Chapter 3 #3
Grace turned away without replying—because what could she even say to that?
—and allowed Rafael to enter the apartment.
Here he was, forced to spend time with her again.
She hadn’t come to Spain for pity hangouts and overwrought sympathy, but she could admit she didn’t want to be alone all the time.
She hadn’t been close with her co-workers in Chicago, at least not close enough to hang out when they weren’t co-workers any longer.
Derek had been her closest friend, and obviously, that was no longer the case.
And then there was her grandmother… Grace didn’t even want to think about it.
Yes, sure, she could admit it. She’d been sad and lonely and pathetic, but that didn’t mean she needed this buzzkill showing up to spend time with her out of obligation.
She had been managing just fine without him.
“Have you eaten?” Rafael asked.
Grace thought for a moment, trying to remember her last meal. Finally, she shook her head.
“Well.” Raf slid his sunglasses back on top of his scalp, and Grace watched their path as they made little waves through his hair. “Let’s go then.”
“We don’t have to do that.”
“You have something to eat here?”
Grace glanced toward the kitchen. She had…a jar of Nutella.
“Come on then.” Raf waved a hand toward the door. “I haven’t eaten anything either. Vamos.”
Grace pursed her lips. “I don’t need you to come check on me and make sure I eat. You can tell Alma that was very thoughtful of her, but I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Graciela,” Raf said sternly.
A shiver went down her spine. No one had ever called her that before, and there was something about it, something undeniably hot.
His accent was already delicious, but to hear him use it like that…
those soft a’s and rolling r’s… For a moment, she was caught so off guard that she forgot to be stubborn, and Rafael was able to push her out the door and down the stairs before she could give it any more thought.
Graciela. An image flashed in her head of Raf in bed, calling her that name, a flick of his tongue as he was licking her earlobe, then pressing his lips to the side of her neck.
No, no. That wasn’t right. She was not going to start having fantasies of Rafael Ferrer-Martín, even if he was stupidly good looking.
Grace had never been shallow, or she would have kissed him ten years ago.
It was personality that mattered. Intelligence and kindness and a sense of humor for goodness’ sake.
She knew Raf didn’t have that last one. He was stone-faced and unshakeable.
Don’t bother telling him an ancient statue looked like Keanu Reeves on a motorcycle.
Definitely don’t bother trying to give the statue a lap dance.
Even when she and Alma tried to get Rafael in on their inside jokes, he remained willfully outside.
So, no, she would not be developing an attraction for Rafael. At least, not a real one. Physically, he was an absolute feast for the eyes, but it wasn’t enough to merit bedroom fantasies.
The sun had already set, but there was still a lingering remnant of deep purple on the horizon.
Grace took a moment to appreciate it, to catalog that color as one of the things she could be grateful for, something she would always want to remember about living in Spain.
She and Raf didn’t talk as they walked, but before she knew it, they’d ducked into a small, hole-in-the-wall place, not the kind of establishment where she’d pictured Rafael.
She eyed him curiously, and he shrugged before pulling out a chair for her.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Share some tapas? They have really good patatas bravas. Always delicious.”
She did a double take, checking if he was serious. It wasn’t that unbelievable that he would want to share a meal with her, but he was being a little too nice.
“Sure.” She dragged out the word, filling it with her skepticism.
“Come on, Grace. You might as well enjoy some good food.”
She nodded and added a glass of sangria to her order as well. She felt like she deserved it for some reason. What a toil it was to wander around Spain all day and then have dinner with a hot Andalusian man. Definitely something to be rewarded with alcohol.
Rafael was quiet for a long time, and Grace didn’t try to break the silence. Rather, she opted to fidget with her fingers in her lap before gulping her sangria so quickly that her cheeks flushed.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you,” Raf said at last.
Grace raised her gaze to him, surprised he would bring up their odd history, though she supposed they had nothing else to talk about other than their uncomfortable past. “It has,” she agreed, not sure what else to add.
“You’re different,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Apparently in the brief amount of time it had taken to carry up her luggage and in the fifteen minutes since he’d forced her to join him for dinner, he’d been able to make a full assessment.
It was like one of those side-by-side pictures.
How are they alike? How are they different?
Raf had cracked the code, solved the puzzle in record time.
“I guess so.” She raised a shoulder.
He took a long swig of his own drink. “So what brings you to Granada?”
Grace narrowed her eyes at him. Surely, Alma would have told him something about her situation. “A run of bad luck.”
Rafael waited, taking another sip.
She sighed. “I lost my job. My boyfriend broke up with me, and I had to move out of his apartment. And my grandma passed away.”
Rafael’s face softened, and he leaned forward, ever-so-slightly. “Sorry about your grandmother,” he said. “Sorry about all of it.”
Grace blinked rapidly. “She—she was sick for a long time, but she didn’t tell me.
I wasn’t around enough to notice, or I would have figured it out sooner.
I should have been there. When I moved in with her, I realized how frail she was, and she finally told me the truth.
I guess that’s the good thing about Derek breaking up with me.
I got to live with her again in those final months. ”
“You’d lived with her before?” Raf’s gaze was concentrated on her face, so serious, as it usually was, but there was something else too. Something kind, maybe? Concerned?
