Then a slow song came on, like a fucking high school dance, and drunken Beatriz went and asked Mateo to dance with her. And just like in high school, I felt a sickening bout of jealously as Mateo said yes and they were the first ones out on the floor, her sleek, honeyed limbs wrapped around his. It was all very innocent but it didn’t stop me from feeling drunkenly outraged.
People were cheering, and to save face, I had to cheer too. Soon, everyone was slow dancing and, again, just as in high school, I found myself gravitating toward a back-up plan. I grabbed Dave, took him out into the middle of the floor and wrapped my hands around his skinny waist.
The last thing I remembered was going outside with Dave to have a cigarette and…and…
I kissed him. The image flashed in my head, the feeling of his lips on mine, the taste of tar and nicotine, my hands stuck in his greasy hair.
I’d fucking kissed a guy and on my first day of the program.
I grimaced at the memory. It wasn’t that Dave was a bad kisser or that I didn’t like him, but we were both drunk and anytime I did something drunk that I probably wouldn’t do when I was sober, I felt uneasy and a bit ashamed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, usually when I slept with guys I was sober—and horny as hell. But there have always been a few situations where I should have had a clearer head.
In this case, I couldn’t really remember how the night ended, how we parted, if anyone invited anyone else back to their room and why that didn’t end up happening. It ended at us making out but not having sex and I wasn’t sure why. Bravo to me if I chose celibacy for the night. I was also unsure of how to approach Dave when I saw him and I didn’t know if anyone else had seen us or how fast gossip traveled around a place like this.
Ugh.
I wanted to sit in that shower all day long, but eventually I found the will to get to my feet and work shampoo into my hair. After I let the conditioner sit for ten minutes, remembering the strawberry blonde color was fragile (my natural color was dark blonde), I rinsed and got out. I could barely look at myself in the mirror. Not only was my reflection moving from the spins, but I looked absolutely wretched.
With a deep sigh, I brought out my arsenal of make-up and went after my face with a heavy hand. Going overboard was the only way out of this. If I didn’t look like myself, that was good.
I’d just managed to put on a single coat of mascara when there was a knock at the door. I staggered over to it and opened it to see Becca standing on the other side. For some reason she looked as fresh as a daisy with her bright eyes and cute red hair. I wanted to punch her.
“You don’t remember inviting me, do you?” she asked cautiously, an impish smile on her lips.
I looked down at myself. I was just wearing a thin Banksy t-shirt and boy shorts. Whoops.
I raised my finger. “Uh, just a minute.”
I quickly ran back to my room and threw on the same skinny jeans and boots as yesterday and an aqua tank top that was probably too boobilicious but what the fuck ever, it was better than a see-through shirt. I gathered my hair back into a top knot, plucked up my purse and ran back over to her. Sara was nowhere to be in seen and I wondered if she had left already. Perhaps she was also suffering from the mother of all hangovers. I recalled her doing shots of tequila with Angel.
Becca, on the other hand, was annoyingly bushy-tailed.
“Hi,” I said to her. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m surprised you’re awake,” she said in her lilting accent. “I was hesitant to come by.”
I groaned internally, feeling a wash of shame. “I was pretty drunk last night, wasn’t I?” I asked as I stepped outside and closed the door. Better to bite the bullet and get it over with.
It was chilly outside and my skin erupted into goosebumps. I embraced it. It slapped some sense into my foggy head.
“Oh you were fine,” she said. “Granted, I don’t know you but you didn’t make a fool of yourself, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve seen a lot of these first night parties, well, three so far, and I know what to expect now. Last night was fairly tame compared to others.” She studied me. “You did tell me though, after you stopped sucking Davey’s face, that you wanted to talk to me about my experience with the program.”
Oh, busted. I shot her a sheepish look. “So you saw that. Did anyone else?”
She shook her head. “I was heading home to my flat and happened upon you two outside. I didn’t want to interrupt but you saw me and left Davey with an acute case of blue balls. I said I’d come by and get you in the morning, before breakfast. So, here I am.”
I massaged the heel of my palm into my forehead. I couldn’t remember why I had wanted to talk to Becca last night, while I was so-called “sucking face” but I did know that sober me wanted to know more about her time in the program. God, every time I heard that word—the program—I started thinking I was in some sci-fi dystopian book.
It was still early, so we grabbed some cheap cappuccinos to go from the vending machine in reception and went for a walk down the hill toward the country road. Now the sun was higher and the birds were chirping. A dog barked from behind a neighboring stone house.
“So, why have you come back here three times?” I asked her as we leaned against a low wall and watched a few black hogs root around for acorns in their pen across the street. “I can’t believe I even got through the first day.”
“It is exhausting,” she said before taking a sip of her drink. She had very long pale eyelashes that contrasted with her striking storm-colored eyes. “But you’ll get used to it. My first time, I only did a week. This was back when the program was just starting and they weren’t sure if it was going to be a success or not.” She looked at me in earnest. “It was seriously the best week of my life. I’d bonded with everyone—Anglos and Spaniards—like they were my long lost family. Have you ever been to a camp as a child and bonded so well with your mates that you never wanted to leave?”
