Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
You don’t have to help me with this. I can manage. The cast is coming off tomorrow.” Diego was at my side, hovering in Isabella’s chair, rolled up next to his at his desk.
“Yes, but you still have it on today. I have time.” I typed the information into the database and squinted at the screen. “You have to get these people to Puerto Vallarta, Mumbai, and Johannesburg in just three weeks?”
He shrugged. “International weddings for a multicultural couple. They’ve got the money.”
With him having one arm in a sling and the other in a cast, it was hard to watch him do his work one key at a time. Even though it wasn’t technically my fault, I needed to do something. I helped him complete details for several clients until near closing time.
“I’m more surprised about you. Over forty countries? Are you for real?”
He’d been pestering me about where I’d been, and I’d given him a number.
“It’s no big deal. I save my money. I travel the world. I’m still working here.”
“Nope. Either you’re a military brat, or your parents were hippies. Which one? Ooh! Maybe you’re a secret billionaire or a spy, fleeing a life of crime.” He had the wildest imagination. And he wasn’t far off.
“Wrong on both counts,” I said, keying in the entry. “I’m an . . . orphan, of sorts. No wealthy parents here.”
“But then, how did you travel so much?”
There was no way I could even begin to tell him the truth, nor did I need to.
I shrugged. “I started early.”
Like in the 1700s, I thought.
“Anyway,” I said, focusing on the screen again, “I still think planning three different ceremonies for one marriage is crazy.”
Diego chuckled. “People do crazy things for love.” The silence lingered after his statement. He must have realized, because he coughed. “But seriously, Carmella, you don’t have to help me. I got this.”
“I know, but we’re almost done. Didn’t Juan and Isabella tell you to accept the help?”
The shock of Diego’s accident had forced Isabella to see that life was too short for unrequited love, and she’d ambushed Juan at Diego’s bedside with her confession. It was good to see them happy, but they were perhaps a little too enthusiastic about their love in our very open office.
Juan had shown up every day since, covered in cat hair and with a lovesick grin, caring not one whit how many office supplies everyone stole. They had left together over an hour ago in a tangle of limbs.
Diego leveled me with a look. “You’re only doing this because you feel guilty.”
“Can’t two things be true at once? Now, where’s this next account need to go?”
After another thirty minutes, his email inbox was clean, and a neat stack of envelopes with printed tickets to mail sat on his desk.
I flopped back into my chair and stretched.
Everyone else was gone, the muted TV still casting shadows on the wall.
After twelve hours of work and an aching back, I’d had a productive day.
Diego kept up a steady stream of conversation as we powered through the list. He had a story for every one of his clients: Dorcas from Córdoba, who packed her mother’s urn everywhere she went, including car washes and hair appointments; Rafael, who only wore his father’s suit jackets every day, even though they were three sizes too big; Alejandro, who was slowly going bald from eating his hair.
My sides ached by the time I entered the information for the final travel package.
“I’ll admit I wouldn’t have been able to get this done without you. I really appreciate it.”
“Well, I’m sure you’d appreciate having your hands back more.” He had been a sight at the hospital with a broken left wrist and a fractured right from where he’d tried to break his fall, a face full of bruises, and one lost canine tooth.
“While that’s true, I have enjoyed this time getting to know you. You’re usually so—”
“What?”
He squinted, searching for the word. “Businesslike.”
I laughed. “We are at work, a place of business.”
“Yes, but you’ve been much more open of late. It’s nice.”
I didn’t say anything, blushing, soaking in his words, remembering when I used to be nice to my team at the newspapers. It hadn’t gotten me anything. But that didn’t mean I didn’t miss it.
“So, any plans for tonight?” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Nope, just me and a good book. And a trip to Recoleta?” I bit my bottom lip.
“So, it was you.” He grinned.
“Yes.” I swallowed down the worries about admitting to my secret midnight trips. “How’s your grandmother?”
His eyes turned wistful. “She’s confined to her bed now. But she’s still hanging in there. Thanks for asking.”
I clicked open another document on his computer to hopefully signal that this part of the conversation was over.
Diego tapped the book in my bag. “Must be some book. You’re always with one.” He eased his cross-body bag from his desk drawer.
