“Trust me, I didn’t tell you even half of the story. But… Fabrizio died only a few years ago, and it’s been hard. So when I threw myself at you the other week, it… forget it.”
“How can I forget it?”
“I’m angry at myself, not you, please don’t get me wrong. I feel guilty for cheating on my husband, and I know that sounds ridiculous…”
“Not really. At least when your wife of ten years cheats on you, you can kick her out without feeling bad. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, to raise the children alone after the one you love dies.”
“I don’t raise them alone. My friend, Darren, lives with me. He took Fabrizio’s place… on the cycling team. He is the boys’ godfather.”
“He is your… lover? Boyfriend?”
“No! No… maybe. Christ, I should go.”
Cayetano reached out and grabbed Luna’s hands when she stood up from her stool. “Can I just say something first?”
“Okay.”
“I like you. I thought you liked me. I thought we had a good time. I had an amazing time. I just don’t know what to do, you’re a widow, and I didn’t know how far I could push. Then I had my accident, but if I hadn’t I would have called you. I want to see you again, but I can understand if you don’t like me.”
Luna stood on the spot, and watched the hopeful man before him. His eyes were so full of anticipation, those green flecks in the honey brown back again. What was it about this man? The second he touched her hands, the short, sharp shot of attraction and promise ran through her again. She had felt it every time she had thought about him, and that was a lot. Now she was here in his apartment, and for what? No one would ever know she was there, and now that he wasn’t married… “I like you,” she managed to say with her dry mouth, “in spite of myself.”
“I’m just asking for you to… try my cake.” His voice was gentle and coaxed her closer to him.
Luna let him pull her into him, and she stood in between his legs that were balanced on the edge of the stool. A lock of his curly jet-black hair had fallen forward on his forehead and the curl begged to be twirled around her finger. She just had to tell herself that it was okay to like a man. Because she liked his one, whoever he was. “I will try your cake.”
“Good,” he said, and let her hands go. “If you don’t like Mamá’s cake, I can’t ask you out on a second date.”
“I thought this was a date.” She watched him stab a fork into the moist cake.
“Shh… it’s our little secret,” he whispered, and held the fork to her lips. “Go on.” He waited until she went to bite it and pulled it away and sniggered.
“That was mean.”
“I’m sorry,” he said in mock apology. “Try the cake.”
Luna tried to bite the cake off the fork, and he snatched it away again and laughed at the look on her face. “Fine, forget the cake,” she said. “I might go and get that train now.”
“Aww… come on,” he said and offered it again, but she didn’t budge. “Please?”
“No,” she said with a grin. “Keep it.”
“I’ll make you eat it.”
“How?”
Cayetano wrapped one arm around her waist, spun her around and held her back against him while she struggled. “Fight me all you want, preciosa. I do two hours in the gym every day. I will beat you.” He dug his fingers into her ribs and started to tickle her, which resulted in high-pitched shrieking while she tried to make him stop. “You need to beg for mercy,” he joked.
Luna grabbed the piece of cake off the fork and mashed it against Cayetano’s stubbled cheek and rubbed it into his skin. “How’s the cake?” she asked.
“I’m going to make you eat it,” he replied, and let her go, and she turned to face him. “You know that, don’t you?”
“How, chase me on your crutches?”
Cayetano pulled her to him again, his hands firm on her back. He could feel her heart pound against him. He was ravenous when he brought his lips to hers, and smothered her in his desire – and cake. Either her initial anger at him was gone, or she had channeled it, because the way she held herself to him and kissed showed no mercy at all. This was the girl that had been on his mind for the last two weeks. She was so different to what he was used to. She left Cayetano feeling upbeat and inspired about life. Luna was so beautiful that she would stop traffic, only she hadn’t noticed. He could pretend to be the well-known popular bullfighter and the occasional celebrity, and that would work well if he wanted to take home a soulless but attractive woman, and he had done that more times that he wanted to admit. But Luna didn’t know that man, and she didn’t ask about that life. She liked him for who he was himself – and Cayetano didn’t even know that man all that well. It was a pure attraction to each other, every complicated detail aside.
Cayetano reached out and fumbled on the counter until he found the cake, and stuck a finger into it. He brought his hand to her neck and ran his cake-covered finger down her neck and chest, which made her pull away from him in surprise.
“You bastard!” she cried with a grin on her face.
“Don’t you like my cake?” He smirked at the chocolate smeared on her face.
Luna couldn’t help but laugh when she looked down at herself. “That was the best thing I have ever tasted. Cake isn’t bad either.”
“You like the famous Beltrán torta de diablo then?”
“Devil’s cake? I believe that. How am I supposed to go home covered in cake?”
“You don’t have to,” his deep voice said, and he brought his mouth to the smudge of cake on her throat. Her kissed her skin, and gently licked some of the chocolate icing from her body. A burning feeling shot through him when she sighed, letting his lips and his hands become lost on her. Maybe it was that they didn’t know each other, or that they, in fact, knew quite a few private details about each other, neither of them knew. There was an unquestionable attraction between them. He didn’t just want her, he wanted to know her, and talk to her, touch her, listen to her, to watch her, and none of it made any sense. Maybe that was the best part. They were a secret from the world, and none of it needed to make sense.
