Love, in English

by Karina Halle

  From the looks of everyone else, their smiles on their lips but the sentimental sadness in their eyes, I knew they felt the same. This was one of the last nights to just enjoy each other before we all had to say goodbye.

  I felt like I needed to start with the man next to me. We were sitting close to each, closer than we normally did at Las Palabras, and I could feel the heat coming off of him in the damp chill of the underground. Though we made conversation with everyone, whenever I had a chance I was looking at him, talking to him, soaking up his face like I’d never see it again.

  I was also drinking quite a bit. Instead of Heineken, this place had Colombian beer—Aguila—which tasted like a rainbow. Mateo laughed when I told him that, telling me it tasted like piss and that my taste buds had been compromised. Then we moved on to the wine, which the ever-so-picky Mateo admitted was a million times better than the wine we’d been drinking all month long back at the resort.

  I couldn’t tell you how many times I wanted to do more than just lightly touch my hand on his knee or whisper in his ear. I wanted to put my hand on his inner thigh and squeeze, I wanted to suck on his earlobe. I wanted to bring his face around to mine and kiss him with abandon like Ricardo and Claudia and Polly and Eduardo and so many other people were doing.

  It was as if some alarm inside of me was going off, blaring, “You’re running out of time, you’re running out of time!” and I kept hitting snooze, over and over and over again. I started fidgeting in my seat, running the napkin through my hands, playing with my hair, trying to keep my thoughts distracted and my digits occupied.

  It was a losing game. Eventually, after the dessert was finished and everyone was just drinking and talking, Mateo noticed.

  He had been deep in a conversation with Jorge about something or other when he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, hot breath on my neck, “Are you okay?”

  I swallowed the brick in my throat and nodded.

  The next thing came out of nowhere.

  “Are you afraid to be with me?” he asked softly, his lips now brushing my earlobes. Perhaps by accident. Perhaps not.

  I stiffened. I knew what to say. I would say, “No” and leave it at that. But there was so much in his voice, so much want, sincerity, and emotion that I knew I couldn’t lie to him.

  “Right now I am,” I admitted just loud enough for him to hear. But we were in a room full of people, their laughter and words bouncing off the stone grey walls, and that’s all I was going to say.

  I had to get some air.

  I quickly got to my feet and pushed my chair back and went for the staircase. I breathed a giant sigh of relief when I pushed the door open at the top and saw that the patio was completely empty. It was also totally beautiful.

  It was a brick courtyard with a tall wall around it lit up by fairy lights and covered in flowering vines. A small fountain with a cherub was in the center while in the corners there were giant terra-cotta pots filled with purple and blue flowers. There were a few tables and ashtrays, empty beer bottles stacked on the end of one, as if someone was going to bring them all downstairs but just forgot.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the air. Though we were in the town, the air was pure and wonderful, balmy compared to the cellar. After all those days of rain, the warmth invigorated me, brought some clarity into my alcohol-infused, heart-frazzled, hormone-frenzied veins.

  The clarity didn’t last for long. I heard the patio screen door close and I immediately knew who was behind me.

  “Vera,” Mateo said hoarsely.

  I slowly turned my head to glance at him over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  What was I supposed to say to that? He knew how I felt; he had to. Everyone else knew how I felt, why couldn’t he?

  I sat down at the nearest picnic table and wished I had brought something with me to drink.

  At that thought, the patio door opened again. I looked up to see Jorge holding Mateo’s half-finished beer.

  “Jerry is going to start giving out awards for the program soon,” he said cautiously, knowing he wasn’t wanted. “He wants everyone to be present.”

  I thought Mateo would have said something to that, but he didn’t. He was still staring at me, waiting for an answer to his question. He ignored Jorge, and instead pulled up a chair, sitting his large frame down across from me.

  The silence crackled above our heads like a live wire. I could feel Jorge’s eyes on us as he reluctantly placed Mateo’s drink on the table and walked away. Part of me wished for him to come back, to break up the tension and the startling intensity in Mateo’s eyes. The other part was selfishly glad Jorge was leaving us in peace. Alone.

