As they walked toward the metro, the girl from the outskirts and the boy from the golden mile, the labels started to feel a little less permanent. Maybe he was a Cayetano, and maybe she was exactly who she thought she was, but under the Madrid sky, they were just two people walking toward a better cup of coffee.
Borja grinned, slipping his ruined loafers back on with a shrug. "Lead the way, Raquel. I’ve always liked a challenge." Perdona Si Te Llamo Cayetano Raquel Tirado Fe...
The orange glow of the Madrid sunset bounced off the glass buildings of Paseo de la Castellana, but for Raquel, the view was mostly blocked by the back of a very expensive, very well-tailored navy blazer. As they walked toward the metro, the girl