appetizers?"

"Nope. No food. Just pick something for me."

"Okay..." Miguel responds, visibly puzzled by her unusual aversion to meals today. He signals the waiter and orders two glasses of beer, opting for a raspberry-flavored one for Thalia.

"We'll take it easy tonight, yeah? Don't want you ugly crying."

She purses her lips and fires him a glare. "That was one time. I was close to my breaking point. And hey, my ugly crying caught your attention."

Miguel, unable to dispute the truth in her words, clinks his glass with Thalia's. "Can't argue with that."

As they sip their drinks, Thalia utters, "If that didn't happen, none of this would have."

"Why'd you think that?" he asks, dabbing a paper towel on the corner of his lips.

"Because I would have just thought of you as my annoying boss. And you would've just ignored me altogether. Then I would've quit by the end of my permit."

Miguel stares at her side profile. Then he reaches his hand out, tucking away strands of hair obscuring his sight from seeing her entire face. She turns to meet his gaze, their eyes locking.

"So you would have flown home?"

"Possibly," she admits. "I still would love to... I just don't know what's waiting for me there. But if there were an option, I would do it in a heartbeat."

Thalia's reply inflicts a stabbing pain in his heart, though he understands why she prefers to return. Her unwavering connection to her family means she will always feel the pull to go back.

Leaning in, their knees come into contact, and Miguel presses for additional details. "So you mean... You wouldn't have... Found someone else to marry instead? So you could stay?"

Thalia looks at Miguel, her lips crafting a grin. "I know I always whine about my life, but I wouldn't have, no. Not to a total stranger. But I get why you're asking. When I mentioned it to you, I was definitely kidding."

"Then why... With me?"

Her pause is marked by a glance towards the window and the table before she reconnects with his gaze. "Good question. But let me stop you there. Are you trying to make me confess?"

Miguel empties his glass, savoring the cold sensation in his throat, then raises his finger to signal for another glass. "I'm not. That's you and your articulate little mouth. Always finding a way to test me... Playing these games..."

She grins. "Woopsie." Thalia props her chin on both palms, dampening her lips with a quick lick. "I'll be honest. I think I said yes because it was you. I had a feeling that you were half-decent. Not a creep. And yes, I'm assuming here... But I felt like even if you were driven by sentiments that you had to save me, you were at least sincere. It's likely why I'm still comfortable tying myself to you."

Miguel's lips lose their curve, his fists curling into balls. "I'm sorry."

Thalia recoils, taken aback by his unexpected reaction. It's certainly not what she had anticipated. "What? Why are you apologizing?"

"Just... Sorry," he mumbles, and the atmosphere shifts once more, much like the earlier transition.

At the back of her mind, an inkling that Miguel might discard their deal surfaces, and panic begins to climb up her throat. She grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're not thinking of calling the marriage off, are you?"

Miguel heaves a sigh. "No, of course not. I'm not allowed."

"Good," Thalia murmurs, relief engulfing her. Whereas her permit has been extended for another year, she'll continue to face a recurring dilemma if she doesn't secure her residency.

Moreover, ending this whole farce with him... It's leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth. It's unacceptable.

"You look so relieved. You want me that much?" he challenges.

She releases him, offering a cheeky squint. "You and I both know who wants whom."

******

Once more, it seems Thalia might have jumped the gun on the who-wants-whom guessing game.

She stares at the ceiling, eyes wide, sporting her brand new sleepwear, which she had spent an hour choosing amidst hundreds of other shoppers. It's a navy satin slip with a plunging neckline and an open back. It literally screams: Sleep With Me!

Horrified, she recalls how Miguel merely offered a brief glimpse, pursed his mouth, settled on his side of the bed facing away from her, muttered a swift 'good night', and then drifted off to sleep.

Was that a hint of disgust she detected in his expression, or was he simply indifferent? But how? He used to react differently, even when she was fully clothed!

Thalia exhales loudly and turns to face him, examining the contours of his body, particularly his back. Adjusting her position, she narrows the gap between them until the tip of her nose lands on his white T-shirt. Inhaling his scent, frustration builds up in her stomach. Regrettably, she finds no alternative but to let him be tonight.

******

Thalia can't recall the exact time she had fallen asleep, but judging by the blue hue emanating from the curtain, it's likely dawn when her eyes flutter open. She pats Miguel's side of the bed and notices him gone. She turns, forcing her eyelids open, and she catches a peek of the faint bathroom light. Satisfied, she drifts back to sleep.

Upon waking later, Thalia finds Miguel already dressed and tuned into the news on TV.

"Good morning..." she groans, sitting up, the duvet slipping from his shoulders and settling on her lap.

"Good morning," he says, shifting in his seat. "Uh... Get dressed, and we can grab some breakfast."

Thalia quirks an eyebrow, observing him fidgeting with his hands. She glances down, a sudden onset of chagrin washing over her as she realizes she's essentially naked – though still a virgin. Her frustration spikes, and she nonchalantly slides off the bed, sifts through her belongings for a change of clothes, and heads to the bathroom for a shower and face wash.

Last night didn't turn out according to plan. Thalia had been certain that Miguel would make some move, or at least initiate something, and she was prepared to go along. Yes, it wasn't their first sleepover; they had spent nights next to each other multiple times, but she was always in her very unattractive pajamas. And she usually dozed off first.

Putting herself out there and receiving zero response feels utterly humiliating.

Nevertheless, Thalia is not the type to back down easily. They still have two nights ahead, and she's determined to make something happen.

On the other hand, Miguel is acting as if nothing is awry. However, in his gut, in his mind, and below his waist, he's going hysterical.

When Thalia emerged from the bathroom in her sleepwear last night, her breasts popping out, the tips showing underneath the satin fabric, he had to squeeze his eyes shut and visualize an imaginary game show where squirrels had to participate just to regain composure.

Why had she done that to him? Was she intentionally torturing him? It was downright cruel. Just when he had decided to pull himself together and not ask for more... Was she trying to mock him?

Then, when she woke up, her hair tousled, the straps slipping off her shoulders, she managed to reignite his arousal effortlessly!

"Ah, I can't wait to get some coffee," Thalia mumbles, pressing the elevator button, comfortably back in her oversized sweater.

"Right, right. Coffee."

There's no way he can erase the images that have already been burned into his memory.

Miguel, therefore, is stirred up on the way to the buffet, an unaddressed want that's becoming a running gag in this novel.

What a nightmare.

******

A/N: Blue balls has been a recurring theme in this work. I didn't expect that to happen, lol. But Miguel is an introvert at heart, too, so he has a little bit more restraint than a regular dude. How long can he last? That is the question...