“Cayetano,” Luna muttered. She had her fingers in his hair as his lips trailed down her body. His fingers were nimble in undoing the third button on her blouse. She knew that she needed to make him stop. The night she had met him, she had felt awoken for the first time in years, and today had the same effect. After a private adult life, to act like this with a stranger also brought out the worst emotion – guilt. “Cayetano,” she stuttered again. “I have to go.”
Cayetano brought his eyes to her, not worried in the least that his face was covered in chocolate. “You don’t,” he purred.
“I do. I’m not proud of what I did the other week, and… I don’t even know why I’m here…”
“Give me one reason why what we’re doing is wrong. Tell me that you don’t feel what is going on here.”
“I’m not ready to see anyone,” Luna said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I want.”
Cayetano sat back on his stool. He couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t convince her, and he couldn’t persuade her. “Okay. I understand.” In all reality, it was moving at a lightning pace for him. The pain that María had caused was still pretty fresh in his mind, and while one-night stands might be able to block it out for a moment, this was not the same. “What if I just suggested we wipe up the cake and you stay in the city, and we go out for lunch?”
“I need to go home to Valencia.”
“Why?”
“I want to see my children. I don’t like leaving them.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.” Cayetano got up awkwardly from his seat. He wet a cloth under the tap over the sink. “Who has them now?”
“Darren does.”
“And Darren is only your friend?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Cayetano gently wiped her neck with the cloth, and the smudge
of licked chocolate icing came off her pale skin. She let him rub her neck and chest, before he wiped her cheeks clean. Her young, fresh face enchanted him, and he didn’t realise that he was staring. He put the cloth down on the counter and gently pulled her to him again, to give her a deep and tender kiss, to which she returned. They just had to go slow with one another. Pleasure was as fragile as glass, she had said. Her heart seemed just as fragile, so much so that he was worried he would break it when he touched her. “If I let you go, will you promise me that you will go out with me again?”
“What about your leg, don’t you need to recuperate?” she asked, her arms around his waist, her body tucked up into his.
“I would cut the bloody thing off for you,” he said through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to admit it, but the pain in his leg beat the desire he had for the woman in his arms. He would love to sever the entire limb to avoid the pain and take her to bed.
“I can see that you’re in pain,” she said while he wiped the cake from her face again. “You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“I won’t be injured much longer. When are you coming to Madrid again?”
“I have no need to come back at all. I think I need to go to Cuenca instead. But kids, work… who knows…”
“My father’s family is from Cuenca, but I’ve never been there. What about next weekend? We could both go, and I can be your assistant and translator.”
“Hablo español.”
“I know you speak Spanish, very well. But maybe I can help you anyway?”
“Maybe.”
“Bring the children along. I love children! We will have a great time.”
Introduce him to the kids? She barely knew him. Darren would be away in the coming weeks, to coach some riders during the Vuelta a España, but she wanted to go to Cuenca now. “Maybe.”
“My heart can wait on a maybe.”
“I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier at the Registro Civil.”
“It’s all forgiven. Go home to your children.”
“Thank you for the cake,” she joked. “It’s my favourite flavour.”
“What a coincidence, I’m really enjoying the taste myself.”
6
Madrid, España ~ Septiembre de 2009
“It’s looking good,” the physiotherapist said to Cayetano. “Another week or so and I think you will start to see some improvement. Have you been doing your exercises?”
“Of course he has,” Paco grumbled from his seat across the small doctor’s office.
Cayetano sighed, and nodded to the kind woman who assessed his thigh muscles to see if he could have his stitches removed. He had been coming to twice-weekly appointments at the private clinic in the hope that the staff could help him regain some strength in his leg. His father had to come to every appointment with him. He had to answer every question on his behalf. Paco was a strong man for his age, and not just physically. He was 70 years old, yet his jet-black hair and strong, demanding attitude had not at all diminished with age. Paco may have been too old to enter the bullring on a competitive level, but that did not stop him from forcing his only son into the spotlight. Cayetano was an asset that needed protecting.
“Gracias,” Cayetano said to the young woman. He didn’t even pretend that he didn’t enjoy her soft, supple hands rubbing his bare thigh. Not only did it ease the pain, it distracted him from the thoughts of a certain woman in Valencia that had followed him wherever he went.
“When can he start back at the gym?” Paco asked her as Cayetano carefully got off the massage table and pulled on his trousers. “Cayetano needs to be back in the bullring as soon as possible.”
“You should consult your doctor about that on your next visit,” she said. “You were very lucky that the main artery was missed during your accident, Cayetano. So you shouldn’t worry that you can’t go back to your training. Your leg needs to rest.”
“This isn’t a game,” Paco snapped. “We have his public and his sponsors to consider.”
