Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rafael dressed to the sound of giggling outside his door.
He supposed that was a good sign. At least Alma wasn’t crying again.
He shivered. He’d never seen his sister cry before, and he didn’t want to repeat the experience.
Of course, if anyone in the world could get Alma to giggle when she was at her worst, it was Graciela.
Vaya, why did something swell inside of him at the thought of Grace?
She was so funny and smart and passionate.
It had taken everything out of him to watch her leave his room in the middle of the night when all he wanted was to hold her and smell her hair.
Apparently, both Ferrer-Martín siblings were starting to experience emotions they’d never had before.
Rafael was afraid to leave his room, afraid that he would take one look at his sister’s best friend, and everything would be written all over his face.
Alma would know it in an instant. He was pining.
Even if it was a completely new look for him, his sister would be able to spot it.
He didn’t know how to act like a regular person when this feeling was churning inside of him—this thing he’d never quite experienced in his life.
He didn’t know how to name it, but he was giddy.
He was gleeful. Alma was going to think he was a total idiot.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his face neutral, and exited the bedroom.
There was a contained bit of chaos in his kitchen.
Both women were seated at the counter with a mess of glasses and bottles littered before them, Grace with her head on the granite and Alma cackling.
Grace lifted her head slightly at the sound of his bedroom door creaking, and he saw the blush creeping up her cheeks.
Then Alma knocked a shoulder into her, and they both nearly tumbled from their stools.
“Are you two drunk?” He checked his watch.
That set Alma off on another fit of laughter. “Gracie’s cheering me up,” she said.
“I can see that.” Except Grace hadn’t looked at him again. She was clearly avoiding eye contact.
“And we were reminiscing about old times. Like the time—”
“Alma!” Grace jumped in, trying to cut her off.
But Alma persevered. “Grace made out with a guy dressed like the Grinch at a Christmas party, and she had green paint smudged all over her face and neck and arms.” She let out another laugh. “At least, that was the paint I could see. Might have been somewhere else, too.”
Grace dropped her head into her hands, her groan muffled by her palms, and Rafael laughed softly. “Did he taste weird from all that paint?”
Alma took a large gulp from her drink and put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “That gives me a good idea!”
Rafael stepped closer, watching the pair of them with amusement.
“You want to dress up like the Grinch? It’s not even Christmas yet,” Grace said.
“No, you know what always cheers me up and brings me so much joy? Watching your escapades with random men. And I haven’t gotten to see that for a long time. I’m not really up for any escapades myself, but going out and seeing you hook up with someone…”
Grace looked anywhere in the room but at Rafael, and he knew it well, since he hadn’t managed to take his eyes off her. The thought of her with someone else blazed in his mind, and he rubbed a hand against the back of his head, trying to stay calm.
Was this jealousy? Because of someone who didn’t even exist? Jealousy at just the thought of her kissing someone else? Or looking at someone else the way she looked at him? Not that she looked at him like that anymore, apparently, since she was so clearly avoiding his gaze.
Would she want that—to be with some other guy? To have an escapade? Was that all she was looking for?
He’d never been jealous about a woman, not like this. He’d never felt so flustered and overwhelmed and obsessed. It was fucking terrible.
“What’s wrong with you?” Alma asked, watching him.
Yep, there it was. She’d figured him out already, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “What do you mean?” he tried to keep his voice even.
“You look like you swallowed a seashell.”
Grace looked up. Finally, her eyes met his. Finally, she inspected him, and even though he was trying so damn hard to look normal, he was obviously failing, and whatever she saw on his face made her expression darken.
“I’m fine. Just trying to understand why you two are drunk in my kitchen talking about hooking up with guys this early in the morning.”
“We’re not hooking up with any guys,” Grace said, keeping her eyes on his.
“But you said we could do anything I want today,” Alma whined.
Grace snorted. “Within reason.”
“You’re a beautiful single woman, and I want to live vicariously through you. That seems reasonable to me.”
“Come on, Alma. Give her a break,” Rafael said. Alma narrowed her eyes, and he realized his mistake. He shouldn’t have an opinion about this.
“What do you care?” she asked.
Grace’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t move.
