Page 80 of Two to Tango

Julieta

“Do you want somethingto drink? I’ll go grab it.” I’m standing by the bed, hair disheveled and haphazardly dressed, having just come from the bathroom.

“Sit down.” He grins, grabbing my waist and pulling me back down into bed. “You don’t need to do a thing.” He says the words against my neck before he lightly bites it. “What would you like?”

“That seems like a loaded question.”

He laughs in response, rolling me over to kiss me. My arms wrap around his back to bring him closer.

“I would love some water.”

“Want some sandwiches, too? I’ve got a bunch.”

I laugh. “No, I’m okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says against my mouth, kissing me once more before he gets up and heads to the kitchen.

This feels indulgent. A warm bed, messy sheets, somebody else getting me water. In the realm of guilt, I should probably be right in the middle of it. I wait for it to hit me, but it doesn’t. It just feels good for once.

I lay in bed for a moment, sprawled out, but then I get up and walk around his room. He has a bookshelf along one wall filled with books, and pictures, and some trophies. Medals are displayed on the wall. So many accolades, so many awards. What a wild life.

I look closer at the pictures: one with Gavin, some with Tara or other dancers, and then one in particular high up on the shelf like he holds this one in high regard.

Everything stops when I notice it. Logan, younger, a big bright smile with his arm around an older woman. One with a red lip, and a matching smile. One I know so well, because I’ve looked at it most of my life.

He walks in then holding two glasses of water and finds me frozen in front of the shelf.

“Ah, I love that picture,” he says.

I can’t respond. I can’t do anything. I just keep staring, my heart starting to race.

“She is my favorite tango dancer,” he says, almost triumphantly, showing her off. “Celestina Rossi.”

I think I nod.

“What a name, right? Like she was born to be a powerful tango dancer.” He smiles, like he’s lost in a memory.

“You knew her,” I say, but it’s below a whisper. It’s a miracle I even got the words out. My eyes are starting to burn.

“Yeah. You’ve heard of her, I take it?” He comes in closer, wrapping an arm around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Yeah, she’s a pretty big deal. Well, was.”

“Youknewher,” I repeat, taking a deep breath and leaning into the depth of this new information. I must sound stupid just repeating everything, but soon enough it all comes out. “I mean, it makes sense that you knew her. It makes sense that you would have even knownofher, but maybe I didn’t put two and two together. Maybe I didn’t really think about it.”

He turns to face me, a line between his brows. “Slow down.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to think about it,” I continue. “How did you know her?”

“My mentor I always talk about? That was her.”

He reaches up, and I feel him run his thumb along my cheek. Somewhere along the lines of this conversation I must have started crying. Feelings that snuck up on me, like everything else has.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

“She was my grandmother,” I let out.

He stills. “What?” Logan looks between the picture and me, probably as confused and shocked as I am. “She was your grandmother?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

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