by Mia Sosa
Karen glanced at Mark’s face as he surveyed the expanse of land and buildings that made up the almost five-hundred-year-old fort. His eyes darted from structure to structure, finally settling on the restored lighthouse near the fort’s tip. Just beyond the lighthouse, the bottom of the fort’s walls, in some places over one hundred and forty feet high, met the deep blue waters of San Juan Bay.
“It’s breathtaking,” Mark said.
Karen wrestled with her hair, which had lost its battle with both the humidity and the breezes coming off the bay as soon as the wedding guests had begun to trickle in. “I couldn’t agree with you more. It’s a perfect blend of culture, history, and nature.”
“And if that weren’t enough to defend the island, this heat will scorch your ass to smithereens, too.”
Karen smiled. Several strands of her wayward hair stuck to the back of her neck, unable to hold the loose waves she’d spent so much time perfecting that morning. “Yes, there’s that, too.”
Beside them, Ethan alternated between eyeing the sky, checking his watch, and surveying the cobblestoned streets that led to the lawn. Mimi stood on the outskirts of the gathering and chatted with one of Karen’s male cousins.
Mark shifted closer to Ethan. “You ready, E?”
Ethan shoved his hands into his black tuxedo. “I’m ready. Not even a speck of doubt in my mind, and that’s some heady shit. I can’t wait to see her.”
When Karen heard Ethan’s words, her eyes watered. Ethan’s love for her sister made her happy—and inspired a touch of envy as well. What would it be like to be loved by someone so convinced that you were their “one”? The one. No man had ever been devoted to Karen in the way Ethan was devoted to her sister.
Mark’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Here she comes.”
A stately limousine came into view. Her parents exited first, followed by the officiant. Their father turned and reached out for Gracie’s hand.
Karen whipped her head in Ethan’s direction, just in time to witness his audible intake of breath. The photographer swooped in to capture the moment when the groom first laid eyes on his bride. Mark leaned in and whispered something to Ethan that made him smile. Mimi, meanwhile, rushed over to take her place next to Karen.
Gracie, flanked by her parents, walked toward her groom. Her face couldn’t have been any brighter; her smile couldn’t have been any more joyful. She only had eyes for Ethan, and Ethan was so focused on his bride that Karen watched for signs that he was actually blinking.
Gracie wore a simple cream silk-organza gown, the ends of which floated around her ankles. Her hair, styled in a seemingly effortless side bun that had taken her stylist a few hours to achieve, complemented her vintage veil, the very same veil their mother had worn for her own wedding three decades ago.
As Gracie approached the arch, Karen saw Abuela Marta dabbing her eyes with a kerchief. Even her tough-as-granite grandmother couldn’t hold back her emotions in the face of so much beauty.
Gracie’s parents kissed and hugged her before Ethan took her hand. From that point, they walked together, and then they faced the officiant. After the officiant had greeted the guests, he informed them that Ethan and Gracie wanted to share a few words before they exchanged their vows.
The bride and groom faced each other and held hands. Ethan spoke first.
“The morning of my sister’s wedding, I asked her, ‘Em, how’d you know you were making the right decision? How’d you know he was the one?’ She looked at me with a wistful expression and said, ‘When you no longer need to ask that question, when the decision becomes as certain as your next breath, that’s when you’ll know.’” And as much as I hate to admit when my baby sis is right, I can’t deny the truth of those words, because that’s how I feel about our love, Gracie. It’s a foregone conclusion. As certain as my next breath. A truth I neither can nor want to deny. You don’t make me strive to be a better person. I am a better person now that you’re in my life.”
Gracie’s eyes watered. Couples moved closer together. A child in the second row—Ethan’s niece, she believed—made a show of gagging at Ethan’s sentimental words.
Gracie took a deep breath and exhaled. “Love isn’t calculated. It never comes to you by design. Often it catches you by surprise. I never dreamed I’d find someone who believes in me in the way you do. I never dreamed I’d find someone who doesn’t want to change me. I never dreamed I’d find someone who thinks about my happiness before his. So in many ways, you see, today isn’t a dream come true. It’s much more than that, because you’ve given me the love I never dreamed of and so much more.”
Karen wanted the same. Someday. Someday far, far away.
* * *
The reception ballroom, with its black-and-white-checkered floor, featured old world flair and a touch of modern ambience. Gracie and Ethan stood on a small balcony overlooking the dance floor, a photographer at the couple’s side.
A twelve-piece band, which only moments ago had played a lazy jazz song, picked up the tempo.
“Vamos a bailar!” the lead singer called out. “We’re gonna dance!” He cupped his ear to the audience. “I say baila, you say, wepa!” He pointed to the crowd. “Baila!”
“Wepa!” the guests cheered.
Guests sprang from their chairs and rushed to the small dance floor to join the fun.
With only fifty or so guests at the reception, Mark spotted Karen easily. Once again, she’d piled her hair on top of her head, leaving a few ringlets to cascade along her neck and back. She danced with one of her cousins. Well, Mark hoped he was a cousin, but then the man’s hand slid from her shoulder to her waist and he gave her a seedy wink. Not a relative, then. And it didn’t matter. Really. As soon as the reception ended, he’d head back to his suite, far away from Karen and the charm of Old San Juan.