  I broke away from Mateo, focusing instead on his bottle of Aguila and the condensation that ran down the sides, looking blissfully cool in the sticky night air. Through all the weeks of joking, talking, the innocent physical contact, now I was astutely nervous about being alone with him. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid of him—I was afraid of me. Especially since that remark at dinner, I’d been afraid of what I’d do to him, how I’d break that moral code I promised for myself.

  He’s married, he’s married, he’s married, I told myself, watching a drop of water race down the beer to the table. His wife is beautiful and lovely, his daughter is sweet, and you aren’t either of those things.

  But I could only tell myself that so many times.

  “Vera,” he said thickly. “Vera, look at me.” His voice was commanding, reaching a depth I hadn’t heard before.

  My eyes slowly slid over to him. I tried to speak but could only suck in my lip, probably taking all my lipstick off.

  “Show me the stars again,” he said. His eyes speared me like nothing else, his face becoming dangerously handsome.

  I looked up to the clear sky to see the stars, but he came over to me, reached out, and grabbed my hand. His touch was hot, like his fingers were searing into my skin, that feeling of entering a hot tub on a cold night. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran gently down my spine.

  “Not those stars,” he said huskily, leaning forward. His lips were wet and slightly open. “Your stars. Why I call you Estrella.”

  I swallowed hard, my pulse burning. I turned around in my chair so my back was to him and lifted up my hair, gathering it on top of my head.

  His chair scraped loudly on the ground as he got up, a sound that struck a new kind of fear in me.

  No. Not fear.

  Anticipation.

  I heard him stop right behind me. I held my breath, wondering what he was going to do.

  One rough finger pressed down against the back of my neck, right on the spine where the tattoo began. I closed my eyes to the feeling, the currents it caused, traveling all the way down, making me wet. Jesus, I needed to get a hold of myself.

  “What star is this?” he asked, sounding like silk. I could wrap myself in his voice.

  “Alpheratz,” I whispered, as if I was letting him in on a secret. Maybe I was.

  His finger slid diagonally down, a trail of fire across the Pegasus line. “And this one?”

  “Markab.”

  “Why Pegasus?”

  I paused, the truth on my lips. Fuck it. We’d been nothing but honest with each other. “Because I want to fly free. And there’s no place higher than the stars.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few beats. I was tempted to turn around, to look at him, but I didn’t want him to take his finger off my neck. I was leaving in three days. He was going back to his family. This was all I had, his skin on my stars.

  He leaned in, his hot breath at my neck. “Are you afraid that love will clip your wings?”

  His words sank into me, making my blood buzz. Love. This was too hazardous a subject to discuss with him. Not now. Not ever. With my breath shaking, I inched my neck away from his mouth and turned to face him.

  “No,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m afraid that losing love will.”<
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  His expression softened. He looked at my lips, his beautifully long eyelashes casting shadows on his tawny skin.

  “Then that makes two of us,” he whispered softly, and for a long second I thought he was going to get it over with and finally kiss me, to put an end to this strain between us, the yearning that made me ache inside. But he straightened up, his gaze avoiding mine, and went to retrieve his beer from the table.

  I watched him take a long sip and put the bottle back down. He started for the restaurant.

  “You know, I can’t pretend any longer,” I blurted out, surprising myself.

  I had reached my limit.

  He had stopped, standing absolutely still, his back to me. He was either going to start walking again or he was going to turn around. I held in my breath.

  With his back to me he said, “No. We can’t. I have one last question for you.”

  That wasn’t what I expected. Questions were getting dangerous.

  “What?” I asked softly.

  He slowly turned around. “What is love? In English.”

  I raised my brows. “Love, in English, is love?”

  “What is it in Spanish?”

  I was so enthralled by his hypnotic eyes, I could barely remember. “Amore?”

  He shook his head ever so slightly. “No. Love in Spanish is you.”

