“Guilty pleasure?” Rafa arches a brow. “Madrid has some of the best art museums in the world. There is nothing guilty about studying it, especially while you are here.”
“Have you?” I ask. “Studied art history, I mean.”
“I have. Quite a lot, actually. You, too?”
“Some classes. I love it, I do, but you can’t really do much with an art history major, so. Yeah.” I sip my sangria. “Who are your favorite painters?”
“I like all the Spanish painters. Goya. Velázquez.” He says the names in his perfect, succulent Spanish, and never in my life have I heard anything so sexy. I make note of his pronunciation, his accent; Goy-ja, Velash-quez; I will have to practice them later. “El Greco, even though he isn’t really Spanish. We still like to take credit for his genius. But my favorite? My favorite is Sorolla.”
I blink. Sor-roya. “Sorolla? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”
Rafa grins. “You must take art history, then, if only to learn of Sorolla. There is a whole museum here just for his work. I think it’s the best museum in all of Spain. I’ll take you there—even if you don’t take the art history class, you must see it.”
I don’t know if it’s the sangria—it’s probably the sangria—or the way Rafa is looking at me, but the backs of my knees begin to tingle. It’s my first night in Madrid, and here I am, getting my buzz on, talking my favorite thing—art! —with an incredibly good-looking Spaniard. He’s probably only offering to take me to this museum because he’s drunk and trying to be polite, but I don’t care. However fleeting it may be, even if nothing comes of it, I am in love with this moment.
And that’s got to count for something.
“The Sorolla Museum,” I say. “I’ll have to remember that. Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies. “I hope you like it here, Vivian. I know coming to a different country can be hard. The language, the food, all the little things—I remember being so homesick in New York when I first got there I called my parents ten times a day.”
I look down at my cup—almost empty now—and slowly nod my head. “I admit I’ve cried a little bit today. And by a little bit, I mean a lot.”
“It will get better,” he says. “You are here for, what, five months?”
“Almost six.”
“That probably feels like a lifetime right now, yes?”
I scoff. “It does, actually. That’s what I was crying about.”
When I look up, he is standing closer—there are people behind him now, pressing him toward me—and my heart skips a beat. We meet eyes. His reflect the soft glow of the lamps outside the bar; it’s getting dark, the air around us velvety. That tingle behind my knees moves to a full-on rush.
“I’m biased,” he says, “but if you do it right, Madrid is an easy place to fall for. Mostly because I live here.”
I smile and he smiles and the look in his eyes is so lovely it makes my stomach hurt in the best, the best way.
“So where are you taking us tonight?” I ask. “I’ve heard pretty amazing things about the nightlife here. I mean, no pressure or anything.”
He glances at his watch, a simple round face on a well-worn leather strap. “The bars close in a few hours. Then we will head to the discotecas—on Saturdays the best is Ático. We can start there.”
“I hope Justin Timberlake will be making an appearance?”
He holds up his glass, lets it tilt in his fingers. “He’d better. Otherwise I’m going to embarrass myself in front of my new friends.”
I laugh. “Yeah, somehow I think you’re going to put us all to shame, with or without Justin’s help. I’m not proud of my white girl moves.”
“But you’re not afraid to show them off,” he says, eyes sparking as he grins down at me.
“Hell no,” I say. “Especially not after I’ve had a little—more than a little—sangria.”
“Excellent.” Rafa taps his glass to mine. “Welcome to Madrid, Vivian. I’m glad you’re here.”
What does that mean? It probably doesn’t mean anything. We’re just talking, drinking, maybe flirting, too.
Even if Rafa did mean something by that, I came to Madrid to work my ass off, pull up my GPA, and enjoy some art. I didn’t cross an ocean to start a relationship—a hookup, a romance, whatever—that inevitably won’t last. I promised myself no more hookups, no more heartbreak.
Still.
I find myself grinning back up at Rafa, wondering what his wine-stained lips would taste like.
Wondering if his kindness is a ploy to get in my pants, or if it’s genuine. It makes no sense, I know; guys this good-looking, guys that smell this wonderful, don’t need to be nice to awkward American girls like me to get some.
But there’s something about Rafa—something about his eyes, his calm, easy demeanor, that makes me think he’s different.
“Thanks,” I say. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
And I mean it. I do.
***
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Acknowledgements
Holy moly, I have SO many people to thank now that the STUDY ABROAD series is wrapped up. Huge thanks to my editor, my book doula, my saving grace (no joke)—Kristin, there’s no way I would’ve made it this far without you. You’re immensely talented, and I hope we work together for years to come.
Thanks to Noelle, my very patient and creative cover artist. Shout out to Julianne for the copyedits, and to Marie Force’s Formatting Fairies for all your help.
I’d also like to thank all the authors who have so graciously offered their advice, time, and Facebook groups to a new author like me. Kristin Callihan, Claire Contreras, Alessandra Torre, Brenna Aubrey, Marie Force, Jennifer Ashley, and Rose Dewar just to name a few. You ladies rock!
About the Author
JESSICA PETERSON began reading romance to escape the decidedly unromantic awkwardness of her teenage years. Having found solace in the likes of Mr. Darcy, Jamie Fraser (OMG love the gingers!), and Edward Cullen, it wasn’t long before she began creating tall, dark and handsome heroes of her own. She lives in Charlotte, North Carolina with her husband, Mr. Peterson, and her smelly Goldendoodle Martha Bean. For more information, please visit her website at www.jessicapeterson.com.
Table of Contents
Also by Jessica Peterson
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Excerpt from Spanish Lessons
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Lessons In Losing It (Study Abroad Book 4) Page 26