I shrugged. “It’s something to do.” I walked back to my cubicle, then powered down my computer and grabbed my bag.
The last six weeks of helping Diego had been good for me.
After the big rush of guilt had subsided, I finally had to admit I liked having someone to help, even outside work—picking up dry cleaning, dropping off meals, and assisting with more dexterous tasks.
I wouldn’t admit it, but I’d be sad when the whole cast came off and I returned to my old routine.
“Well, it’s my last night in the cast. Why don’t you come out and help me with my drink to celebrate? I’ll need someone to maneuver the straw.”
I shot him a look. “You can’t manage a straw?”
“Ah, but I’m sure you would do it so much better, carino.” I warmed at the endearment. He had started using it in the last two weeks, but I never reciprocated it.
“One drink, and then you’re going home. You’re not even supposed to drink on your pain meds.”
He stood up straight and tried his best to give me a salute, his sling flapping. “Yes, ma’am.” I just shook my head and followed him, locking the door behind us.
I turned toward a bar just a few doors from the office, but Diego shook his head, his wavy brown hair falling into his eyes. “If you’ve finally said yes, I have a different place in mind.”
“Different, huh? Am I going to like it?”
“Who is to say?” he said, shrugging. “You’ll have to let me know when we get there.”
I smiled as we continued to walk, Diego telling me to turn here and cross there.
This was a different Diego, unlike the one I thought I knew.
Yes, he liked to party and was obsessed with the gym, still doing leg exercises and waiting for the day he could lift his weights again.
But he was more reflective than I’d given him credit for—more open—and I found his brand of optimism refreshing rather than grating.
“I’m curious,” he said, sidestepping a group of tourists, “why did you say yes tonight? More guilt?”
“You needed help with a straw, remember?”
He grinned, though his eyes remained somber. “I think the question stands.”
“It’s a Friday, and my book wasn’t that good. Besides, you won’t need my help after tomorrow. I don’t know—I thought I’d live a little.”
He nodded, thoughtful. “It’s good living, no?”
I chuckled, thinking about all I’d been through. “Depends on how long you’ve been around.”
“True. But you’ve done a lot of living. Traveling to over forty countries? It’s amazing. When these casts come off, I’m going to travel.”
“Really?” He had mentioned it before, but there was a gleam in his eye. He was serious.
“Yes, I—wait! Close your eyes. We’re almost there.”
“Are you sure this is going to work? With your cast and all?”
“Ah! Stop planning and be surprised for once.”
I smiled and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of cars as they rumbled past, the clink of glasses from a restaurant, and the sizzle of meat floating toward me.
“This must be one heck of a bar.”
“I think it’ll be something you’ll like.”
It wasn’t long before he slowed me to a stop. “Open your eyes.”
I blinked, stunned by the sudden burst of light.
We’d reached an eight-story building, a bright sign reading Grand Splendid arched over the entrance.
The facade reminded me of where I’d lived in Paris more than 130 years ago: all white stone, black terraced balconies, and architectural detail.
The string lights of the restaurant next door bobbed in the breeze like fairy magic, adding to the ambience.
“What is this? A theater?” I stopped in my tracks. As charming as he was, it was not the time for a show. My hands had cramped up from typing, and I couldn’t wait to kick these boots off and sink into my bed with a glass of red wine.
“Even better,” he said, winking at me, loosely tugging me inside. At the sight of his cast, I swallowed my questions and followed him to where the lobby revealed itself and the surprise beyond.
Books.
Books everywhere I looked.
They lined the lobby, forming aisles like altars.
I gasped at the size of it. My version of heaven could look just like this. Jacques’s study had been the most beautiful room to me for more than a century, but this was the most beautiful book-filled space I had ever been in, and I think Diego knew it.
The deeper we went in, the more in awe I was.
The place was fashioned like a Parisian opera house, ruby-red theater curtains framing the stage, flanked by two balconies; rows of books lined the main floor where the seats ought to have been.
On the circular ceiling, nude lily-colored angels, partially covered by clouds, observed all.
Conversation echoed through the grand room as people milled about, browsing the titles.
Clusters of tables stood on the former stage, all occupied with people chatting over their coffees and books.