  Then he turned around, heading back.

  This was bullshit.

  I got out of my chair and ran for him. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled on him hard, turning him around so that he was facing me. I kept my fingers buried in his jacket sleeve and stared up at him.

  “That’s it?” I cried out, my voice breaking with anger. “You tell me that I am love in your language? And then you leave me?!’

  He gazed down at me like he was in a trance. “What would you rather I do?” he whispered.

  I felt as if I were about to cry. My face contorted in pain and confusion. “I don’t know! Not that.”

  “What about this,” he said huskily. He put one hand into my hair, his fingers moving through my strands, trailing along my scalp. My skin erupted in goosebumps. “Or this.” He took his other hand and did the same, until both were in my hair, holding the back of my head, his fingers pressing into me with a delicious amount of pressure.

  Thoughts began to leave my head. They were replaced by emotions. Wants. Needs. All of them swirling around me like a galaxy.

  He took a step so that he was right up against me, his firm stomach against mine, and what seemed to be an erection pressing into my hip. I felt like I couldn’t get any air at all. He tilted my head back so that I was looking up at his eyes, his lips just inches from mine.

  “You can tell me stop,” he whispered. “And I will stop. But please, don’t tell me to stop.”

  At that moment, I didn’t even know what the word meant.

  I watched in slow motion as he brought his mouth down to mine. The minute our lips connected, my eyes closed, all my senses being redirected to the pleasure I was beginning to drown in. His kiss was sweet at first. Soft. Warm lips, wet mouth. Almost restrained, even with the way his lower lip cupped mine and held me, my mouth to his. It lit me up like a fucking firecracker, exploding in bombs along my limbs, until all of me was on fire, wanting, needing, craving more.

  And he gave that to me. The pressure on my head increased, his fingers wrapping tighter in my hair while our kiss deepened. His tongue teased mine, soft as silk. It stirred the need for more inside of me, like I was just realizing how hungry I was. I wanted so much of him, all of him, every part of him. I wanted him to keep kissing me because it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced. It was also the hottest thing I’d ever experienced, and this was coming from a girl that had a threesome with two underwear models. Mateo’s kiss blew my whole life out of the water.

  I put my hands on his waist, feeling the silk of his clothes, the tautness of his stomach. The heat inside of me was growing to dangerous levels; every swirl of his tongue made me squirm, made me wet, made me want so much more than I could get right here.

  “There you two are.”

  The grating sound of Jerry’s voice broke us apart.

  Mateo and I stared at each other, chests heaving from being breathless, his mouth open, eyes glazed with passion, trying to make sense of what had just happened, what line we had just crossed.

  Then, together, we looked to Jerry. He was eyeing us down in exaggerated annoyance. “There is plenty of time for that back at the resort,” Jerry scolded. “You’re missing the awards ceremony. Vera, there may or may not be an award for you. But you won’t know unless you come downstairs. Come on guys, it’ll be good craic.”

  And with a gesture of his hand, he turned and left down the stairs. As if what he had just witnessed wasn’t a catastrophic event, my life’s version of the big bang.

  My eyes trained on the door, too afraid now to look back at Mateo. What had we just done?

  I cleared my throat and smoothed my hair down. “We better go back inside.”

  “Wait,” Mateo said, grabbing my arm and pulling me close to him. I felt the world slip away at his touch and I was lost once again in the gleaming depths of his eyes. “That cannot be it.”

  “I don’t think it can be anything else,” I whispered. My heart was being put through a meat grinder.

  “Yes, it can,” he said. His voice was flinty with determination, brows knitted close together.

  “You’re married,” I said helplessly, the words almost escaping as a sob.

  “It is over.”

  I shook my head. “No. No, it’s not. It’s not over. Not for you. It was just a kiss, you can recover from this. You can tell yourself I came on to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I want you,” he said, his grip becoming firmer. “I wanted you from the very beginning, I just never thought it would be possible.”

  “Because it’s not possible!” I cried out, pounding a fist on his chest.