“I don’t,” he said. “You’re just asking a lot of your friend, and you know she would do anything for you.”
Alma scowled. “I don’t know if I like you two living together if you’re going to team up against me, preventing me from watching Grace make out with a stranger on the street.”
“God, Alma,” Grace grumbled, her face completely red.
Rafael tried to think of a delicate way to change the subject. But also, Grace was so cute when she was embarrassed. And when she was sleeping. And when she had her mouth around his—
“I’m starving,” Alma announced. “I didn’t think I’d be able to eat anything, but I had nothing at all last night, and it’s catching up to me.”
“Especially now that you’re hammered,” Grace chimed in.
“I’m not hammered. Some of us can handle our alcohol, Gracie. I just feel a little bouncy.” She bobbed in her seat to demonstrate.
“Well, that’s an improvement,” Rafael said.
“Yes, and now I need the toilet.” Alma jumped off her stool and marched toward the bathroom. “Keep thinking about that stranger hook up, Grace. Just consider it.” She slammed the door behind her, and then, suddenly, Grace and Rafael were alone.
Even though there was still a good bit of space between them, Rafael thought he could hear her breathing. He was attuned to her—every sound she made, every blink.
“Hey,” he said.
She bit her lip. “Hi.”
“How are you this morning?”
He swore he could see her swallow, too, from across the room. “Good.”
He took a few steps in her direction, slowly. And then he took a few more, rounding the counter and getting close enough to reach out for her.
“Raf—” she huffed.
“What?” He ran his thumb along her jawline, his fingers at the back of her neck.
“Alma will be right back.”
“I don’t care,” he said. She’d lit some kind of fuse inside of him, and it was burning, burning, so ready to explode.
“I do. Today is supposed to be about her. I need to make her happy. She’s done everything for me, and if she finds out about us—”
“You don’t think she’ll be happy?” He knew it might be awkward for Alma, maybe a little uncomfortable at first as she adjusted to this new development.
It had been enough to deter him from making a move earlier and complicating everything, but now that the move had been made, surely Alma wouldn’t be too bothered by his interest in Grace.
Grace shook her head, lines wrinkling across her forehead. “Um, no. I don’t think so. Anyway, it will distract from my mission as her best friend.”
“What about my mission?” he asked, dipping his head toward her, eyes on her mouth.
“Wh-what’s your mission?” At the distant sound of the toilet flushing, Grace jumped up and moved away from him, grabbing her glass and looking around for the champagne bottle. He snatched it up and dangled it in front of her, but she took it out of his hands and scooted away from him quickly.
Rafael really wished they’d had that conversation about what all of this meant, because he was getting more uncertain by the minute.
Did she not want to tell Alma because she didn’t have feelings for him?
Because he was just a fun lay, and he meant nothing to her?
Was she just waiting for the right time?
He’d never had this many questions about a woman in his life.
“Have we figured out a plan?” Alma asked as she charged back into the room.
He hadn’t figured out a plan. In fact, it seemed all his plans had been knocked entirely off course, because the only thing he wanted to do this weekend was get Graciela naked in his bed again, her leg draped over his thighs as he traced circles on her skin.
They could talk about everything then—about art and monasteries, cooking shows and Spanish history, about what all of this meant.
Obviously, it didn’t look like that would be happening anytime soon, but it was quite clear that it would be damn near impossible to think about anything else.
“No plan yet,” Grace said before taking a long gulp of champagne.
They’d had a surprisingly pleasant day. Rafael had joined Grace and Alma in their morning festivities, and they drank more champagne than anyone ever should on a Sunday morning.
They took a walk around the neighborhood, stumbling occasionally, and then they napped until late afternoon.
Rafael would have preferred to nap with Grace snuggled up next to him, but he still woke up refreshed and happy, excited that he would get to see her again so soon.
And he did. She had already been awake and reading on the couch when he had emerged, and he couldn’t help but notice she was also finally, mercifully, alone.
“Did you sleep?” he asked, sitting beside her.
“I basically passed out.”
He laughed, inching closer. “Where’s Alma?”
Grace paused, looking at him, biting her lip. “Still sleeping.”