Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At last. Madre mía, it happened at last. Grace slept in his arms, and he stroked her hair.
Perhaps it was entirely misguided, but he’d been holding out hope that their night together would cure him somehow, that all the desperation and yearning and desire that had been haunting his nights would disappear in an instant, suddenly satisfied.
He knew it was too much to wish for, but still, he’d wished.
He should be quite content, after all. Under normal circumstances this one night with Grace would be enough.
And yet…
He already knew he’d miscalculated. Maybe one evening of passion would have fulfilled him at any other time, but he already knew he wasn’t satisfied.
The entire night with Grace was exactly what he’d been hoping for, but it was also insufficient.
He was dying to wake her up and start all over again, to spend Saturday in bed with this woman, to try and try to get his fill, even though it seemed impossible he ever would.
She’d been correct before when she said they should figure it all out before sleeping together, but they’d both neglected that sound reasoning, and here they were, tangled up in each other, connected without a clue as to what it might mean and how to move forward.
Normally, none of this mattered. Normally, there was no moving forward, but she was living in his apartment.
He saw her every single day, and perhaps the scarier part was that he didn’t want it to stop.
But he had no idea what Grace wanted. She’d said this was a bad idea multiple times, but was it just because of Alma or because she’d just gotten out of a long relationship?
Or because she was in a vulnerable place?
Or because she had no choice but to live with him?
There were a lot of reasons this was a bad idea, it turned out.
Grace shifted in his arms, and he hoped she wasn’t waking up.
If they could stay like this for a while longer…
Well, it wouldn’t solve anything, but he wanted to delay the talking part as long as possible.
He could happily remain like this, watching her sleep, remembering all the details about the night before, for a very long time.
“Hi,” Grace said, and Rafael realized her eyes were open and trained on his face.
“Hi.”
She batted her lashes at him. “You look…concerned.”
“Do I?” He tightened his arm around her slightly. “Probably just tired.”
“Mmm.” Grace leaned into him. She seemed perfectly at ease. “I’m starving. We didn’t eat anything last night.”
Rafael continued to play the events of last night in his head and agreed that none of them had involved dinner. “I guess you’re right.”
“I need food,” she grumbled like a zombie.
Rafael swallowed and nodded. He wasn’t sure how to act. He was just going through the motions, trying to remain calm until he could figure out what came next.
Grace lifted her head and looked at him. “You’re quiet,” she said. “I’m going to find some breakfast. That’s the first order of business. You can come or you can stay here, or you know. Whatever.”
She was acting so casual, almost as if they hadn’t just entirely changed the course of their relationship, potentially making a total mess of everything.
She didn’t seem concerned about it at all, and if she was totally fine with the whole situation, then he would be too.
They didn’t need to talk about everything or make any decision right away.
They could just eat some food. One thing at a time.
He cleared his throat. “I would like to join you.”
“You want to go out somewhere?” The sheet slipped away from her body as she left the bed, and Rafael couldn’t help watching her, her skin still bare, illuminated by the soft morning light.
He continued to linger with his head propped on one arm, drinking in the sight of her. “Yes.”
“Okay then,” she said with a grin. She covered herself with her previously discarded shirt, hastily plucked from the floor. “Let’s do it.”
They didn’t spend the day in bed together, but they did spend the day together.
Breakfast first, just as Grace had commanded.
They started at the Stories café, because Rafael was already becoming familiar with Grace’s tastes, and he knew she would fawn all over the avocado salmon toast. He was right, of course.
She went nuts over it, and then she went nuts over the croissants as well.
Rafael enjoyed watching her eat, the pure joy on her face when she took another bite and moaned, not too far off from the moaning she’d been doing the night before, but he managed to put that from his mind.
It reminded him of the Grace from ten years ago.
Grace, who was fearless and carefree and silly.
Grace who loved to try new things and start up a conversation with anyone—the waiter, the tourists at the next table, the couple outside with the dog.
