Alma shook her head. “It’s notyou.It’s not evenhim, not really. Maybe he really believes the two of you could have something, but it seems irresponsible to experiment with you in light of everything you’ve been through. I just worry he’s not ready, and you aren’t either.”
“I know what you mean. That’s why I told him…” Grace thought back to the night before, to telling Rafael a relationship between them was too risky. Still, she couldn’t help defending the idea of it, even if she hadn’t been willing to take that chance. “But you haven’t really been in anything serious either, until now. And maybe it won’t be with me, but someday he might want a relationship.”
Alma pressed her lips together, considering Grace’s argument. “Maybe that’s true. I hope he will figure things out someday. He’s had it rough with our father, trying to emulate him and then trying to distance himself from him. I don’t think he’s had enough of a chance to figure out who he is and what he wants without Papá’s influence. Starting his company was a first step, but I’m not sure if he’s had enough time to understand himself yet.”
Grace hadn’t considered Rafael’s father’s influence before, even though she could recall the pain and defiance that seemed to affect his entire demeanor whenever his father came up in conversation. “You’re right that the timing is terrible. And you’re right that I don’t want to lose anything else. And you’re right that he’s your brother, and I don’t want to put you in an awful situation.”
Alma’s mouth quirked up. “I’m not used to you telling me I’m right about so much stuff.”
“Just—” Grace started. “Take it easy on him, please.”
Alma made a motion to zip her lips. “I won’t say another word about it. We can all just pretend this never happened. Though I might not be able to help my gag reflex when I see the two of you in the same room.”
Alma said it like it was all a big joke. A silly story for the future. A little misstep on their ultimate journey. But Grace couldn’t see it like that. She didn’t know if she ever could, not when it felt like her heart had been broken all over again.
Alma studied her face. “I’m telling you, it’s for the best.”
“Yeah.” The kettle whistled, and Grace was thankful for the opportunity to turn away, to try to hide all her anguish and lock it deep inside. When she turned back to her best friend, she’d regained her composure.
Alma poured another mug of coffee and blew across the top.
“Tell me about Obinna,” Grace said, looking forward to the change in topic, one with a happy ending.
Alma smiled, and it really was like nothing had happened. They’d resolved the Rafael issue, nipped it in the bud, and now they could go on with their friendship.
Alma told her all of the details—the long conversation about where their relationship was going, how she’d admitted to Obinna how terrified she’d been to think of their future, and how she’d been even more terrified to think they might not have one. She gave Grace a breakdown of the whole thing, point by point until the moment when Obinna had finally kissed her. “I love him so much,” Alma gushed. “I don’t know how he could have thought otherwise.”
Grace smiled, happy for her friend even if her own pain was still tattooed under her skin. She knew Alma had never felt like this before, that she’d never wanted this kind of commitment. And if Alma was able to commit to Obinna, to consider marriage and children and all the things she’d never given a second thought, then surely, Rafael could have a girlfriend. He wanted it. He was ready to try.
But it wouldn’t be with Grace. Alma was right—Grace certainly wasn’t in a position to be Raf’s relationship guinea pig. And she’d made that clear to him the night before…right before he’d disappeared. As happy as Grace was that everything had worked out for Alma, she also just wanted to go back to bed and force the day to come to an end as quickly as possible. One day and then another and another. That was the only way to move forward. And she knew from experience, from long days and treacherous nights, it was the only way to move on.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Raf threwhimself into his work. There were deadlines for everything—for the catering and the bartenders and the insurance policies and the framing of the paintings. The inaugural event at the underground museum was in two weeks, and everything had to be perfect. He was glad, in fact, that he had so much to do. He could stay busy at every moment, do everything he could to fight the burning in his chest that liked to remind him that he could never have Grace Cameron and he was supposed to be fine with it.
There were deadlines for dealing with that, too. Grace was moving out in a matter of days, her apartment almost back to perfect condition, and then they would go back to being strangers. They’d hardly seen each other lately since he’d been avoiding his home like the plague despite promising to act like nothing was wrong, but he still liked to imagine her there in her little bedroom, staring out the window over the tops of nearby buildings, concentrating so hard on something he could never see. He couldn’t imagine how lonely the place would feel without her, so he mostly tried to never let himself think of it, to pretend it wasn’t real.
They offered each other polite nods when passing through the kitchen. He rushed out of whatever room she was in, even when she opened her mouth to speak, even when she managed to say his whole name, he was gone before she could finish a sentence.
It was rude, certainly, but also, he’d never hurt so much in his life, so he thought he deserved to be a little rude to the person who’d done this to him, the person who’d made him feel like he was gliding through the night sky with liquid skin, only to splash him all over the pavement.
He wasn’t speaking to Alma, either, not that she minded. She was off with her boyfriend, because for some reason she deserved a chance at love even if Rafael did not. He’d pursued the wrong woman, and he’d known it all along. It was stupid to develop feelings for your sister’s best friend, even stupider to act on them. But it wasn’t exactly like he’dpickedGrace. She’d shown up with her blue eyes and her pink lips and her perfect laugh and her long, rambling descriptions of Picasso paintings, and she’d wriggled her way in before he’d even noticed, before he'd even had a chance to fight her off.
“It’s looking good,mijo,” Christian said, striding into the biggest room of the gallery.
Rafael shook himself, trying to remember what he was doing. He was standing in front of one of the paintings of Dora Maar, one Grace had described in great detail. She’d loved this portrait and how it captured Maar’s passion, the way you could see that Picasso’s lover challenged him and lit a fire inside of him. Rafael always felt trapped by it whenever he walked by, like it was reaching out and holding him still.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied. “Any complaints?”
“That one over there that looks like an octopus? Odd placement next to the naked lady with the book, don’t you think?”
Rafael cleared his throat. “Grace said the octopus one is also a naked lady, I think.”
Christian let out a barking laugh. “I’m teasing you, Rafa,” he said. “Lighten up. The place is beautiful, and it’s about time to have a little fun.”
“It’s not quite ready yet,” Rafael admitted. “One of the frames?—”
“Relax,” Christian said. “It will be ready in time for the first event. We’re almost there. Anyway, where is Grace? I was hoping she might have another look before opening to make sure everything was hung in the right place. She mapped it all out so well.”
