Chapter Thirteen
On Thursday evening, after telling mother I had a dinner reservation with a friend whom I refused to name, I headed out to meet Tiago, nervous about whether he’d accept his role as my bumbling sidekick. After much observation, he fits the bill.
We’re meeting at a little family-owned tasca close to Rua das Floras. A cosy, no frills eatery, run by a local family.
There’s no time to ruminate about how I’ll navigate dinner because I’m still muddling through the appropriate verbiage to invite Tiago to my cousin’s wedding without inflaming his romantic aspirations. Tentatively I work through possible combinations, practising out loud for maximum effect:
Tiago, my mother has insisted I invite you as my plus one.
Tiago, I’m being forced by guilt and manipulation.
Tiago, in life you’re often required to attend events when you’d rather be abducted by aliens.
‘Hi, Viviane. Did you say you’d rather be abducted by aliens?’ I spin on my heel and come face to face with Tiago who wears a wry smile.
‘I did not.’ Well, I didn’t mean for him to overhear.
We hover in front of the tasca. My thoughts are scattered at the sight of Tiago who has dressed in more formal clothing.
The transformation is dramatic, I lose my train of thought as I take in every detail of him from his pressed navy-blue shirt, to his linen trousers that hug in all the right places.
It’s not that I’m so shallow as to judge a person on their sartorial choices, it’s that he is devastatingly handsome and how did I not notice that before?
And why am I using words like devastatingly handsome?
It’s more the fact he’s made the effort that touches me.
He lightens the moment he trips over his own two feet, as he manoeuvres out the way of a couple walking past. I bite down on a smile.
I take a deep breath and stare just past his shoulder and will myself back to the dastardly challenge at hand.
‘Tiago, I’ve been coerced into attending yet another tedious family wedding.
I’m in need of a plus one and you fit the requirements.
Full disclosure, there will be no funny business between us no matter how many glasses of wine I drink, which will be anywhere between one and two.
And to manage your expectations further, I’m not one of those people who becomes overly sentimental witnessing nuptials so there will be no crumbling of my defences as the dreary day wears on.
I’m always situated at the back with the teenagers, another tedium, as they speak nonsensically, and take blurry photos of themselves and their food while they sneak glasses of wine and then become rowdy and obnoxious or sullen and despondent.
It’s quite the headache-inducing spectacle.
If you’re amenable, would you be free on September 27th? ’
‘That’s, erm, a lot to consider.’ Yet again, he bites down on his lip, luckily for him he now has a balm for that.
‘You can let me know at a later date.’
His shimmering brown eyes sparkle under the moonlight. ‘I’d love to go with you.’
The eagerness is a concern, isn’t it? Who’d purposely go to a wedding they could easily avoid? ‘Appreciated, Tiago. Feel free to bring noise-cancelling headphones. I will be.’
‘Not a fan of weddings then?’ He hikes a brow, as if amused.
‘Absolutely not.’
Heat creeps up his cheeks as he says, ‘I love your dress, and red lipstick looks really pretty on you.’
I didn’t wear my much-loved ensemble of white shirt, black skirt in case Tiago mistakenly thinks I have no imagination.
That’s the only reason I swapped my comfort outfit for a dress.
The lipstick, well it might seem rather forward, rather vampish, but it felt right in the moment.
Still, I shrivel a little at the compliments – at how obvious it all seems, as if I’m trying too hard.
‘Thank you, Tiago. Now let’s dine, shall we? I’d like to leave by 9 p.m. at the latest.’ Isn’t it best to be forthright about my expectations? Sleep hygiene is important, and I don’t like deviating from my usual nightly routine.
‘Do you have somewhere else to be?’ he asks as we walk inside the cosy restaurant only to find a Wait to Be Seated sign. No sign of staff, typical.
‘In bed with my book.’ In Portugal it’s customary to eat late, but it’s a custom I don’t support because I have a Tbr pile that will outlast humanity if I don’t dedicate each evening to it and keep up my perfect sleep score.
Finally, a waiter appears. ‘Table for two?’
‘In your own time,’ I say. ‘We have a reservation under the name álverez.’
I loosen up somewhat once we’re sitting across from each other. ‘I’d like to order please. Tiago, do you know what you’re having?’
The waiter stops. ‘Would you like menus … first?’
‘Not necessary, unless you’d like one, Tiago?’
‘Ah – I – no, you can order for us.’
