But months of distance and the move to another country was starting to make her think he’d done the right thing. Life with Derek had been…fine. It was comfortable and easy, for the most part. They rarely argued. They rarely did much of anything. Derek never even seemed that interested in listening to her, not in the way Rafael did—sitting with his chin in his hands, drinking in every word she spoke, like all of it was important and monumental. Like she mattered. Not in a million years would she have expected Raf to be the person to make her feel that way. She’d never come alive when Derek put a hand on her thigh. She’d never longed for him, desperate to get home and feel his fingers in her hair. She’d never felt an electric spark that sizzled right under her skin. She’d never known what she was missing.
She bit her lip and tried to stifle the sudden feeling that bubbled up in her belly, forcing herself to ignore it.
Alma and Obinna weren’t Grace and Derek, and Grace was sure this wasn’t the end of their story. She just needed to figure out how to get Alma to feel her feelings, to let Obinna know what she really wanted, to be vulnerable for the first time in her entire life.
“I need a drink,” Alma said.
Grace pulled back and examined her friend’s face to see if she was serious. “It’s Sunday. And the sun isn’t even up.”
Alma scoffed. “When would it be appropriate to drink then, Gracie? I thought we could do whatever I wanted.”
Grace scrunched up her face. “Mimosas?”
Alma smiled, a hint of her usual self peeking out. “Now you’re talking.”
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Rafael dressedto the sound of giggling outside his door. He supposed that was a good sign. At least Alma wasn’t crying again. He shivered. He’d never seen his sister cry before, and he didn’t want to repeat the experience. Of course, if anyone in the world could get Alma to giggle when she was at her worst, it was Graciela.
Vaya, why did something swell inside of him at the thought of Grace? She was so funny and smart and passionate. It had taken everything out of him to watch her leave his room in the middle of the night when all he wanted was to hold her and smell her hair. Apparently, both Ferrer-Martín siblings were starting to experience emotions they’d never had before.
Rafael was afraid to leave his room, afraid that he would take one look at his sister’s best friend, and everything would be written all over his face. Alma would know it in an instant. He waspining. Even if it was a completely new look for him, his sister would be able to spot it. He didn’t know how to act like a regular person when this feeling was churning inside of him—this thing he’d never quite experienced in his life. He didn’t know how to name it, but he was giddy. He was gleeful. Alma was going to think he was a total idiot.
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his face neutral, and exited the bedroom.
There was a contained bit of chaos in his kitchen. Both women were seated at the counter with a mess of glasses and bottles littered before them, Grace with her head on the granite and Alma cackling. Grace lifted her head slightly at the sound of his bedroom door creaking, and he saw the blush creeping up her cheeks. Then Alma knocked a shoulder into her, and they both nearly tumbled from their stools.
“Are you two drunk?” He checked his watch.
That set Alma off on another fit of laughter. “Gracie’s cheering me up,” she said.
“I can see that.” Except Grace hadn’t looked at him again. She was clearly avoiding eye contact.
“And we were reminiscing about old times. Like the time?—”
“Alma!” Grace jumped in, trying to cut her off.
But Alma persevered. “Grace made out with a guy dressed like the Grinch at a Christmas party, and she had green paint smudged all over her face and neck and arms.” She let out another laugh. “At least, that was the paint I couldsee.Might have been somewhere else, too.”
Grace dropped her head into her hands, her groan muffled by her palms, and Rafael laughed softly. “Did he taste weird from all that paint?”
Alma took a large gulp from her drink and put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “That gives me a good idea!”
Rafael stepped closer, watching the pair of them with amusement.
“You want to dress up like the Grinch? It’s not even Christmas yet,” Grace said.
“No, you know what always cheers me up and brings me so much joy? Watching your escapades with random men. And I haven’t gotten to see that for alongtime. I’m not really up for any escapades myself, but going out and seeing you hook up with someone…”
Grace looked anywhere in the room but at Rafael, and he knew it well, since he hadn’t managed to take his eyes off her. The thought of her with someone else blazed in his mind, and he rubbed a hand against the back of his head, trying to stay calm.
Was this jealousy? Because of someone who didn’t even exist? Jealousy at just the thought of her kissing someone else? Or looking at someone else the way she looked at him? Not that she looked at him like that anymore, apparently, since she was so clearly avoiding his gaze.
Would she want that—to be with some other guy? To have an escapade? Was that all she was looking for?
He’d never been jealous about a woman, not like this. He’d never felt so flustered and overwhelmed and obsessed. It was fucking terrible.
“What’s wrong with you?” Alma asked, watching him.