He nursed his drink, intermittently taking big gulps and savoring the bitter bite of alcohol. He stopped himself from finishing it, knowing he needed his faculties to give the best man’s speech.
His face partially hidden by the rim of his tumbler, he watched Karen weave her way through the guests. She smiled at him and reached for his hand. “C’mon, Lansing. You can’t leave Puerto Rico until you’ve danced salsa.”
Shit. How was he supposed to keep his distance while his hands rested on her waist? And as she shook her hips, no less?
He set the tumbler on a passing server’s tray, but he hesitated to grab her hand. Her smile disappeared, leaving an expression of wariness in its wake. As he contemplated his next move, she swung her arms around her back and pivoted to leave.
What the hell was wrong with him? He could handle a fucking dance. Well, his dancing prowess was questionable, but he could survive a dance with her, if only so he didn’t have to watch her shuffle back to the other side of the ballroom like a girl rejected by a silly boy at her first middle school dance. He reached out and touched the back of her arm. “Wait. You’ll have to teach me.”
She spun around, and her eyes lit up. “I’d love to.”
They walked together and found a spot on the dance floor. She helped him place one of his hands on her shoulder blade. Being the suave man that he was, he stumbled as she adjusted them into the right position. She moved closer, staring into his eyes, and then she brought his other hand to her waist. “Usually, we’d hold our hands outstretched, but I think this will be easier.”
He gulped and stared right back. But they didn’t move, and then the band began a new song, this one eliciting universal approval from the crowd.
“Popular song?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. This is El Gran Combo. A beloved Puerto Rican Salsa band.”
“What are they saying?”
“‘Brujeria’ is the name of the song.” She licked her lips and pressed her body against his, maneuvering them into the correct position. “She’s bewitched him. A bruja is a witch.” She stepped back. “Now, to make this work, watch my feet.”
Still holding on to her, he cr
eated space between them and watched her feet in the spiky sandals she wore.
“It’s a simple motion. Move your left foot forward, and then switch your weight, so that you can move your right foot back.”
He tried to copy her movements, but he failed to achieve the same result. “Wait. What was that you just did? You kicked out your foot. And you paused.”
She snorted. “Don’t worry about kicking your foot out. You’re not ready for that.”
He tried again.
“Yes, that’s it. Be sure to swing your hips; they’ll move naturally with your footwork.”
“Your hips move naturally with the footwork. Mine? Not so much.”
“You’re doing great, Mark. Just do what feels good to you.”
Right about now something else entirely would feel good to him.
After tripping on his own feet a few times, he eased into a comfortable pattern, his feet mirroring her footwork as well as could be expected.
Karen looked up at him, her radiant smile revealing the dimples in her sun-kissed cheeks. “Ready to spin me?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“C’mon, Mark, have faith in yourself. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I spin you so hard and fast that you tumble into a table?”
“Have faith in me, then. I promise I won’t let you hurt me.”
“All right. If that’s what you want, you can’t claim later that I didn’t warn you.”
She swung his hand above them and spun herself around, which would have been fine if she hadn’t ended the spin with her butt pressed against his crotch. She turned her head to the side, and her cheek brushed against his chest. “See there? No one got hurt, right?”
His balls disagreed. They hurt. And tonight, they’d be blue. So very blue.
He dropped his head, pressing his face against her neck. Not an advisable move, but he couldn’t help himself. Maybe the song itself had powers: the power to ensure that any man who danced with a woman would be entranced by her.
A weathered hand opened a wedge between them. “Basta!” Abuela Marta exclaimed through gritted teeth. “What are you doing? This is a wedding. Ahora no es el momento para el baile sucio.”
He didn’t have to understand Spanish to know Abuela Marta didn’t appreciate how he and Karen were dancing. Well, he didn’t like it either.
Karen took Abuela Marta’s hand. “Lo siento, Abuelita, but it’s not dirty dancing.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Just a little sexy, sexy.”
Abuela Marta harrumphed and shimmied right back. “Well, too much of that and soon you’ll have little babies, babies.” She turned to Mark. “My granddaughter’s got big plans. La doctora de la familia.”
Karen rolled her eyes and drew her grandmother to her side. “Yes, and a little dancing isn’t going to change that. C’mon, Abuelita, let’s dance.” Karen walked away with her grandmother. Before she disappeared into the circle of dancers, she turned her head and mouthed “Sorry” to him.
He saluted her and strode to the bar. “Bourbon. Neat,” he told the bartender. Yes, that’s what he needed: a stiff drink—to match his stiff dick.
Two strong drinks later, the wedding coordinator tapped his shoulder. “Mr. Lansing, we’ll start the toasts in a few minutes, okay? We’ll begin with Ms. Ramirez and end with you.”
He slipped a hand in his pants pocket and pulled out the toast he’d written a week ago. “Yes, that’s fine.”
The band ended its lively song, and the lights flickered. With a swipe of a towel across his damp face, the lead singer returned to the mic. “Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats.”
