‘Goddess. I wish I was tall, like you. That will look amazing,’ enthused Amy, snatching the crochet dress from her friend’s hand and disappearing behind the door.
‘See, she agrees. You’ve got a gorgeous tan; it will look lovely against your skin tone.’
Before Rebecca knew it she was being hustled back into the cubicle.
A minute later she was standing in front of her new friend who was cooing with approval. ‘Absolutely yes. That is so sexy. Look at the back– or rather not back.’ The dress dropped away at the back almost to her waist. ‘Girl, you’ve got it, go flaunt it.’
Five minutes later Rebecca was in the queue paying for the dress with a big smile on her face.
Consulting her Google map, she turned left and followed the streets directly down towards the river to reach the U-shaped square of Praça do Comércio. She walked through the huge triumphal arch that dominated this side of the square, sandwiched between yellow-painted buildings. In the centre of the square was an imposing statue of a man on a horse, who she later discovered was King José. The place was crowded with tourists and she sat on a low wall fronting the river to idly watch people passing by, listening to the wash of the water and inhaling the briny scent of the air.
Although the square was busy with tourists, there was a relaxed, almost indolent, air. No one was in a hurry and everyone seemed quite laid-back. She took a deep breath and focused on the here and now and the gentle flow of air in and out of her lungs. Who needed to worry about stupid clothes? There were more important things to think about. Like inner peace. That was why she’d taken up Pilates originally, because she’d found a level of peace that was missing in the rest of her life. It had also given her a sense of control. Make no mistake, she could give as good as she got, but there was a real sense of relief when she could escape the noise and bluster of her brothers and parents. Her life had adapted to them, stretched and shaped around their loud, brash world, so there was no room for anything else. Home had always been a testosterone fog with loud television, loud meals and loud conversations. No wonder her cousin had run off and got married as soon as she could. Rebecca had adapted too but now she was starting to wonder if she’d adapted too much. Since she’d come to Portugal, it was asif the tightly coiled spring inside her had softened a little. She grinned– she was still competitive.
She crossed to one of the many cafés vying for custom on the square’s sides. Sitting down, she ordered a glass of wine and opted to have pizza for lunch– it was her favourite and that was allowed. She sat enjoying the sunshine, sipping her wine and waiting for her food, amusing herself by anticipating what Felipe might think of her new backless dress. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she put it on later…
Chapter Fourteen
‘Olà, Felipe,’ called a guy from a slightly raised table at the back of the bar. The table was almost full and Felipe guided Rebecca over in that direction, his hand resting on the naked skin in the small of her back.
‘That is one hell of a dress,’ he murmured, his fingers finding and caressing the indent of her spine.
She shivered and grinned at him, still delighted by the visible dip of his Adam’s apple and the way his eyes had widened when she’d slipped off her jacket at the door of the restaurant.
‘Olá, Alonso.’ Felipe raised a hand in welcome and everyone else turned to greet him.
‘Hey, guys, this is Rebecca.’
Most of the group were men which never fazed Rebecca as she was used to being surrounded by them.
‘Hey Rebecca, what are you doing with this idiot?’ asked a man in a backward baseball cap with a cheerful grin and a strong Italian-American accent. ‘He’s a loser. Come sit here.’
‘Down, Giorgio,’ said Felipe with a laugh, turning to Rebecca with a roll of his eyes. ‘He’s Italian; he can’t help himself.’
Rebecca grinned back at Giorgio, well used to this sort of testosterone-fuelled banter, and took one of the empty seats that Felipe pulled out for her. ‘Hi, nice to meet you.’
On the opposite side of the table, a girl with long blonde hair and a smattering of freckles dotted across her nose shook her head. ‘They’re all idiots,’ she said. ‘Hi, I’m Kimberley. Sister to one of these fools. Him.’ She pointed to a blonde male version of herself. ‘Walker.’
Rebecca immediately felt kinship with her. ‘Hi.’
‘As they’re not grown up enough to introduce themselves, I’ll do it. Giorgio you’ve met– and can now instantly forget. Like I said, Walker, my twin– I got all the best genes. Alonso, he’s Portuguese and from the Douro, so thighs like steel hawsers. You should see him on the mountains.’
‘You love me on the mountains, baby,’ teased Alonso blowing her a kiss.
‘Hmm,’ said Kimberley, although the quick softening of her face suggested to Rebecca that she probably did. ‘Pierre– he’s really called Alain, but because he’s French he’s always been Pierre.’
‘Bonsoir, Rebecca.’ The Frenchman gave Rebecca a chirpy salute. ‘Bienvenue.’
‘And finally, Adão, the only genuine native as he lives here in Lisbon.’
‘Welcome, Rebecca,’ said a young man with short, dark hair and serious eyes.
There was a lot of back slapping and manhugs as Felipe was greeted. In total there were six other people around the table, five men and Kimberley, and from what Rebecca could gather they were an international bunch. She hazarded a guess that the blond twins were American.
‘Red or white wine?’ asked Kimberley, pointing to the bottles on the table, ‘Or are you in training as well?’ Sheassessed Rebecca’s frame.
‘Not in training for anything at the moment,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’d love a glass of white.’
‘Coming up. I’m on the wagon.’