I shook my head. I had wanted to go to this riding camp that had haflinger ponies when I was young but my parents said they couldn’t afford it. The truth was, I just wanted to get away from their fighting, but having my own pony for a week would have been the icing on the cake.
“Neither had I,” she said with a smile. “But I imagine that’s what it’s like. I made amazing friends during that time, people I am still close with. I…” she looked down at her coffee cup like it was fascinating, “I even fell in love.”
In a week? I nearly laughed until I studied her elf-like face. Oh, she was serious.
She shot me a sideways glance. “I know what you’re thinking, but this place will change you and change the way you think. For someone like me—I’m an only child to a single mum—this made me feel like I belonged.”
“So you fell in love,” I mused. “With who? Are you still…together?”
She laughed. “Oh, heavens, no. This place will make you bond but in the end, it’s never really to be. It’s rare to meet someone that’s from around where you live. The man I fell in love with was from New Zealand. When our week was up, I went back to Edinburgh and he went back to Auckland. Nothing we could do about it. We still keep in touch, through Facebook. He had a girlfriend for a while. I miss him and in some ways, I think we’ve grown closer. But that’s life.”
She chewed on her rosy lips. “Anyhoo, all is well that ends well. I signed up for two weeks the next year. Fell in love all over again.”
“New guy?” I asked, surprised at this soft-spoken girl.
“A Spaniard this time,” she said. A dreamy look passed over her eyes for a split second. It was enough to make me smile. “His name was Xavier, he was from a town called Tarragona. He had a girlfriend but…she was forgotten fairly soon.” She caught the frown on my face. “I know, that sounds callous. But this place does things to you. Believe me, you’ve already been caught up in it.”
Mateo? I thought for a moment. No, she meant Dave. Of course.
She went on, “You’ll see.
End of this week, you’ll learn who has hooked up with who. It’s like…you isolate a bunch of adults in the middle of the Spanish countryside and all the rules get thrown out the window.”
I finished my coffee down. For some reason the conversation was making me uncomfortable. “Sounds like it gets messy.”
She nodded slowly. “It can. But most people try and protect their hearts. I think that’s only natural. No one expects anything when they come to one of these places and if they do, they learn from it. I know I did after Blair—that was my Kiwi love. Xavi was just for fun. And this time? Well, I don’t know. After everything I’ve said, I don’t actually come here to find love. It just happens.”
“Why do you come here?”
She turned so the sun was at her back and her face gazed at me through shadow. “To belong.” She looked back to the crest of the hill. “Shall we head back? Don’t want to miss breakfast. That’s one thing I’ve learned as well. Always eat as much as you can. You’ll need your strength. And drink lots of water. And when all else fails, talk about music. Everyone loves to talk about music.”
I kept that—and everything else she’d said—in mind as we walked back up the hill.
Chapter 7
Misery loves company.
To my pleasant surprise, almost every other person at Las Palabras was hungover. If this was what belonging felt like, then I was feeling it full-throttle.
Becca and I had sat down at a table with a green-looking Angel and a quiet Eduardo. It was Becca’s choice of tables and the more I watched her over breakfast and her interactions with Eduardo, the more I started to get an idea that she was setting her fairy dust on him.
I saw Mateo come in but he barely acknowledged me before going to sit with Beatriz, Polly and some bearded man called Skip. I wondered if Mateo was hungover too—if he was, he was making it work for him. He hadn’t shaved again, so the stubble was rough and dark and, combined with his tousled, messy hair, it made me want to do bad things to him. He was wearing another suit—a light grey one this time that complimented his dark skin. I wondered if all he had packed was suits. Surely he knew that this place would have been more casual than that.
I heard Becca clear her throat from beside me. I looked up in time to see Dave entering. He saw me and broke into a crooked grin which then quickly evolved into the casual head nod. Typical.
When breakfast was over and I was managing to keep the fruit I had consumed down (no way was a meal of meat and cheese going to cut it) I took a look at my schedule for the day. My first one-on-one was with Mateo. I barely looked at the rest. My smile could have broken my face in two.
I waited in reception by checking my emails, while Mateo finished up his breakfast. Jocelyn hadn’t sent me anything yet but Josh did. It was short and sweet. He was glad I was having fun. He’d just drawn something that he thought was good enough to enter into a contest (he’s an illustrator, like, an awesome one, and hopes to illustrate a graphic novel or comic book one day) and he said it’s been hard with me gone, mainly because our mother has taken to harassing him twenty-four seven about getting a better job than the line order cook one he already has.
I sighed, feeling bad for Josh. Ever since Mercy moved out and got engaged to her self-righteous prick of a fiancé, Charles (but you have to say it with a nasally English accent), my mother has been focusing her efforts on me and Josh. The thing is, housing prices and rent is so expensive in Vancouver that both Josh and I have nowhere to go but home. Part of me always entertained the idea of Josh and I moving out together, but since I’m a student with a shitty part-time job, that idea never gets very far.
