“No, go ahead. You should ask me for help whenever you’re unsure about a decision.”
“Okay. Thank you, but it’s just that I feel awkward asking about something so intimate.”
“Intimate?”
“Yes. I really like Melissa, but I’ve only had a few high school crushes. I don’t know what to expect from a date. I told her that I wouldn’t want the guy to think that me agreeing to go out with them meant something more.”
“Are you telling me you arranged a date with a specific guy?”
“Sort of. What I really want is to have some fun for a night.”
“You could enroll in a university. We have programs for our employees. That way, you’d be around younger people.” Despite the suggestion, his expression is heavy.
“For now, I can’t. I have other . . . um . . . priorities, but thank you for thinking of that.”
“Why not?”
“I have issues to resolve first and plans to accomplish, but as soon as I can get organized, I do want to go back to studying, yes.” I adjust a strand of hair behind my ear, and he follows the movement. “Besides, when I said I want to go out again, I was thinking of fun, dancing. Things like that.”
“Do you like to dance?” Is it my imagination, or did his voice sound huskier?
“I used to love it. Now I’m not even sure if I can move my hips.” As soon as I finish speaking, I realize how the phrase could be interpreted and feel my face burning.
We’ve both finished dinner now, and the level of intimacy is so high that I can’t stop my crazy head from wandering.
To distract myself, I return to a neutral topic. “I hope you like the photos of your daughter. What’s her name?”
“Valentina. I’m sure I’ll like them. My girl is photogenic. There isn’t a single toothless smile she gives that isn’t breathtaking.”
All the constantly tense air on his face softens when he talks about his daughter, and the change stirs something within me. One doesn’t need to be a family expert to see how deeply Guillermo is in love with his baby.
“She’s beautiful indeed. Several times I found myself distracted while trying to choose from the photographs. She doesn’t look like you . . . I mean, she doesn’t resemble you.”
“Not at all. My family is a mix of American and Spaniard, although the Spanish blood prevailed. Valentina takes after her mother more in appearance.”
He sounds tense again, and I feel awkward. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the subject of his late wife.
“Do you want that?” he asks.
“What?”
“Children, family?”
“Oh, yes. I want lots of them. My adoptive mother couldn’t conceive, and although I received as much love as a child could wish for, I would have liked to have grown up with siblings.”
Again, he falls silent for a while.
Guillermo confuses me. At one moment, he wants to know everything about me—he asks, seems to want to delve deeper—and the next minute, he shuts off.
As if to confirm my doubts, he says, “I need to go. I have to relieve the nanny.”
I look at him, astonished, only now realizing that if there’s no wife, this powerful businessman eventually has to take care of a little girl.
He stands up, and I do too, but still reluctant to let the night end, I ask, “How old is she? I mean, the photos are from different periods, and I couldn’t figure out for sure.”
“Nine months. She started crawling a few days ago.” I feel like he is about to say something more, but instead, he bids me farewell. “See you tomorrow, Olívia.”
And then, he leaves without a second glance at me.
