Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“She didn’t believe me,” Marco complained as he perched on the edge of the huge metal desk after class.
“Didn’t believe what?” Grace tugged on the sleeve of her cardigan and scratched her arm. She liked dressing like a professor, and she liked how the cardigan looked, but she was also hot and itchy from standing in the front of the room, pacing around and lecturing her students about Futurism.
“That you liked her painting. I explained how I just wanted to show you, and she said you only told me you liked it to be nice. I think she’s self-conscious about it, but it’s hanging in our entryway! And it’s beautiful!”
Grace grinned at his enthusiasm. “It is beautiful. And I would be happy to tell her that in person and to see more of her work. I mean, I’m not an artist or an art critic. I have no connections, Marco. I’m just a fan, and I have no reason to pretend to think her painting is brilliant.”
Marco swung his legs back and forth. “But this is your thing. You know this stuff better than anybody else in my life.”
Grace tried to reply, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been admired by someone for her knowledge of art history. Most people seemed rather indifferent about it.
Marco jumped off the desk, oblivious to Grace’s inner struggle. “You should meet her,” he continued. “Could you come over to dinner? Or is that not allowed?”
“Well, I don’t think there are explicit rules against that, but—”
Marco smacked his forehead. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to ask, huh? Felipe told me not to ask.”
“Who’s Felipe?” Grace swiped a hand across her forehead.
“My boyfriend. He explicitly told me not to be a creep about it. What if we met at a restaurant or something and you didn’t have to come to my house?” Marco turned his whole body toward her, tense with anticipation.
“I think that could work. Maybe we could do some kind of field trip. Invite the whole class. But does your mother even want to meet me? It sounds like she might not be very enthusiastic about the whole idea.”
Marco’s shoulders relaxed. “She will be. I know she will. Actually, I’m not entirely sure, because she doesn’t talk about her painting very much, and I kind of have to pry it out of her, but I can tell it’s something important. It means a lot.”
Grace tried not to show her skepticism. She wanted to meet Marco’s mom and get the full picture for herself. Pun intended. “Well then, we should plan something she will enjoy. I really would like to see her work in-person.”
“Yes!” Marco rushed forward and wrapped Grace in a tight hug before remembering himself and releasing her. “Sorry, I’m just too excited. Her work is amazing, and I just want her to be appreciated by someone other than me. Someone who knows about this stuff.”
Grace grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder. She couldn’t believe how easily Marco made her smile, and she was happy to return the favor whenever she could. “I’m excited, too. I would love to see more of her paintings.”
“It’s not so bad, is it?” Alma asked, her eyes darting around Grace’s little room.
Grace sat on her bed and stared out the small window. She loved the view. She’d been looking out the window a lot since she moved in. “It’s not so bad.”
“You’re comfortable? I feel terrible that you just moved across the world only to be displaced almost immediately.”
Alma dove onto the bed and began to analyze her best friend’s face in much the same way she had been eyeing the bedroom. Grace trained her expression into a smile, though she didn’t have to pretend too much. Everything was going as well as it could be, given the circumstances.
“And I know Rafa can be a pain in the butt. I hope he’s not giving you a hard time.”
Grace shook her head. When she’d imagined what it would be like to live with Rafael as they stood on that sidewalk in front of the nearly dilapidated building, she’d imagined distance.
Silence. Separation. He’d made a point of letting her know she would have a room with a door, and she kind of thought he expected her to stay there, relegated to her own little corner of the apartment, not bothering him.
In reality, their experience as roommates for the past several days had greatly deviated from her expectations.
She and Rafael talked on occasion. They shared bunuelos de bacalao at the kitchen counter and drank beers on the couch.
The other night, she’d sat with her legs tucked up under her and a can of Estrella Galicia in her hand and told him about Marco and his mother’s painting.
He’d told her how he didn’t know how in the world they would pull off this cave business, how it was the only project that had ever given him this much grief.
He'd worked on some impressive stuff—fundraising galas, celebrity birthday parties, and staging the VIP area at music festivals.
Usually, he was able to work it all out, even the major kinks and problems. People respected him, and he could get his way when he needed to.
