“What do we do now?” I asked, looking at him again.
He gave me a sad smile and a subtle shake of his head. “I do not know. In the past, I have gotten mad at the publications. You know, when I was young and doing stupid things that I would never do again. But it never got me anywhere and I am not sure it will now. I can try.”
I shook my head, knowing that fighting the tabloids was always useless unless it was something extremely slanderous. The magazine was not presenting anything as fact—just speculation—so there was nothing illegal about it.
He exhaled, long and hard. “I guess the only thing we can do is wait.”
“You could tell Isabel,” I said. “Before someone else tells her.”
He winced. “Yes. But there is that chance that perhaps she won’t find out at all.”
I gave him a look. “Really? If that’s what you believe, then you’re going to be in for a rude awakening.”
“I don’t know what I think,” he said. “Let’s just see what happens tomorrow. We have the party. I will tell her after that.”
“Oh god, the party,” I cried out. “What will they all say?”
He squeezed my hand. “Vera, please, they will say nothing, and if they do, it won’t be anything bad. These people were all there, they all know. They have their own battles to fight.”
I leaned back onto the couch, utterly exhausted. This kind of shit served me right, especially after such a fun and frivolous trip as Barcelona. We had pushed our luck and we didn’t care because we just wanted to be with each other. But the truth always has a way of getting out.
And now we were still together, but having to deal with the truth: that our love affair wasn’t as pure as we wanted to believe. That good intentions meant nothing. That we chose each other despite the consequences and now they were ours to pay.
That night we lay in bed together. We didn’t make love, we just held on to each other in the dark, wrapped in our bodies and the madness of our own minds.
“Remember what I asked of you,” he murmured in my ear as we were drifting off to sleep.
“Hmmm?”
“Promise me you won’t give up on us.”
I won’t, I said, though not out loud. I was too afraid to say it, in case it didn’t end up being true.
The next morning we hadn’t heard much about the scandal. There were no phone calls from Isabel or anyone disgruntled. A part of me thought that maybe we were going to sneak out of this one, that everything was going to be okay. The other part of me thought that the net was just waiting to drop, preferably when we were relaxed and unaware.
I never wanted to let my guard down. The whole day I was a nervous wreck, shopping for party supplies and the menu and expecting the ball to drop at any moment.
And it did—just not in the way I expected.
I was making the appetizers—things I knew how to make like bacon-wrapped scallops and goat cheese flatbreads—and Mateo had jetted out to pick up the alcohol from the store, when my cell rang. Again, it was Claudia.
“Please don’t tell me you’re cancelling,” I said as I answered. “Because I cannot handle this alone!”
“I’m not cancelling,” she quickly assured me. “Ricardo and I will be there in an hour to help. I just…”
“Oh Lord, what now?”
“They know your name.”
My heart froze. “What do you mean they know my name?” I asked slowly. “Who is they?”
“They,” she said. “The magazine, Diez Minutos, they know your name. It is online now with the pictures.”
“What?!” I roared into the phone, seconds away from having a coronary. I shoved the tray into the oven and ran over to the laptop, frantically going to the page, which I had bookmarked.
“Did you talk to the press?” she asked me as I clicked along.
“No,” I said, my chest feeling heavier than lead, my breathing shortened and painful. I pulled up the page and scrolled down to the description. Now it said, “With a Canadian woman, Vera, whom Casalles had met at an English language program this June. This young woman, who is said to be in her early twenties, is rumored to live with Casalles in an apartment in the Salamanca barrio.”
“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” I gasped, my hand curling into a fist over the phone. “How the fuck did they figure this out?”
“Someone must have told them.”
“But who? Someone from Las Palabras?” My paranoid mind began scrolling through everyone, from the guests who were coming over, to Lauren. But everyone had liked us, and Lauren, as much of a bicycle as she was, wasn’t in Spain as far as I knew.
“I don’t know,” Claudia said. “I wouldn’t think so.”
I thought back to the only other person who knew, the woman who heard us doing it in the washroom stall when Mateo got all jealous over that guy. Sonia.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I told Claudia, and then hung up, immediately ringing Mateo’s phone.
“Did you forget something?” he asked as he answered. “I just left the store.”
“What did you tell that Sonia woman?” I asked through grinding teeth.
“What?”
“The woman, your old friend, the one who caught us fucking in the bathroom. I went outside and you talked to her. What did you tell her about us?”
He paused and I could almost hear his mind racing. “I only…wait, why?”
“Just tell me!”
He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
“Did you tell her my name?”
“I introduced you as Vera, remember?”
“Did you tell her where we met? Where I was from?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Mateo!”
“Don’t fucking scream at me,” he sniped.
Don’t fucking tell me not to fucking scream at you, I wanted to yell back. It took a lot out of me to hold it in. “She told the magazine about us,” I seethed.
A pause. “How do you mean?”
