Chapter 25 #2
Alma shrugged. “I don’t know. If you had any questions about him? He’s my brother, though, this is very new territory.”
Grace smiled. This was the most they’d discussed Rafael since Grace had broken things off with him. It felt like old times in their friendship, teasing each other about the men they were dating. “I mean, I did always think he was hot.”
Alma gagged dramatically. “This is going to be so gross for me to witness.”
Lucia and Marco gave Grace a ride to the caves.
She sat in the back seat of their little car twisting the hem of her dress in her hands.
She truly didn’t know if Raf would be there, and she hadn’t come to any decisions about what she would do if he was.
Probably just say hello and try not to think about the possibility of going home with him, of letting him touch her everywhere again.
She had to keep reminding herself that Alma could be wrong.
The fact that Rafael had apparently saved this event could mean nothing.
He was just doing the right thing. And even if he had really meant it that he wanted to be with her before, he’d probably already moved on.
She wasn’t even sure she wanted to admit how she felt for him anyway. It was probably easier to keep forging ahead without getting bogged down by any more emotions.
“You are very quiet,” Lucia said, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
Marco turned in his seat and looked her over as well. “Everything okay back there?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. Just lost in my head, I guess.”
“Thinking about Expressionism? That’s basically what I imagine is always going on in your head, if I’m honest.”
Grace smiled. If only. “It does occupy my thoughts on a regular basis.”
Lucia glanced at Marco, and he translated for her. They went back and forth in Spanish for a bit. “Mama thinks you have the mind of an artist,” Marco said.
“I don’t know what you mean by that, Lucia, but gracias.”
“You look for the beauty,” Lucia said.
Grace tilted her head. “That’s what you do, Lucia. That’s why I love your paintings so much.”
“You love them because you know,” Lucia replied slowly, thinking about each word. “You can see.”
Marco and his mother went back and forth in Spanish again, and Marco nodded enthusiastically. After a while, Lucia said, “You understand it, Grace, what I put into my work.”
Grace was quiet for a moment. “I think I do,” she said.
Rafael wasn’t at the exhibit, and Grace didn’t know how to feel about that.
She supposed she was disappointed since just the sight of him filled her with joy, but she could also do without the distraction.
Keeping an eye out for him the whole night would have been exhausting.
Spending the evening trying to figure out if she should change her mind all over again and what to say to him would have been even worse.
Instead, she was able to enjoy the time with her students—or former students, really—to offer mini lectures on some of the different paintings because she just couldn’t help herself, to mingle and laugh and forget about everything except art and teaching and Picasso.
Lucia ran her keen eyes over every painting in the place, and Grace loved to watch her taking it all in.
This was the kind of place where Lucia belonged with her talent.
Maybe Christian would want to start collecting Lucia’s work and develop a secret museum dedicated to that.
Probably not, but Grace certainly hoped to have some of Lucia’s work on her own walls.
For a while, she and Lucia stood side by side in the small corner with the local art from Sacromonte, both of them perhaps imagining what it would be like for Lucia’s paintings to be hanging among them.
“I like this one,” Lucia said. It was the skyline of Granada from one of the hills, a view Grace was sure she’d seen several times before, and it looked just as good as her memories. “I’m glad they included these pieces from the area. They’re very good.”
“Thank you for saying that,” said a deep voice from behind them.
Grace and Lucia both turned to find a man she recognized from the opening night. She’d been introduced to him briefly, but they hadn’t been able to talk much. “You painted this?” she asked.
“I did. I’ve painted that view a thousand times actually. I grew up looking at it, but I can never quite seem to get it right.”
“It’s lovely,” Grace said. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name. I’m Grace and this is Lucia.”
“Alejandro,” the man said. He had streaks of silver in his hair, and Grace would have called him a silver fox if anyone would have asked for a description.
“You’re from Sacromonte?” Lucia asked.
“I was born here,” he said. “I’ve traveled a lot, but this is still my home. They invited me to meet the students tonight, and I thought it sounded like fun.”
“That was a great idea,” Grace remarked as she wondered who had come up with it. Probably the person who’d put this whole thing together, the person who made sure it happened.
Just as Grace was about to ask, Alejandro continued. “You know Rafael? He has been meeting with our group of local artists and asking to see more of our work. He’s asked us for our thoughts and ideas about the exhibit as well.”
Grace stared in wonder, trying to take it all in. Not only had Rafael invited Alejandro tonight, but he’d also been meeting with a group of local artists and asking for their input? She was too stunned to speak.
Luckily, Lucia jumped in. “Do you all have a similar style?” she asked, gesturing toward Alejandro’s painting. “You and the other artists?”
“Oh, no,” Alejandro said, gesturing to a painting. “We’re actually all very different in our style and technique.”
Grace finally found her voice and couldn’t help but to sing Lucia’s praises. “Lucia is a painter as well. Her work is incredible.”
Alejandro’s eyes lit from within. “Is that so?”
They talked for a while about his work and some of the other local paintings, but as Grace excused herself, he and Lucia switched to Spanish and continued chatting.
A smile passed over her face. It seemed Lucia and Alejandro were kindred spirits, both so passionate about their craft. An interesting development.