The guests looked around and then trickled off the dance floor. Karen hugged her grandmother, and then she walked across the room. Her eyes grew wider with each step, and her mouth rounded, as though she were taking and releasing deep breaths.
Mark jumped onto the stage and joined her. She held the mic in a death grip, her knuckles as white as the pristine tablecloths in the room. She glanced at him, but her eyes lacked any focus at all. He tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she looked past him and bit her lip. The chatter eventually died down, and with no speech to fill the void, a smattering of whispered conversations followed.
Still clutching the mic, Karen dropped her head and stared at her shoes.
Something was terribly wrong. A case of stage fright maybe?
Gracie began to rise from her chair, a look of distress on her face. As discreetly as he could, Mark motioned for her to return to her seat. Then he moved closer to Karen and leaned in. “Can I have the mic?”
She raised her head and blinked several times. Without a word, she let the mic drop into his outstretched hand.
“Sorry, folks. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s this: Don’t tell a woman you’ll do one thing and then do the complete opposite. It’s a recipe for disaster. You see, I told Karen I’d go first, and then I screwed up by forgetting the order of these festivities. I’m up first, because Gracie and Ethan knew I’d be a pretty easy act to follow.”
A few guests laughed, and Karen turned in his direction. “What are you doing?”
He covered the mic with his hand. “Giving you a minute to catch your breath. You need it, right?”
She parted her lips as she nodded her head. God, he wanted to soothe her right then. Wished he could fold her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But that would have been far too intimate, and he certainly couldn’t do that on a stage at Gracie and Ethan’s wedding reception, with her parents and grandmother staring at them expectantly.
Better to lighten the mood and give her time to get herself together.
So that’s what he did. And the bride and groom, who’d decided to sit at a table with their parents, smiled throughout his toast, which was gratifying in a way that spoke to how much they’d come to mean to him, not only as individuals but as a couple, too.
And after several minutes, Karen returned to life, smiling along with everyone else. She’d beaten down whatever had spooked her. When he handed her the mic, she took it without hesitation, meeting his eyes with a clear and steady gaze. He stepped to the side, and she positioned herself in the center of the stage.
“Most of you know Gracie’s my sister. But she’s much more than that to me. She’s my closest friend. My most vocal cheerleader. She’s wiped my tears countless times. She did that when I was young, and she did that when I was in college, when the stress and anxiety of taking more courses than I should have became too much. And she’s the reason I didn’t give up on my dream to go to medical school.”
Karen’s eyes glistened, and her wistful expression caused a pang in his chest. “We did it, Gracie.” Gracie barely held her emotions in check and rose from her seat. She reached the stage and hugged Karen. With their arms around each other’s waists, the sisters faced the crowd. Karen lifted the mic to her mouth. “Ethan, make her happy. She deserves it. And since she chose you, I know you deserve it, too. Congratulations to you both.” To Gracie, she whispered, “Te amo.”
Karen’s speech confirmed what he’d already suspected: Her path to medical school hadn’t been easy. But she’d done it nonetheless. For someone so young, she had a clear sense of what she wanted to accomplish and an appreciation for the hard work needed to get there. That should have been enough to convince him to get out of her way.
Nope.
He still found himself drawn to her.
Somewhere a Marine was shaking his head in disappointment. So much for the oorah.
CHAPTER TEN
Karen sat on a chaise lounge by the hotel’s outdoor pool. The faint sounds of the band’s drums and brass instruments served as a testament to the fact that the party was still in full swing. She stared at the water, her gaze searching for the source of the occasional ripple that marred the pool’s otherwise calm surface. Finally, she glimpsed two sets of iridescent wings. Two dragonflies hovered near each other, until one of them darted away
, the other following in its wake.
She knew the moment someone had joined her. As his footsteps drew near, she braced herself for the conversation she didn’t want to have.
Mark stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets and his eyes focused on a cascade of water near the swim-up bar. He didn’t turn to her. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He gestured to the chaise lounge next to her. “May I join you?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Do you want to go skinny-dipping then?”
She laughed. Mark, she’d discovered, had an uncanny ability to either cut straight to the heart of the matter or make you forget the matter altogether—for a few seconds at least. Now, for example, she was picturing him stripping bare and diving into the pool in one fluid movement rather than worrying about the way her nerves had almost ruined her toast.
The planes of his face softened when she sighed. He swung his legs onto the chaise and lounged as though he were spending a carefree day at the beach. “I’m always happy to listen.”
That she knew to be true. She’d divulged embarrassing snippets about her sex life to him, and he’d never made a snide comment about them. It didn’t appear to be his way. But could she share more? Would he look at her differently then? Maybe. But in her heart, she knew that even if he looked at her differently, he wouldn’t think less of her. “Remember when you asked me about medical school the other day?”
He nodded.
“I said I was nervous. And that’s true. But it’s much more than that. To do well, I need to be able to concentrate on my work. And focus has never been my strong suit.”
“Said the woman who got into medical school.”
“I never said I can’t do it. It just takes a lot of work. Sometimes I don’t have enough energy to push myself to get anything done. A task is a task for most people. For me, anything that requires me to focus is a task squared. Or that’s at least how it feels, at least.”
He furrowed his brow. “Has that always been the case?”