“She raised me. My parents… Well, they had me when they were very young, and they never really got their shit together. I don’t have much of a relationship with them. Gram was my family.”
Rafael twisted his mouth like he was mulling over the words. “I’m sorry that you lost her,” he said again. “That’s terrible.”
Grace shifted uncomfortably in her chair as the waiter approached with their order.
She hadn’t planned to open up to Raf like this.
She hadn’t even been planning to eat in front of him, but here they were.
The patatas bravas were delicious. The sangria was perfect.
And Rafael, it turned out, was kind of a good listener.
“Thank you for saying that.” Grace picked up on their conversation after swallowing a large bite of potato.
“Alma is the reason I survived, of course. She was there for me through all of it, and even though my grandma left me the house, I just couldn’t be there alone.
” Her voice broke, and she paused, regaining her composure. “I’d be lost without Alma.”
“And she’d be lost without you, I think. You two have always been there for each other.”
They were quiet again for a moment, chewing slowly.
Additional tapas had appeared after Rafael spoke rapid (or possibly perfectly normal) Spanish to the waiter, and each dish was amazing, even though Grace couldn’t have named them.
There was some kind of beef and what she thought was possibly octopus? It didn’t matter. She kept eating.
“So, are you not a fan of Picasso?” Rafael asked suddenly.
Grace cocked her head. “What?”
“The other day when I was talking about my project, you made a face.”
“What kind of face?”
Raf shook his head. “I don’t know what kind of face, that’s why I’m asking.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her leg was bouncing under the table.
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Grace glanced away for a moment, hesitating. She’d been honest with him so far. Why stop now? “I just—” she started, then cleared her throat. “Picasso was obviously talented and prolific and hugely influential, but as a person he was…” She trailed off, unsure of how to put it.
“Yes?” Rafael prompted.
“A misogynist. Who preyed on women and young girls. He was also known for being quite volatile and manipulative.”
Rafael was silent for a moment, considering all of this. “I don’t know much about his art or the man himself, if I’m honest. You don’t think we should display his work?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just…complicated. I don’t have a solution, but if you’re going to consider the kind of man he was, then full-on emulation seems like a bit much, especially when you’re creating an entire exhibit full of his art without any context.”
Rafael frowned. “It’s not all about Picasso. And it doesn’t have to be without any context. My client is a big collector. He has work from many different artists. He wants to fill it with a lot of his favorite pieces.”
“Well, that’s another problem I have with the idea.”
“What is?” Rafael asked, and Grace was surprised at how eager he was to hear her opinion.
“I think an art museum should be accessible to everyone who would like to see it, not just hidden away in some secret hideout for rich people.”
“Ah, there it is,” Rafael said, pointing a finger at her, his voice changing. “I got ya. There was quite a lot going on in that face you made when I was talking about the gallery. I knew it.”
“You sound very American sometimes,” Grace commented.
He leaned forward in his chair. “I lived in America for many years, Grace. But tell me this, if it’s not exclusive, then what’s the draw? People want to experience something special. Something that makes them feel special.”
Grace sighed. “The draw is the art, isn’t it?”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Grace almost laughed. “Aren’t people going to art museums for the art all the time?”
“But what about the excitement? The mystery? There’s something about how secretive it will be.”
Grace studied his face. There was honestly something kind of cute about his excitement, even if she didn’t agree with anything he was saying.
“You think the work of Picasso and whoever else your client is collecting is something that only a select few people who are invited should be able to experience just so they can feel special?”
“Look, that’s not what I’m saying, but there are other museums. The purpose of this exhibit is to create a cultured space where my client’s guests and whoever might use the venue can have an exclusive experience. He owns the art, after all. He can invite whoever he wants to see it.”
Grace shook her head absently. This was the Rafael she was familiar with.
He always assumed exclusivity and quality went hand in hand, and he must already think she was as silly as she was at twenty.
Silly for thinking that art could be something for everyone, something to bring together an entire community.
For him, it was a commodity, and that was all.
For a second, she thought maybe he’d changed.
He hadn’t seemed quite so unfeeling as the last time she’d met him, and he was a bit more open, willing to engage with her even as she railed against his ideas.
But he was the man she remembered after all, a man who valued money and status over everything else.
“People will pay a lot for a VIP experience,” he said. “It could be almost anything in the room, as long as it’s private.”
“Maybe that’s part of the issue,” Grace said in a clipped tone.
“What issue?” Rafael asked.
They went on like that, eating and arguing for almost an hour, and despite the fact that he was incredibly frustrating and she took issue with almost every word that came out of his mouth, Grace had to admit it helped to take her mind off of things.
It was nice to talk about something else.
Something other than her losses and how she was coping.
When she was talking with Alma, or friends back home, or even with Rafael at the outset of dinner, the conversation was always about her messy life.
But as she and Raf settled into the evening and into their arguments, it was nice to have a conversation with someone who didn’t care enough to treat her like a crystal trinket, too breakable to handle.
Even if Rafael was a total snob, at least he offered a nice distraction.
And, well, his face was also a nice distraction, even if she would never admit that to him in a million years.