“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you eat something?” He analyzed her face, as if he might be able to decipher the answer if he looked hard enough.
It was another question she wanted to read into as some kind of evidence he might care about her, but it was so perfectly innocuous. “I did. I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
“Even though you can’t sleep?” He was frowning at her, but there seemed to be the barest hint of a smile working at the edge of his lips.
“You never know if you don’t try.” She gave him a little wave and retreated to her room, annoyed that her heart rate was faster than it should have been.
She did sleep at night, sometimes. She often dreamt of her grandmother, and sometimes they were nice dreams. Art museums and champagne at breakfast. “A mimosa without the orange juice,” Gram would say. Sometimes Grace was a girl again, and her grandma was scolding her for letting a boy at school make her feel bad about herself. “I know it hurts, Gracie, but you have to be strong. You’ll meet so many stupid men in your life, you might as well prepare for it now.” She’d gotten her sense of humor from her grandmother—and her sense of adventure. Gram would have loved that Grace moved to Spain, even if she thought it was for the wrong reasons.
Sometimes the dreams were more nightmarish. The final days. Hospice and beeping machines and grasping onto a too-thin hand. That’s what she was dreaming about after she returned from Obinna’s place—her grandmother’s pale face, eyes closed, her veiny, weathered skin and hollowed cheeks. The shaky sounds of agony when she tried to speak. Grace, at her bedside, trying so hard not to sob.
She was sobbing in her dream, and it must have carried over into real life, too, because before she knew it, she was awake in her bed with tears streaming down her face and a lump in her throat. She gasped for breath, waiting to remember where she was,whenshe was, trying to shake the images of Gram she hated to remember.
There was a knock at her door, and she wondered if that’s what had broken her out of the nightmare in the first place. “Grace?” She heard Rafael’s voice, soft and worried, on the other side of it. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but she was too dazed to be embarrassed.
“Yeah?” she croaked. “Sorry, you can come in.”
Rafael eased open the door and peeked into her room, searching her face to try to puzzle out what was happening. He must have heard her crying. She felt like a child who’d been bawling in her sleep, and even though she suddenly felt very awake, she couldn’t seem to stop. Her shoulders were shaking, and tears were still streaming down her cheeks.
Rafael took all of it in and moved toward her, hesitating for only a moment before sitting on the bed and wrapping her in his arms. “Are you okay?” he whispered into her hair. “What’s going on?”
Grace let herself sink into him, taking another breath to gain her composure only to find herself inhaling the scent of his skin, the expensive sandalwood soap and a hint of lemon. It took a moment before Grace managed to find any words and a moment more before she could actually get them out. “Bad dream.” She coughed. “I’m okay. Sorry for waking you up.”
“Stop apologizing, Graciela,” he said. “What did you dream?”
“My grandma. It was the last time I saw her. The last day…” The tears picked up again, and Grace couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.
Rafael held her and stroked her hair. She cried into him, and even though she expected to feel mortified and burdensome, she mostly just felt a sense of calm washing over her. She was safe, and some part of that was because of him. Because he was holding her, because he didn’t let go. Because, somehow, they’d been drawn together in this little city, and he wasn’t the person she’d expected—at least not anymore.
They stayed like that for a long time, until her breath evened out and the tears slowed. “Can I get you something?” Rafael asked. “A glass of water?”
The truth was she didn’t want him to let go. If he could have just stayed there all night, holding her…
“No,” she rasped, remaining still in the hopes that he might not move away. “I’m better now. I would thank you, but I know how you feel about that.”
“Good.” Rafael loosened his grip on her, and she tried very hard not to cling to him too tightly. “Don’t thank me. Just think of me as a hand in your dark hole.”
“Rafael,” she scolded.
“What?”
“I know it was on purpose that time.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
She pressed her forehead against his chest again to hide her smile. Grace was shocked to find herself smiling after she’d been falling apart at the seams just minutes before. She was even more surprised that the person making her smile washim.Mr. Serious. The man who never laughed. Except, apparently, that wasn’t exactly true.
“You’re not allowed to use the wordholeanymore,” she whispered into his shirt. “It’s forbidden.”
“Come on, Graciela,” he teased. “You like it.”
Grace was suddenly extremely conscious of her breasts pressing into his torso every time she took a breath, his fingers against her neck, and his nose in her hair. She’d wanted him to hold onto her for comfort, but she was starting to understand that there was more to it than that. His touch wasn’t just comforting, it was…alluring. She eased back and looked up at him and knew instantly it was a mistake, because he was so beautiful, and his eyes were so dark as they locked on hers with a force she’d never seen in a gaze.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked. It was barely a whisper, but she could feel the breath of each word brushing against her skin.