But not this time.
Grace couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him as she’d watched his throat work to swallow another gulp of beer. He really cared about pulling off the cave exhibit and making a good impression, and the complexities of the whole thing was stressing him out.
“I’ll see what I can do, Raf,” she’d told him. “But I don’t know if I’m going to have any solutions for you.” She certainly didn’t want to get his hopes up. It wasn’t like she had any experience with curating exhibits or appeasing billionaires or…caves.
“I have a good feeling about this, Grace Cameron.” He’d still been smiling, but there was something still and serious in his eyes. “I think you’re just the person for the job.”
Grace didn’t know why he was so confident about it.
Maybe he was in so far over his head, he would have taken help from anyone.
She’d taken another sip from her can, tasting the bitter hops on her tongue and trying not to think about the way he looked at her sometimes, as if she would somehow have all the answers.
She wasn’t sure why she was so loath to disappoint him.
Grace pulled herself from the memory and turned toward Alma on the little bed before resting her head on her arm. “Rafael’s been fine. I can handle him.”
“Thank goodness for that. If it were anyone else, I’d be worried, though I don’t know whether I would be more concerned about him driving you mad or trying to hook up with you. Admittedly, he’s known for his powers of seduction. But if there’s anyone that’s immune to his charms, it’s you, Gracie.”
Grace stared down at her finger as she traced shapes on the bedspread.
She must be blushing, but she would do her best to hide it from Alma.
If there was anyone who was immune to Rafael’s charms, maybe it was Grace.
She’d resisted him once, after all. Just barely.
And it wasn’t like he was currently trying to seduce her.
He’d done nothing to indicate he had any interest in her beyond her art brain and knowledge of Pablo Picasso. He’d been a perfect gentleman, in fact.
He’d even been funny, too, just a little.
Grace still couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, this new, mature version of him who made jokes, who still took himself too seriously but had managed to loosen up—just a smidge—this version who actually laughed on occasion.
He had a nice laugh as well, especially when he was teasing her about her dirty hairbrush or the way she licked the cheese bowl.
“What are you smiling at?” Alma asked.
Grace froze. “Sorry, I just randomly thought of something one of my students said in class.”
Alma twisted her lips and squinted at Grace with suspicion. “It’s not because of Rafa? You will be careful, right, Gracie? I’m telling you. He’s never been interested in a relationship, but he knows how to get women in bed. It happened to another friend of mine.”
That got Grace’s attention. “Really?”
“Of course. I wasn’t super close with her, thank the Lord, because she became so obsessed with him it was unbearable.”
Grace tried not to react to this information.
She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised Raf had gone after another one of Alma’s friends.
Grace had never told Alma about the almost-kiss in Barcelona.
At the time, it seemed too embarrassing.
How could Grace have even let him get close to letting his lips touch hers after he’d acted like such a pretentious dickhead that whole week?
She may have been a little embarrassed on Raf’s behalf, too, since Alma would never let him hear the end of it if she knew he’d made such an attempt.
Also, the whole event happened in a matter of ten seconds, so it didn’t bear mentioning.
“What happened after that?” Grace asked.
Alma clicked her tongue. “Oh, he wouldn’t even answer her calls, so she just came to me over and over, asking what was going on and if I would speak to him for her. She was pining and heartbroken, and Rafael was completely disinterested. She didn’t want to talk to me after that.”
Grace swallowed, secretly grateful she hadn’t let Raf kiss her, even if she’d imagined the experience once or twice since.
“Honestly, it’s been this way since we were teenagers,” Alma continued.
“The girls were always chasing after him, and he was completely immovable. I imagine he thought it would impress our father—to show no emotion, to avoid any point of vulnerability. He’s always been good to me.
He’s the only person I could ever talk to after having a blowout with my mother, but the walls he puts up with everyone else are so high. ”
Grace frowned. She hated to think of Rafael that way, fighting so hard not to let anyone in. “You don’t have to worry about anything like that, Alma. And you know I’m not looking for a relationship anyway. Look how the last one turned out.”