Page 35 of It Takes Three To Tango

Florencio stands. “I want to be alone for a while,” he says and leaves too.

Left alone, the silence is deafening, and the walls seem to crowd around me. Needing some air, I walk through the house and out onto the terrace. This morning, I felt free and full of possibilities, a life to live anew. Now I just feel like I’ve created a tangled mess.

“How could they? How could they?”

The words have been reverberating round my head for the last hour, and I can’t seem to make them stop. Every time a rational thought tries to push through, “How could they?” shines like a neon sign across my mind. Can’t they see that Rafe is mine? That I’m the one who’s in love with him?

In love.

The words brand themselves across my heart.

I knew I’d fallen way too deep, but is it love? I think back to our first dinner when Constantin explained what it was to be in love. I thought it was a wonderful notion, one for other people, and I was immune to it. But now the words are there, and I can’t take them back. I can’t push them back into the depths of my heart.

When Constantin gave his grandiose speech, he didn’t give the whole picture. He didn’t say how much it hurts.

I curl up in a ball on my bed, trying to make sense of it all.I feel drained. Maybe I should go back to Buenos Aires. Perhaps it would be better to go back home. Forget about Rafe and everything here. Go back to being the dutiful son to my family, finding pleasure in casual hookups for the rest of my life. But even as I think it, the thoughts turn bitter and I know I don’t want to go back to that same existence as before. I, too, have felt a shift being here, not just with Rafe, but with life.

A knock on my door startles me.

“Who is it?”

“Constantin.”

I let out a deep breath, waiting three seconds before replying. “Come in.”

He enters. The room is mostly dark, just a lamp on the dresser is lit. He sits down on the bed behind me.

“I came to see if you’re still mad at Rafe.”

“No, I’m not mad at him.” I sigh, uncurling and turning over to look at him.

“But you blame me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say bluntly, but even when the word leaves my mouth, I know it’s not true. “No, I don’t. Not really. It just feels unfair. I feel like a kid who’s spent ages saving up for a toy only to see it sold to someone else just as he reaches the toy shop.”

“Are you calling Rafe a toy?” He snorts.

“Your attempt at humour is terrible.”

“So was your analogy.” It’s a fair point, but his saying it doesn’t help.

“Can’t I just wallow in misery in peace?” It comes out as a whine.

“You have it that bad, huh?”

“Urgh, is it that obvious?” I curl up again as if that offers me any protection from my feelings, but I don’t turn away from him.

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” he asks.

“I can’t. You saw him. He’s trying to process a lot of changes in his life, trying to work out who he is. I don’t want to weigh him down with my feelings.”

“And I thought I was supposed to be the romantic one.” His mouth lifts at the corners.

“That sounds tragic, not romantic to me.”

“Giving someone space to figure everything out, to let them become who they’re meant to be? I’d say that’s romantic.”

“I just thought it would feel different.” I shrug.

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