“A pleasure to meet you,” Raf said with a charming smile. He was as calm and debonair as always, the perfect picture of a high society gentleman who knew how to throw a party.
Marco’s eyes widened just a bit, and Grace just knew he was assessing Rafael’s beautiful face, because it’s what she was doing, too. “Uh—nice to meet you, too. Did you also make these littlecroquetas, because they are wildly delicious.”
Rafael laughed. “No, I didn’t cook the food, but I was the one who chose the menu, so I’ll still take that as a compliment.”
Marco nodded. “You should, honestly. Between the paintings and the food, I think you’ve got to have good taste.”
“Marco,” Lucia called, beckoning her son toward one of Picasso’s early self-portraits where she stood with Alejandro. She gave Grace a knowing little glance as if she could see exactly what had been on Grace’s mind all evening.
“Nice museum,” Marco commented to Rafael before sliding off toward his mother.
Grace and Rafael stood silently for a long moment. She cleared her throat as if she was about to say something, but no words came out. She didn’t know how to act normal around him, not anymore, not since Alma had given her permission to want him.
She really, really wanted him. She just didn’t know exactly what that meant. She didn’t know if she was ready to giveherselfpermission to want him. How sustainable could this thing between them be?
“Well, Marco seems to be a good judge of character,” Rafael said at last, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“Yes.” Grace was almost breathless. “I could tell my students loved it.”
“Good. They’re lucky to get to see the work and hear about it straight from your mouth.”
She couldn’t help noticing how much interest he was taking in her mouth as he said those words.
They stared at each other again. “How long have you been here?”
Rafael ran a hand through his hair. “I was here before the event to make sure everything was set up, but then I went to run errands.”
“Is it true that Christian wanted to cancel?” Grace asked in a rush.
Rafael frowned. “Where did you hear that?”
Grace swept some hair behind her ear and glanced away from him.
“Alma,” he said, and Grace nodded. “Well, I told him we couldn’t cancel, and here we are. It worked out.”
Grace’s eyes met his again. “Because of you,” she said.
Rafael coughed. “How’d you get up here? Can I drive you home?”
“Yes,” Grace replied without hesitation.
“Find me whenever you’re ready to go.” His hand just barely slid past the side of her arm as he walked by. She was going to be alone with him again, and it was impossible to think about anything else.
They were silent for much of the drive. Grace stared out the window trying to gather her thoughts even though it was useless. Her thoughts resisted gathering. Instead, they scrambled over everything—her grandmother and pomegranates and the feel of Rafael’s skin. She thought about how content Lucia had been at the exhibit. She thought about Alma. She was full of gratitude and grief and longing.
She glanced over at Rafael.Yes, lots and lots of longing.
They were almost to her apartment, but Grace didn’t want to go to her apartment. She wanted to go home with him, even if she didn’t know how to broach the subject. She supposed she could have used their time in the car trying to get a sense of how he felt about her or maybe talking about her feelings for him, but she was still tangled up in her own thoughts, unsure of exactly what she wanted or how to express it. Still terrified.
He turned down Alma’s street.Herstreet.
“What if—” she started. If she wanted any chance of more time with him, she had to say it, but the words lodged in her throat.
He glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. “I’d kill to know just what’s going on in your head,” he said.
“Maybe we could go to your place and talk.”
He scrunched up his forehead and glanced at her again. “We’ve barely spoken this entire trip, and you think we need to go and talk?”
