Page 19 of One Year Ago in Spain
But Claire’s skirt rode up her thighs, and she pressed herself harder against him.
“Make me yours,” she whispered.
Dios mío.
“Are you sure?” Matías asked, because even though he ached beneath her, Claire didn’t strike him as the type to make love in a public place, evenifit was an isolated corner of a locked library after hours.
“Some people are worth breaking rules for,” Claire said.
He picked her up in a single, swift motion, and lay her down on the plush carpet between the shelves. Their clothes flew off, and for the next hour, they made love so fiery Matías was surprised the pages of the books didn’t all light aflame.
Afterward, he cradled her against him, his body and mind the most relaxed since he’d arrived in New York.
She laughed nervously. “So, um, welcome to the Big Apple. I’m your tour guide, Claire.”
Matías pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “I wouldn’t want any other guide but you.”
Claire
Claire’s hotel wasfunctional. It wasn’t beautiful or remarkable, but it was clean and close to the hospital, which was all she really needed. The nurses had been kind enough to allow Claire a little bit of time with Matías, but it was only that—alittlebit of time. Then they gently nudged her and the de León family out of the ward, with assurances that they could visit again tomorrow during regular hours.
Now, Claire was faced with a long stretch of evening and a night all by herself. Matías’s family had invited her to come over to Aracely’s apartment, but despite their good intentions, it was just too much. Aracely and Luis spoke English fluently, and Matías’s parents, Soledad and Armando, also spoke quite well, but the other dozen or so of the extended family spoke mostly Spanish. Because of that, Claire was still figuratively alone, even in the warm ocean of their family’s embraces and attention.
Just for some human connection, she turned on her laptop to let Yolanda and her other friends at the firm—as well as George, her assistant—know that she had arrived safely in Madrid.
While she waited for it to boot up, Claire lifted the corners of the bedsheets to check for evidence of bedbugs. She did this at every place she stayed—even at the five-star hotels that her clients booked her in during business travel. Then, satisfied thatthere were no bugs, she unpacked her suitcase. It had been haphazardly thrown together—ironic, given how meticulously she had wanted to fold Matías’s clothes just a handful of days before.
It was only now that Claire realized she’d forgotten to pack any underwear.
She kicked at the now-empty suitcase, as if it were somehowitsfault that it had failed to produce her underwear, then sank to the floor, head in her hands, and cried.
Her laptop chimed on the hotel desk.
“Not now,” she said, and went on sobbing, even though it was probably her friends checking in on her and that had been the reason she turned on the computer in the first place.
Ding
Ding
Ding
“Later! Please!”
It went quiet for a minute and let her cry in peace.
Ding
Ding
Ding ding ding ding ding
Was it getting louder?
DING
“Ugh! Fine, I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Claire swiped her sleeve over her eyes and snorted in the snot that had clogged up her nose.