Grace ate too many appetizers and talked far too much about Salvador Dali and Frida Kahlo.
Her students almost seemed to be buzzing around her, all of them excited and chatting about the art as if they were the experts, and in a lot of ways they were.
They knew enough to know what they liked and why; they knew enough to articulate the merits of each piece and Grace was so proud as she stood there listening to them, so happy she was a part of it.
“This place is seriously cool,” Marco said, sidling up next to her. “I can’t believe you made this.”
“Oh,” Grace said. “Did I give that impression? I didn’t create this. I just consulted.”
“That’s not true,” a voice said from behind them. “You rambled on about all of these paintings for quite a long time.”
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. He was there. Had he been there the whole time? It seemed impossible that she could have missed him in this familiar little series of caves, but it didn’t matter. He was there, and Grace was speechless.
“Is everything going well?” Rafael asked.
Grace nodded until she finally found her voice. “It’s great, yes. Marco, this is Rafael, he’s the one who—well, he’s the one who really did all of this.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Raf said with a charming smile. He was as calm and debonair as always, the perfect picture of a high society gentleman who knew how to throw a party.
Marco’s eyes widened just a bit, and Grace just knew he was assessing Rafael’s beautiful face, because it’s what she was doing, too. “Uh—nice to meet you, too. Did you also make these little croquetas, because they are wildly delicious.”
Rafael laughed. “No, I didn’t cook the food, but I was the one who chose the menu, so I’ll still take that as a compliment.”
Marco nodded. “You should, honestly. Between the paintings and the food, I think you’ve got to have good taste.”
“Marco,” Lucia called, beckoning her son toward one of Picasso’s early self-portraits where she stood with Alejandro. She gave Grace a knowing little glance as if she could see exactly what had been on Grace’s mind all evening.
“Nice museum,” Marco commented to Rafael before sliding off toward his mother.
Grace and Rafael stood silently for a long moment. She cleared her throat as if she was about to say something, but no words came out. She didn’t know how to act normal around him, not anymore, not since Alma had given her permission to want him.
She really, really wanted him. She just didn’t know exactly what that meant. She didn’t know if she was ready to give herself permission to want him. How sustainable could this thing between them be?
“Well, Marco seems to be a good judge of character,” Rafael said at last, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“Yes.” Grace was almost breathless. “I could tell my students loved it.”
“Good. They’re lucky to get to see the work and hear about it straight from your mouth.”
She couldn’t help noticing how much interest he was taking in her mouth as he said those words.
They stared at each other again. “How long have you been here?”
Rafael ran a hand through his hair. “I was here before the event to make sure everything was set up, but then I went to run errands.”
“Is it true that Christian wanted to cancel?” Grace asked in a rush.
Rafael frowned. “Where did you hear that?”
Grace swept some hair behind her ear and glanced away from him.
“Alma,” he said, and Grace nodded. “Well, I told him we couldn’t cancel, and here we are. It worked out.”
Grace’s eyes met his again. “Because of you,” she said.
Rafael coughed. “How’d you get up here? Can I drive you home?”
“Yes,” Grace replied without hesitation.
“Find me whenever you’re ready to go.” His hand just barely slid past the side of her arm as he walked by. She was going to be alone with him again, and it was impossible to think about anything else.
They were silent for much of the drive. Grace stared out the window trying to gather her thoughts even though it was useless.
Her thoughts resisted gathering. Instead, they scrambled over everything—her grandmother and pomegranates and the feel of Rafael’s skin.
She thought about how content Lucia had been at the exhibit.
She thought about Alma. She was full of gratitude and grief and longing.
She glanced over at Rafael. Yes, lots and lots of longing.
They were almost to her apartment, but Grace didn’t want to go to her apartment.
She wanted to go home with him, even if she didn’t know how to broach the subject.
She supposed she could have used their time in the car trying to get a sense of how he felt about her or maybe talking about her feelings for him, but she was still tangled up in her own thoughts, unsure of exactly what she wanted or how to express it. Still terrified.
He turned down Alma’s street. Her street.
“What if—” she started. If she wanted any chance of more time with him, she had to say it, but the words lodged in her throat.
He glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. “I’d kill to know just what’s going on in your head,” he said.
“Maybe we could go to your place and talk.”
He scrunched up his forehead and glanced at her again. “We’ve barely spoken this entire trip, and you think we need to go and talk?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, I mean, I just think it would be easier if you weren’t driving?” She didn’t know how to explain it to him, and she didn’t even know where she would begin. She just knew she didn’t want him to drop her off.
He didn’t respond to that, and her heart lurched. God, she was sweating. She should just take it back and go home and bury herself in bed and forget she ever spoke those words.
But Rafael drove past Alma’s apartment. Grace glanced over at him in surprise.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, staring forward at the road.
Grace’s hands fidgeted in her lap. “Neither do I, honestly.”
Raf blew out a breath, and she knew he must be confused and angry and sick of her indecisiveness. “You’re not going to give me any clue about what’s happening here? What are you thinking?”
Grace’s cheeks were hot. “Right now, I’m thinking I want you to take me home. To your home. I—I don’t know about after that.”