  “You don’t know that,” he hissed.

  “You’re married!” I yelled. “I cannot be the other woman!”

  “You already are the other woman!” he yelled right back. His words smashed into me, blowing me to smithereens. He cupped my face in his hands. “You already are, whether you want to be or not. You’ve bewitched me, Vera. You’ve blinded me. You’ve made me forget my vows. And all you had to do was shine.” He swallowed hard, his eyes piercing into me. “Do you not know how I feel about you?”

  I had to go. I couldn’t let him tell me any more.

  I turned on my heel and ran to the door, taking a moment once I was inside to compose myself. The alternative would have been to scale the brick wall and run all the way back to Las Palabras, but I had a feeling I’d probably injure myself doing that. I had to go downstairs, to the crowd, to where everyone was waiting for us.

  My heart was beating so rapidly I was certain I was going to pass out and roll down the stairs. But somehow I made it down there, the chill of the cellar coasting over my bare skin. I expected to see everyone staring at me for the intrusion, but instead they were all looking at the center of the room where Jerry was standing, handing a piece of paper to Angel for “Most Improved English.”

  While everyone was applauding and shouting words of congratulations, I snuck back into my seat. Becca looked at me and I gave her a nervous smile.

  “What was that all about?” she asked quietly.

  My head ticked back and forth, my lips shut together. I couldn’t talk. If I did, I would start…I don’t know what. But it would have been bad.

  Moments later I felt Mateo’s presence behind me and he pulled out his chair. I swear, my lungs gave up and my heart decided to follow along. Just him sitting beside me was too much, especially after knowing what he tasted like. I could still feel his lips on mine, his body beneath my hands.

  I could still hear, “You already are the other woman,” playing over and over in my head.

  It was too much. Perhaps I
needed to vomit.

  “And the award for best laugh goes to, Vera Miles!”

  The vomit went back down. What the fuck? I looked up from where I’d been blindly staring at my empty dessert dish to see Jerry holding up a piece of paper and waving me over.

  Best laugh? How could I win for best laugh? I felt like I’d never laughed a single day in my life.

  “You’ve won,” Mateo murmured in my ear as he clapped, the feel of his breath freezing me in place. “Go up there.”

  I don’t know how, but I did as he said. I got out of my chair and made my way around the table to the middle of the room where Jerry quickly pulled me into a hug. He handed the paper to me and made me smile with him at Manuel who had started taking pictures. I think I smiled anyway. I couldn’t even focus on the fact that my laugh, which I had been told was infectious, had gotten me an award.

  I should have gotten an award for being a villain instead.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Get up, sleepyhead.”

  I groaned and opened one eye. The bedroom was filled with light. I slowly rolled over, hair in my face, to see Claudia sitting on the edge of the bed. I hadn’t even heard her come in.

  “What time is it?” I asked, my throat raw as I reached for a glass of water from my bedside. My mouth tasted sour.

  “It’s ten minutes before you are late for breakfast,” she said.

  “Ugh,” I said after I drained the glass. “Can’t I just sleep all day? They know I’m sick.”

  She gave me a look. “No, you can’t. It’s our second to last day. You felt fine when you went to bed.”

  That was true. Seconds after I received the award for “best laugh” from Jerry, I was struck again by the need to vomit. I didn’t know if it was my nerves, the fear, or the food, but suddenly I was running for the bathroom and throwing up in the stall. After that, I wasn’t in the mood to hang around and party with everyone, and I really wasn’t in the mood to face Mateo, so Claudia took me home in Peter the Everything Man’s van. I went right to bed with a heart full of turmoil, tossing and turning for most of the night.

  All I could think about was how hard I tried not to be the other woman. I couldn’t pretend anymore that I cared about Isabel’s well-being, because the honest bitchy truth was that I didn’t. I didn’t know her—all I knew was that she was wrong for him and he didn’t love her. But I did know what my parents’ divorce did to me, and I had no wish to do that to Chloe Ann.