“Well, come home and I’ll show you. But the photos, they now have my name and where you met me. And that I live with you now in Madrid, in the Salamanca neighbourhood. Did you tell her all of that?”
There was silence. I could hear him breathing hard, his footsteps through the phone. Finally he said, “Yes, I did.”
“Mateo!”
“Listen, Vera. I do not like it when you use that tone, all right? You know I have never done anything to hurt you, not on purpose. How am I supposed to know that Sonia would take useless bits of information and report them to the magazine?”
“Didn’t you know what kind of person she was?”
“I didn’t think—”
“No, you didn’t think,” I retorted. “That keeps on being your excuse. That you didn’t think. Well start fucking thinking.”
And then I hung up, my heart in my throat, my gut coated with despair. I had never yelled at him like that before, never hung up on him. Even during our heated arguments over the phone, when the long distance aspect of our relationship was really getting to us, I had never hung up on him.
Luckily, he’d be in the house at any moment and I could immediately apologize to his face. I sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed my hands on my dress, so fucking sick I felt like I was going to vomit.
The door opened and Mateo came in, carrying a canvas bag full of liquor. He kicked it shut, and that’s when I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He was in a bad mood now and I feared that I wouldn’t have a partner in this battle. I couldn’t handle this alone.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately said to him as he put the bag on the counter. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and I’m sorry I hung up on you.”
He plunked his elbows down on the counter and leaned over, running his hands through his hair in anger before burying his face in his palms. I watched him with bated breath, unsure of what he was going to say or do. When he still didn’t move, I started to get really worried. Maybe I pushed him, pushed us, too far. I knew that this, th
at everything, was either both of our faults or neither of our faults, but no matter what we were in it together.
I got up and walked carefully over to him. I gently placed my hand on his lower back as if he were made of glass.
“Mateo,” I whispered.
He nodded, then suddenly stood up and pulled me into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around my back. I felt my whole body give into his, too exhausted to even stand. I relished the feeling of his warmth, his strength, his support. It felt like I was given a tiny piece of relief, an anchor to prepare for the oncoming storm.
“Please do not fight me,” he said into my hair, kissing the top of my head. “Please do not get angry. I am angry too, enough for the both of us. I am more scared than you. But I cannot take it out on you because you did not ask for this. Please don’t take it out on me. I need you with me, not apart.”
I nodded, feeling tears pricking at my eyes. I managed to keep them inside, on the other side of the dam. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. And I am sorry that Sonia went and told the magazine. Sometimes you don’t really know a person, though I should have figured and that was my mistake. All I can tell you is,” he pulled back and peered down at my face, “more mistakes will be made. I don’t know what I am doing, but I will do everything in my power to keep my daughter and to keep you.”
And what happens if it comes time to choose between me and her? I thought. But of course I knew the answer to that.
I’d like to say that our spirits picked up for the party, but they didn’t. Not until Claudia and Ricardo showed up with even more bottles of wine, which in turn got Mateo and I buzzed in a hurry. I did what I could to put on my party face, ignoring that weight on my back.
Though we invited every local person that was at Las Palabras and all of them had RSVPed, not all of them showed up. It reminded me of the one time I threw a party in high school and only a handful of the guests actually came. Luckily, Mateo told me to not take it personally—people were notorious when it came to being flakes, always promising to be places and then never following through.
The first to arrive was Lucia and the infamous Carlos, even though they hadn’t been at the program. Lucia seemed a little tipsy, her cheeks dark red and she was constantly giggling. Carlos seemed to be an all right guy, in his early thirties and a bit stuck-up. Not at all whom I thought Lucia would be with. But he seemed nice enough, even though Mateo would not stop giving him the stink-eye, sizing him up like he was debating tossing him out of the party or not. His brotherly love made me love him a little more.
After Lucia and Carlos came Jerry, Angel, and his equally timid date, Patricia. It was so nice to see them again that I almost started crying. It didn’t matter that Jerry was still a huge overenthusiastic dork or that geeky Angel forgot all his English, just having them there was like opening a door to another life, flooding me with shiny, sunny memories.
Soon Antonio came, still cute and portly with his bushy mustache and a joke for everything, then Manuel with his rocker look, gentle Nerea (now with bright pink hair), and pervy Eduardo. Lucia and Carlos seemed to get along with everyone too, with Carlos and Antonio talking about business and the rest of us just drinking and eating and reminiscing about the old times. More than once I caught myself getting teary-eyed over shit, especially when the alcohol started getting to everyone. The damn Spaniards and their emotions—it was hard not to be affected when everyone else was so obviously missing what we had back at Las Palabras.
At some point though, Lucia, since she wasn’t affected by the Las Palabras effect, put on some dance music. Then the party went from brooding and emotional to happy and drunk. I danced in an Eduardo and Angel sandwich that Mateo pretended not to care about, but I still knew he was watching carefully, making sure Eduardo didn’t try any “Sex Pest” moves.
“Do you still talk to Polly?” I asked him, whipping my hair around.