I double blink. How could I possibly order for a man whose palate I barely know, except that almonds are verboten?
If he’s giving me carte blanche then who am I to argue, especially when it’ll keep the evening on schedule.
‘Sure.’ I take the liberty in ordering us a range of petiscos, and water with lemon slices.
I turn to the waiter. ‘Tiago is allergic to almonds, if you can let the chef know. I did email ahead and check but if you could confirm this?’
The waiter nods and scurries away. A man of few words, it seems. It doesn’t fill me with much confidence that Tiago won’t be poisoned, but we shall see.
‘Thank you for checking.’
I try very hard to relax my posture. It’s not that Tiago makes me nervous, but the atmosphere feels electric as if something has changed, but what? ‘One of us has to keep you alive, Tiago.’
He sends a grin my way. ‘Right.’ There’s a moment of panic as Tiago leans his arm too close to the candle, and lets out a yelp of surprise as the cuff of his shirt blackens.
This guy is a walking disaster. The type that would mess up any real-life case by treading on clues, or by being a klutz and totally unaware of his surroundings, but I’m up for the challenge.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, as he blushes furiously. I always thought that term was just fodder for books but I can confirm it’s real, his olive complexion is a deep scarlet that somehow makes him look more adorable. Some men have all the luck.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’
‘These candles are a hazard. Shall I get some ice for the burn?’
‘No need. But thanks, Viviane.’ He folds the charred cuff of his shirt back and hides his hands under the table.
Our first course, of chourico assado, a traditional pork sausage, arrives, and Tiago suggests we order a bottle of wine to accompany our petiscos.
‘Yes, please.’ I shouldn’t drink alcohol when I’m anxious like this, but I will make an allowance and hope it helps settle the butterflies.
Really, I’m to be commended for all this social interaction of late, of course there are bound to be times when the nerves win.
Once our wine is poured and the rest of our dishes presented, I attempt to direct the conversation to the Lucinda mystery and whether Tiago will accept his role as faithful sidekick.
After a deep breath, I ready myself to present my case. ‘Did you catch the rest of Lucinda’s phone call the other day? She answered a call from a mysterious person and asked about toxins.’
‘Oh, that. No, I didn’t hear what she said.’ Tiago takes a lazy swill of wine like I didn’t just ask the most urgent question.
‘Oh, that?’
He pauses mid mouthful, cheeks comically wide with wine. He swallows hard. ‘What?’
I shake my head. Surely, he cannot be this unaware? Danger is lurking at every corner! ‘Tiago, did that not ring alarm bells for you?’
He is such an innocent, it’s written all over his face, from his eager smile to his earnest gaze. Meanwhile there are possible murder plans ahoy, and he is none the wiser. ‘Should it have?’
Do I steal his innocence? It’s a tough call but I do need a confidant, even if he might be more of a foil – the type to miss glaring clues and get us into jams. Tiago does fit the brief for the fumbling, feckless goofball, and really, who else is there?
I’m confident he won’t try to assert his dominance in the investigation like some sort of cliché alpha male and that’s all I can ask for.
‘Tiago, a woman in our book club asked about toxins and that didn’t strike fear into your heart? A woman who is now unaccounted for?’
His lips part in surprise. ‘No, it didn’t but when you say it like that maybe it should have.’
I stifle a sigh. Imagine being this unobservant.
Thinking that the world is all rainbows and butterflies.
‘Her last words to me were that she’d only miss book club if she were dead.
Dead, Tiago. And then there’s her kill or kiss list.’ This time I blush remembering that fateful day when poor Tiago thought I was propositioning him.
Hapless fool. ‘That didn’t concern you?’
‘Wait, what? Kiss or kill list. I’ve missed something.’
A heavy sigh breaches my lips. ‘That day when I used the power of my mind to get your attention and you mistakenly thought I was asking you for a kiss. When I was trying to get you to confirm what Lucinda’s scrawls were because you were sitting closer.
I can confirm for sure it read: Six ways to kill my husband or Six way to kiss my husband.
Did you not see the notebook? You were sitting closer to her than I was! ’ This is unbelievable.
‘What! And you’ve waited until now to tell me this?’ His voice is a screech.
Typical man, straight to gaslighting. ‘What? That day we made eye contact and shared what I thought were many nonverbal communications. I’d been all set to ask you to be my sidekick this evening, but now I’m not so sure.’