And male pride to repair. Paco had been ashamed of his son taking a fall in public like that. Cayetano knew that fact. The famous Paco Beltrán Caño had never fallen in the bullring, and neither had his prodigy. Until now. Cayetano’s first major injury had been in training and Paco had been grateful that no one had seen it. “I appreciate all your help,” Cayetano said to the therapist. “I will come on my own next week,” he whispered and winked at her, and she smiled. Not many people could deal with the attitude that Paco carried with him.
The two men left the quiet clinic and stepped out of its air-conditioned comfort and onto the street where the heat of the September day wafted over them. Cayetano had to be careful every time he took a step with his black cane; the cobbled path was very uneven, and he didn’t need a repeat of the fall at the Registro Civil last week. “Papá, you don’t need to watch me. My treatment is fine.”
“I care, Caya,” Paco said without a glance at his son. “It’s important we get you the best treatment.”
“I’m getting good care, Papá. I’m 40 years old. I can look after my own treatment.”
“You wouldn’t have fallen in the ring if you could look after yourself.”
Cayetano gritted his teeth. There was no sense in arguing. “Should we go for a walk in the park?” he suggested. “Give me a chance to use my leg.”
Paco raised his eyebrows. “Certainly. That’s a good idea. I’m glad you are ready to push your recovery.”
Cayetano rolled his eyes as the men crossed the quiet, narrow street. He could rely on his mother for support, but all he was ever likely to get from his father was pressure. They stepped into El Retiro park, and wandered down the smooth and empty pathway, covered from the sun by overhanging trees. The whole park was unusually green despite a dry summer.
“I walked through here a few weeks ago,” Cayetano said casually. “I met a woman.”
“Was that the one that Raul said you saved from the bag-snatcher when you were at the bar?”
“I didn’t save her. She was pretty tough on her own. She fought the guy, but he punched her in the face.”
“Disgusting. Raul said she was very beautiful.”
“She was. She came to Madrid to find her grandfather.”
“Did she find him?”
“No, he died in the civil war, and she can’t find any records.”
“Some things don’t need to be discovered,” Paco said in a grave tone.
“It’s important to her. Very important. She wants to know where she comes from.”
“You speak as if you had quite a conversation with this girl.”
“She told me that I have very good English.”
“She is not Spanish?”
“No, she is from New Zealand, but lives in Valencia now and speaks Spanish. Her grandfather was Spanish, but not her grandmother.”
“Nueva Zelanda? I knew of a woman that came from there. She was a wicked woman.”
“Something you would like to tell me, Papá?”
“No, no,” the old man smiled. “I loved your mother from the first moment I saw her. This woman was with someone else. But she was trouble.”
“Mamá has told me the story of you falling in love with her on the same day you met. I thought perhaps she was just saying it… you know women…”
Paco chuckled. “No, your Mamá is right. She had come to the bullring with her father one day while I was training, and that was it. As soon as I looked over at her, I knew she would be my wife. I just knew it.”
The conversation stalled for a moment as a young woman came towards them, out for an afternoon run. She gave Cayetano a wave with a cheeky smile, and he waved back when she went past them. He looked back over his shoulder to see the woman check him out.
“I see that the cane doesn’t put the ladies off my son,” Paco said, and glanced over his shoulder at the young blonde who then disappeared around a corner.
“Just lookin
g, Papá. I’m not interested.”
“I never thought I would hear that from you.”
Cayetano just shrugged. He had already forgotten the girl. “Papá, why have you never told me about your parents?”
“There’s nothing to know. They died a long time ago. You have your mother’s parents who have loved you since you were born. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”
“But you were born in Cuenca?”
“Why all the questions, Cayetano?” Paco snapped. “Just because this girl you met wants to find her family, it doesn’t mean you need to go digging up your own.”
“I… just wondered, that’s all.”
“Wondered about things which have no importance just because of some girl you spoke to?”
“Her name is Luna, not some girl.”
The two men walked in silence for a minute. Cayetano set the pace on his cane. “Your grandmother’s name was Luna.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Luna Beltrán Caño. She was the most beautiful woman. She had long curly black hair. I guess that is where you and Sofía got your curly hair from.”
Cayetano smiled while Paco spoke. He couldn’t imagine what could possibly make his father want to keep his life a secret for over 40 years.
Paco sighed. “My father died when I was very young. Mamá told me that he had been sick for a while, but she never wanted to talk about it. She raised me on her own until she died in 1960.”
“You were already fighting in the bullring by then.”
“Sí. She always told me that my father loved bullfighting, but never had the chance to try it for himself.”
“I never knew that,” Cayetano said. “Even after all this time.”
“I didn’t want you to be a torero just because I was, Cayetano.”
“Why would you not tell me that?”
“Because it doesn’t matter. My mother asked me to stay quiet on the subject of my father. None of this is anyone’s business!”
“Papá, don’t yell at me,” Cayetano said, trying to calm his father. “I was just curious, that’s all. You have that chest that sits in your office, and it’s locked. I know it’s full of things you had before you met Mamá. You act as if your parents were murderers, and yet you tell me family and tradition are the most important things.”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 7