Page 19

"What do you want to drink?" Claudia asks.

Laia turns and looks over her shoulder to confirm that she's really asking her.

"Me?" she asks, pointing at herself.

Pol lets out a laugh, and Claudia leans one elbow on the bar, which makes her shirt fall open and show more of her left chest, and Laia is completely incapable of not looking.

"Yes, you. It's warm in here—you should stay hydrated."

"Sparkling water."

Claudia nods, orders herself a gin and tonic alongside Laia's water, and pays for everything in cash.

"Thanks—I'll be over there," Laia manages to say, pointing to the corner at the far end of the bar without waiting for Claudia to respond.

She can't stay at her side, she can't be half a meter away from her because that open shirt is killing her. She drags an empty barstool over and sits down, checking the time to do the math. She can wait a couple of hours—that's reasonable—and then she'll go back over and beg Claudia to leave with her. If she doesn't manage it, at least she'll have tried and can leave with a clear conscience, because deep down Elvira can't expect anything more from her than a report laying out everything her niece does. What Laia understands from all of this is that what the family really wants is to gauge how seriously Claudia is taking things—whether this time she means it or whether she's going to keep on with this unraveled life she seems to lead. She's thinking about that when a blonde girl sidles up beside her, orders a drink, and turns toward her.

"I'm Mari—did you come alone?"

Laia doesn't get out much, but she can always tell when someone is hitting on her. She blinks, surprised, because it's the last thing she expected, and she can't help smiling when she answers.

"Actually, no."

"Shame," the girl says, winking at her before moving on to find another woman who's actually available.

"First night here and she's already a hit," Pol says.

Claudia is still watching the blonde girl who just walked away from Laia.

"If she weren't who she is, I'd try my luck too—don't tell me she's not attractive."

Pol looks at her again.

"She's cute, yeah. Another drink?"

"Hold on," she says, noticing that Laia is yawning. "Be right back."

Claudia leaves him at the bar and walks over to Laia.

"Why don't you head out? It's late and you don't have to be here."

"If you leave, I leave," Laia replies.

Claudia raises an eyebrow.

"Emotional blackmail? That doesn't seem like you at all."

Laia turns red and looks down, yanking her gaze away the moment it lands on Claudia's neckline. What if she begged her to button up? Maybe that's the one request Claudia would actually honor—and then Laia could breathe and think at the same time.

"I'm fine—go back to him," Laia is still finishing the sentence when she sees that a woman has appeared next to Pol, and she regrets opening her mouth the moment Claudia goes back to her friend and that woman smiles at her as she walks over, drinking her in with her eyes.

That part Laia can handle—but what she isn't ready to see is how they kiss each other on the lips in greeting, because it sends a hollow feeling through her stomach the way an elevator dropping catches you off guard. Then a sharp stab beneath her ribs that rises through her chest and squeezes her throat, and when she finally manages to breathe, it comes in ragged gulps.

The woman presses a little closer to Claudia and puts a hand on her waist while she says something that makes Pol laugh, but Laia doesn't stay rooted to the spot only because of the jealousy of seeing that woman seem to have every right to the one thing Laia wants—though there's that too—but because she's a woman. Is Claudia a lesbian? It had never even crossed Laia's mind. In none of her mental scenarios had that possibility existed—but now she starts noticing the obvious and the breath goes out of her. The bar has far more women than men, and the few men who are there are like Pol—gay. It's a mixed venue that, for whatever reason, draws mostly women, and by the time Laia reaches that conclusion her pulse is racing so fast she feels dizzy.

She orders another bottle of sparkling water that costs her an arm and a leg, and stays put, trying to hide the number of glances she steals at the two women. Is she her girlfriend? Laia hopes not, because that would shatter her heart into a thousand pieces. She knows Claudia will never look at her the way she's looking at this woman, but she needs a little time to accept it—and watching the two of them move onto the dance floor together isn't helping.

For the next half hour she watches them drift together and apart, follows them back to the bar where Pol—who seems to have made it his home base—is waiting, sees them order another drink, and counts that it's Claudia's third. She thinks about leaving. It's clearly pointless for her to be here, and staying only turns her into a masochist willing to watch the woman she's falling for laugh next to someone who is older, a fully grown woman who seems to know exactly what she wants and goes after it—nothing like Laia, who is just sitting there with her stomach in knots.