He shook his head, looking a bit sad. “Not really. On Facebook, yes. More or less. But we are not…together. Not like you and Mateo are.”
“Mateo is lucky,” Angel said from behind me as my hair unceremoniously whacked him in the face.
“Well, I am lucky too,” I said.
“Si,” Eduardo said, “because now you live in Spain with the rest of us. How you like it here?”
“It’s great,” I said, and for the first time, I noticed my smile was a little forced as I said that. “Madrid is a wonderful city,” I added, so it wouldn’t seem like a lie.
Eduardo nodded, seemingly happy with that answer, and we went on dancing again until Patricia pulled Angel away and I needed a break. I went straight over to Mateo, who was leaning against the wall and nursing a glass of scotch. He seemed distant from everyone else.
I wrapped my hands around his taut stomach and pulled myself to him. He smiled down at me and gave me a soft kiss.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I was about to ask you the same.”
He nodded at the others who were still dancing. “You’re a good dancer.”
“Not as good as you. Remember? At Las Palabras, you said you danced like Justin Timberlake.”
He chuckled. “I was only trying to impress you.”
“Well, you know that it worked.”
His face fell slightly. “But will it continue to work?”
I felt like a tiny hole was being drilled into my core, making me wince inwardly. The tiniest bit of pain trickled through. “Of course,” I told him adamantly. I gripped the sides of his shirt, afraid that if I didn’t, I’d lose us to the undertow of reality.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” Lucia said, grabbing her cardigan and brushing past us. She gave Mateo a withering look. “Since my brother doesn’t let us smoke in here.”
“I’ll go with you,” Claudia said, and the two of them left the room.
I wanted to hang on to Mateo, to keep us in this private little world but eventually Jerry came over and started chatting with him about football. It was amazing that no one at the party had mentioned the magazine, which gave me hope that perhaps it wasn’t going to be as bad of an outcome as we had been anticipating. I mean, maybe no one over thirty really paid attention to that shit.
Then my phone rang. I was really starting to regret answering it.
I went over to the counter and picked it up. It was Claudia. What the hell? She’d just left.
“Yeah?” I answered, figuring maybe they were too drunk to figure out the buzzer. “What?”
“Vera,” she whispered harshly into the phone. I could hear Spanish yelling in the background. “Get Mateo on the phone!”
I automatically put my hand to my chest. “Why? What’s going on?”
“She’s here,” Claudia said frantically. “Isabel is outside your apartment. And she’s angry. She’s very, very angry.”
Chapter 27
My hand gripped the phone tight. I swallowed painfully. “What?” I whispered, barely able to speak or breathe. The yelling continued and now I could make out Lucia’s voice, yelling back at someone. No, not someone.
At Isabel.
At Mrs. Casalles.
Oh, fuck.
I looked over at Mateo and waved him over. He was already halfway to me, having observed the phone call from across the room.
“What is it?” he said, his eyes searching mine.
“Isabel,” I managed to choke out. “She is downstairs fighting with your sister.”
His eyes widened. He nodded. “Stay here.”
Then he left the apartment.
I felt frozen in place, just staring at the door as it closed behind him. I picked up the phone. “He’s coming.” I hung up and looked behind me at the party. They were having a blast, dancing up a storm, totally oblivious to what was happening outside. And as much as I wanted to kick everyone out and tell them the party was most definitely over, I couldn’t because I would be kicking them right into the dirty little reality of my life.
My stomach churned. I
was going to be sick.
With my hand to my mouth I ran over to the bathroom and promptly threw up all the red wine and half-digested flatbreads. I stood over the toilet, trying to catch my breath, to make the sickness go away.
Isabel was here.
She knew.
I threw up again until I heard a knock at the door and Claudia’s voice. “Vera?”
I flushed the toilet, rinsed out my mouth, and sprinkled cold water on my face while taking in the deepest breath possible. I held it until I was nearly blue then let it out.
I was going to have to get through this.
I opened the door and peered at her. “Wasn’t feeling well,” I tried to explain, in case anyone was within earshot.
She immediately hugged me. “Well, it is not going well,” she whispered into my ear.
I bit lip my lip. Hard. “What’s going on?”
Her big brown eyes creased with sympathy. “She won’t leave. She’s in the lobby now because she was making a scene on the street. Lucia is still down there. She’s making things worse. His sister is really…feisty.”
“She knows about the magazine…”
“Yes, she knows.”
“Fuck.”
“Yes, fuck.”
“How is Mateo…handling it?”
“Barely. That man has a lot of restraint.”
I nodded, knowing all too well. “I should go down there.”
Claudia eyed me like I’d gone batshit insane. Maybe I had.
“No, you should not,” she said sternly. “Stay here and Mateo will handle it.”
“But it’s not his problem alone.”
She grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly. “Vera, you were not married to her, okay? You do not owe this woman anything. Oh, and in case you didn’t understand my English, she is crazy.”
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