It had driven him crazy when he’d first met her, and now he couldn’t understand why.
It must have been because he was craving her attention, because when she was making jokes and twirling down the street and chatting with strangers, she wasn’t focused on him in the slightest. Back then, he’d been so insecure and so stupid.
When she’d joked about something, he’d felt like she was laughing at him because he was too uptight to laugh at himself.
It was like any bit of fun had been a personal affront to him, even if that was so far removed from the actual intention of her comments.
Now, he could see how wrong he’d been about all of it, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Rafael was relieved this version of Grace was still inside her somewhere, and he couldn’t help hoping that maybe he had something to do with her lively demeanor.
Was she happy because of him? Because they’d finally spent the night together?
Or was it just that the avocado salmon toast really was that good?
“Should we go back?” she asked at the end of the meal. “What are you doing today?”
He pressed a napkin to his mouth. He didn’t want to go back.
He wanted to spend the day with her like they were back in Barcelona, ten years younger.
He wanted to gallivant around the city, but instead of being a sour killjoy, he would embrace every second and enjoy it.
He would laugh and make jokes. He might even try to hold her hand, which seemed simultaneously outrageous and exactly right.
“I have some ideas.” He raised his eyebrows, gauging her interest.
“Ideas? Ideas about what?”
“About what we should do today. Have you been to Monasterio de la cartuja?”
Grace frowned at him, but the edges of her lips started to curve into a smile. “Monasterio? You want to take me to a monastery?”
“It’s beautiful. Many of the cathedrals are as well.”
She bit her lip. “Is this some kind of repentance for last night? We spend the day in churches?”
It was the first time either of them had fully acknowledged the events of last night. Grace sounded relaxed, but he could see a pink flush on her cheeks, and he wanted to kiss her everywhere.
Rafael shook his head and locked eyes with her. “No, I have nothing to repent for. But you’ll appreciate the history. And the design.”
Grace shifted in her seat and picked up her glass of juice. “Oh, it’s an excuse to teach me about architecture.”
Rafael smirked. “It’s only fair, after everything you’ve taught me about paintings.”
“Only twentieth century art, Rafael. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“Well, this is just a few cathedrals.” He smiled conspiratorially, leaning toward her. “What do they call it? Crash course.”
They started at the monastery, though Rafael wasn’t entirely sure why he picked the place beyond the fact that it was beautiful.
He just had a feeling Grace would enjoy it—the history and the design, the breathtaking artwork inside.
He would have taken her anywhere, done anything, but he was pleased to see her gazing up at arched ceilings, taking it all in like it was something precious.
Their quiet words echoed through the long hallways as they wandered, as he whispered about Carthusian monks and Baroque architecture.
The rest of the day passed in a beautiful blur.
Grace was impressed by the cathedrals as well, just as he knew she would be.
She ambled through each of them with her head thrown back and her mouth open, eyes so fixed to the ceiling that he’d had to stop her from walking into a stranger on more than one occasion.
For that very reason, it was easier just to hold her hand when she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, and that’s what he did, surprised at the surge of excitement that shot through him when his fingers brushed hers.
He was nervous the first time, slipping his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers. It was easier since she was so focused on the murals on the ceiling and wasn’t even looking at him, but he still experienced a moment of panic, worried she might pull away.
She didn’t though. She kept her eyes on the art, and she didn’t say a word, but she held onto him.
He could feel the pressure from the swirls of her fingerprints grazing the back of his hand.
Rafael couldn’t remember the last time he done something like that—just held someone’s fucking hand.
Clearly, he had intimacy issues and father issues, and probably a whole host of other issues, but at least, for one single day (if that was as long as this thing lasted), he could walk through the streets of Granada with a beautiful, funny woman, and he could hold onto her as if they really belonged to each other.
“Isn’t it strange to think about how many hundreds of years old this is? It blows my mind.” Grace finally lowered her gaze to focus on him, but she still didn’t let go of his hand.
“It’s hard to imagine.”