Page 9 of It Takes Three To Tango

“I got used to it . . . eventually. But it wasn’t easy,” she sighs. Then she gives a little shake, as if trying to rid herself of the feeling, before turning back to me and fixing me with a gaze. “What else did you do? It’s good to have a young person in the house. Now I can’t get out anymore, you will have to have fun for me.”

What can I tell her? Nothing much else happened.

“I met a couple of guys. We sat, drank wine, and talked.” I try to sound nonchalant, but she leans in a little closer.

“Tell me everything.” She might look frail, but her eyes shine with sharp intensity and I know she won’t be satisfied unless I do.

“I first met a studious-looking guy. He’s English and a writer, very clever, and knew a lot about wine for an Englishman. Then we started talking to the bar owner, which is why I was back late. He’s a tango singer and musician.”

Delight dances across my aunt’s face, and I know this is what she wants. I understand it. We are very much alike.

As I tell her about them both, my mind wanders back to the previous evening. Rafe is certainly not my usual type. It’s like he has no idea how good looking he is, so it sits naturally on him. But it’s those understated good looks that drew me to him and prompted me to ask him to dance in the first place. It’s a damn shame he’s straight.

I recall the shock that made his cheeks glow a rosy colour when he thought he’d offended me. It heightened his beauty, the pink of his cheeks against the gold of his eyes, the colours like sunrise on a calm morning after a storm. But I’m not the only one drawn to him if I read Constantin correctly. He seemed unable to stay away either. Constantin is several inches taller than me and wellbuilt, with broad, strong shoulders. He, too, is handsome, but a total contrast to Rafe.His dark eyes and hair match his face, which speaks of a craggy sorrow. He looks like he’s lived and lost, and I understand as much from the references he made and the pictures on the wall. He smiled a few times throughout the evening, but it was like it was a forgotten action. I wonder what it would take to really make him open up and smile. Yes, yesterday was very interesting, and as I talk, I find I’m less drawn to my initial plan of trying out the gay nightclubs. I can find those in any city. I’d rather spend more time with the intriguing men I met last night.

I finish recounting as much of my evening as I’m willing to share, and my aunt looks animated.

“You must invite them to dinner.” She looks around, already calling for Juana.

“Auntie, we only just met last night.”

“I’m old. I might die tomorrow, then it would be too late,” she answers bluntly, the decision final.

“Are you sure? Would it not be too much for you?” I’d said they should meet her, but I’d meant for a quiet evening, next week perhaps.

“I used to host dinner parties for twenty people or more.” Her tone is dismissive. “Four of us is just a friendly supper.”

Juana appears on the terrace, concern on her face at being summoned.

“Ah, Juana! Can you call your sister to help? We’re having a dinner party. Tonight,” she announces, and Juana, to her credit, doesn’t betray anything in her face or manner. Maybe she’s just used to my aunt’s whims.

“Alas, señora, my sister is out of town until late tomorrow.”

“The next day, then. We’ll have it the next day,” she says in a voice that implies she’s used to getting her own way but is utterly charming about doing it, and I wonder how manypeople she’s managed to enchant over the years in the same manner.

Juana merely nods, and it’s her job now to make it happen. I wonder if I can help her and her sister with cooking, and perhaps learn some Spanish dishes.

I lie back on the lounger to enjoy the sunshine for a while. No, being sent here isn’t half bad after all.

My eyes slide over the words on the page, losing focus. The warmth of the afternoon, along with the soft hubbub of the street below my hotel room, are more effective than any lullaby. I put down the book, take off my glasses, and settle back in my chair. Maybe a few minutes’ rest wouldn’t be a bad idea. The late nights of the last few days, drinking and talking at the bar, add to my torpid state. I drift off into the pleasant haze between sleep and being awake. The unfamiliarity of the city has had a calming effect on my mind. There are no memories or triggers of anything that brought me here. I can simply exist. I can just be.

The shrill ring of the hotel room telephone cuts through the muted air, jolting me out of my reverie. I frown at it, as if the inanimate object is personally responsible for disturbing me. I’m also not sure who could be getting in touch with me. The ringing doesn’t subside, so with a grimace, I rise and walk the few steps across the room and pick it up.

“Rafe!Thank god. I thought something had happened to you.” I groan inwardly. Helen, my agent.

“I’m fine,” I grunt.

“You haven’t been answering my calls, my messages, my emails . . .”

No, I haven’t. I didn’t feel like I could cope with the upbeat, pull yourself together, motivational speech she’s bound to deliver to me. And I don’t want it now.

“Are you going to tell me it’s time I came home and got back on the horse?”

“No, I . . .well, yes. It’s true, though. You can’t hide out there forever.”

Why not? It’s been working so far.

“What exactly is there for me to come back to?” I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but fail. I no longer have a publishing contract, my family would only be too happy to see me have to take an honest job, and Loretta, well, I don’t quite know how I feel about her at the moment. All I know is that a few weeks ago, I had my future all mapped out. By now, I should be a married man with a six-book contract ready to work on. But it all got knocked off its axis and I’m not sure what to do next.

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