Rafael’s mouth fell open. He was a bit surprised Christian would take such a liberty in making plans for him, but he halted his protest when he realized it wasn’t a bad idea. It would be good to have plans outside the apartment, to give Grace a bit of distance for the evening.
“You should take your girlfriend,” Christian said.
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “My girlfriend?”
“Yes, Senorita Cameron? The travel writer is American, too. Perhaps they’ll get along well. Just make sure there’s no mention of my secret underground exhibition.”
“Grace isn’t—we’re not?—”
Christian laughed. “I didn’t think you’d get flustered so easily! I don’t care what she is to you, just ask her to the dinner. Show the writer and her fiancé a good time. Give her a story. I know you’re the best in the business, so it won’t be a problem, correct?”
Rafael stood very still, taking in everything Christian was telling him. “Correct,” he said slowly. In an instant, Rafael completely changed his mind about how it would be nice to get some distance from Grace for the evening. In fact, taking Grace out to meet new people and chat with a fellow American might not be the worst thing in the world. She could use a night on the town to distract her from everything else she’d been going through. Something casual and normal and fun. He could make that happen for her. It wouldn’t be just the two of them, and it would still be a work event, all of it very platonic.
“I guess it’s settled then,” Rafael said.
“Good man.”
Rafael was used to this—giving the client what they wanted, going out of his way to please them. He’d learned it well from trying so hard to please his father for his entire life. In one area, at least, he’d been successful. With his father, not so much.
“Oh,” Christian called over his shoulder as he examined a painting. “Her name is Nora, by the way. She’s expecting a message from you to confirm the time.”
Rafael nodded distractedly. He would message Grace first, make sure she’d be able to go with him. Then he could confirm with the travel writer.
But when Grace’s reply came, he wasn’t sure how much to read into it. “I guess so,” was all she said. It didn’t seem to hold much enthusiasm, but Rafael would take it. Another night with Grace. Another night to prove to himself he had it all under control.
Raphael was humming as he rushed up the steps to his apartment, taking some of them two at a time. Perhaps he should have been concerned about how much he was looking forward to seeing her, to taking her out for the night, even if it was just a matter of business. But he didn’t even consider it. He wasn’t sure why he felt quite so buoyant, and he didn’t bother to question it. He paused before he opened the door, though, remembering everything from the night before, how Grace pressed against him, his fingertips on her skin, her wet eyes fixed on his face.
She’d already been gone that morning when he finally rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. They had a little morning routine, but it wasn’t set in stone. Sometimes she left early to get a jumpstart on grading papers or planning her lectures. He’d tried to brush off the disappointment he felt when she’d already been gone, but a strange wistfulness had haunted his morning anyway.
With a hand on the door to his apartment, he took a breath, steeling himself for something, even if he wasn’t sure what it was. It was unusual for him to feel nervous. Restless, maybe. Fidgety. But not nervous.
He opened the door and scanned the room for Grace, finding her almost immediately where she was sitting in the middle of the sofa in her pajamas—those ridiculous flannel ones with the little hamsters all over them—a book opened on her lap. He put down his bag and made his way toward her, as casual as could be.
She didn’t look up at first, so he just stood there watching her, waiting. He imagined she was engrossed by whatever she was reading, and any moment she would turn to him with a smile. Except that wasn’t happening. She was still just reading her book, not looking at him, and even though something prickled all over his skin, a feeling that something was wrong, he didn’t know for sure if he was correct.
He waited. He put down his keys and removed his jacket and waited some more. Still, she didn’t move. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. He also noted that she didn’t turn a page. She certainly didn’t look like she was prepared to go out to their dinner, even though she’d agreed to it earlier.
What was this? Was she so embarrassed by their late-night encounter that she wouldn’t look at him? Had he done something wrong?
Finally, he moved toward her, his heartbeat picking up as he grew more concerned. “Graciela?”
She exhaled. Slowly, she turned her head in his direction, but she stared off into the distance over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eye.
“How are you?” he ventured. His brain started whirring, scanning for any mistakes he had made, any other reason she might be upset with him. It had only been a few minutes, but he already hated the feeling of this distance she was creating between them. He held his breath as he waited for her to finally reply.
“I’ve been researching Sacramonte,” she said, her voice laced with something sharp.
Rafael’s brain scrambled to keep up. “Okay,” he said slowly, because he had no clue where this was going and couldn’t seem to land on an idea of the potential problem.
“You mentioned something about the history there, but I didn’t realize…”
“Yes?” he prompted when she trailed off.
“It’s been the home of a large community of Roma people for so long.” Suddenly, it spilled out of her, everything she was thinking, which was somehow all tangled up with how angry she was at him. “Since the 15thcentury when they felt like outcasts and made a home on the outskirts of the city.”
“Right,” Rafael said. “I don’t know much about the history?—”
“But you should,” she insisted as he zoned in on her clenched fists. “Sometimes they were allowed to live in peace, and other times they were persecuted. At times, they were forbidden from wearing traditional clothing or speaking the language of their people.”