“Who is Josh?”
I spun around in my seat to see Mateo standing behind me, scrutinizing my computer screen. Thank god I hadn’t written anything to my brother about him.
“He’s my brother,” I said quickly, heart racing and head still thumping. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden?
“Did you say anything nice about me?” he asked.
What? I frowned.
He shook his head, the grin spreading across his face. “I am just making fun. Come, let’s go talk. Where do you want to do it?”
Um, on the floor, against the sink, in the bed?
I shrugged and got out of my seat. “It doesn’t matter. Somewhere quiet. And with access to water. Or a toilet in case I vomit.”
Smooth, Vera, real smooth.
“You don’t feel so well also?” he asked. He put his hand on my lower back and gently guided me out of the room. It was crazy, the heat I felt from that, imagined or not. I never wanted him to take his hand away.
He took me back outside and pointed to two wicker chairs in the shade of the building. “How about here?”
We weren’t the only ones outside. Lauren and Sara were on the other side of the patio, trying to have a conversation. I smiled at Sara—she also looked worse for wear—but avoided Lauren’s eyes. I knew they wouldn’t be friendly.
I collapsed into a chair, nestling in the cushions and trying to get in a comfortable position without the wicker imprinting lines on my face. Mateo did the opposite. He sat down, legs splayed, arms resting on the sides, the picture of total elegance. He stared at me, eyes lazy and subdued, like he was panther sizing up his prey.
I hadn’t been anyone’s prey in a long time. And, despite how my body felt about it, it wouldn’t be a good time to start.
I cleared my throat. “So.”
“So,” he said right back, still staring. “Did you have fun last night?”
I nodded, wondering how much he knew. “Too much fun, maybe.”
“I didn’t see you leave,” he said.
Good.
“Though, I heard you did,” he added.
Shit.
I didn’t bother looking at him. Instead I brought out my sunglasses from my bag and slipped them on. Ah, much better. The world was less bright and headache-inducing and Mateo couldn’t see my eyes.
When I didn’t say anything he said, “You should have come say goodbye.”
“You looked busy,” I said, a little too quickly. “Dancing.”
“That was nothing. You should have seen me dancing like Justin Timberlake.”
I gave him a look he couldn’t see.
He gave me a shit-eating grin. “That’s what I assume I look like when I dance. I could be wrong.”
“I had too much grappa,” I managed to say. “What about you?”
“Even a little bit is too much but perhaps that is why we drink it. Perhaps this is why I think I dance like Justin Timberlake.”
This Mateo was like all Mateos—unflappable, calm and smooth. In charge of the ride. But for a moment I remembered the Mateo on the phone yesterday, the business man who freaked out because he didn’t know what he was doing—in either language. That Mateo intrigued me more than most.
I wondered how to start pulling on the threads.
“So, what shall we discuss,” I said.
He smiled. “We’re already discussing. There is no script here. Let us just talk.”
“Okay,” I said. He was right, of course. When you were with someone you liked during your one-on-ones, it was different. You were just hanging out. It was kind of genius when you think of it. I wondered if that’s why Jerry had the drunken party on the first night, so that people would break down the language barriers and get comfortable with each other.
“Vera,” Mateo said. “Tell me, hour by the hour, what you did Tuesday last week.”
I straightened up slightly in surprise. “Last Tuesday? Why?”
“It is one of my twenty questions.”
“I was in London…”
“How long were you in London for?”
“I think that’s more than one question.”
“Do not be so literal,” he chided me. “Tell me about the last Tuesday when you were at home, in Vancouver. Tell me about that day.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, “
I want to know what the average day of Vera Miles is like.”
“Well, it won’t be that average because I wasn’t in school.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He was persistent, I’ll give him that.
I wracked my brain, trying to think back. I left on the Thursday, so what was I doing on Tuesday?
“I got up,” I said. Good start.
“Where did you get up?”
“In my bed?”
“Who do you live with?”
I raised a brow. I was getting good at that. “Is this question an excuse to ask other questions?”
He only smiled. “Go on.”
I sighed and tried to get comfortable again. I closed my eyes and ran through that day. “I live with my brother and my mom. I woke up, around my usual time when I’m not at school. Like, ten am.”
“That is quiet late, no?”
“I like to sleep in.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I got up at ten and then I made myself breakfast…and then I did some research online about London, last minute shit.”
“You took a last minute shit?”
I burst out laughing. “No!” I yelled at him. “Sorry. I should stop swearing and using slang, it’s getting confusing.”
“I like it when you swear.”
“Well, it doesn’t do me any favors when you get it confused with the literal sense.”
He stroked his chin in mock contemplation. I could hear the roughness of his beard on his fingers. “So, when you say things like ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck you’, you aren’t really wanted to be fucked or to fuck another?”
My god, the word fuck sounded so beautifully dirty coming from his mouth, especially when he pronounced with such soft emphasis.
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