Page 23 of It Takes Three To Tango

“Not really. This bar is the only thing I have, so without it, I’m nothing. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Well, the first thing you’re doing is coming with us,” I state, and see a frown cross his face. “You weren’t really thinking of staying here, were you?”

He mumbles something and doesn’t meet my eyes. I grab his arm so I have his full attention.

“You cannot stay here. You have no water, and half your house has no floor.”

“I’ll find somewhere,” he says, as if it’s the last thing he wants to do.

“No. You’ll stay with us,” I say firmly.

“But your aunt,” he protests.

“Will want you to come to the house. I’m only saying you’re coming with us now so I don’t have to trail down here later and haul your arse back up that hill when she sends me to fetch you.”

That does get a small laugh from him. He knows he’s beat.

“Now, if you can get back up those stairs, go grab what you need, otherwise we’ll have to make do,” I continue, not sure how that would work exactly as none of Rafe’s or my clothes are going to fit his broad frame.

“Has anyone told you that you’re stubborn?” he says, rising to obey.

“Frequently, and you’re welcome,” I call after his retreating back.

I notice movement in my peripheral vision and lazily turn my head to see Constantin sink onto the sun lounger next to me.

It’s been a few days since his ceiling collapsed and he’s starting to lose the lost look he’d had at the beginning. I think he now feels like he has some control, and it’s not quite as bad as he feared. Once the building was made safe, we spent two days clearing up the mess. Now, it’s been handed over to the builders. He says it will take a month to rebuild and get it passed for inspection so he can reopen. Much sooner than he hoped for,andhe won’t lose the whole of the tourist season. He’s come to some arrangement with Alena, so she’ll come back when it’s ready. That he’s able to relax is a good sign, as he’s been edgy for days.

“¿Cómo te sientes hoy?”I try out the Spanish I’ve been learning by asking how he’s feeling today.

“Muybien,”he answers and I give him a look because I wasn’t expecting that answer. He laughs.

“Are yousure?” My Spanish doesn’t extend to asking that.

“No, I’m feeling so-so today,” he replies. “But your Spanish is very good.Muybien,Rafe.”

I stretch languidly; the way he says very good in Spanish makes me do that. He says it like a soft caress and I’m like a cat being stroked. I want to learn more and use my words to push against his hand so his words can caress me again. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t understand it. It’s similar to when Florencio praises my dancing, but that’s less a slow caress and more of a tingling on my skin. Maybe I never received enough praise as a child, but I’m loving it now.

There’s something about hearing Spanish that I can’t get enough of, especially if Florencio and Constantin are talking. More than once, I’ve feigned sleep whilst I’ve lain out in the sun, just so I can lie and listen to them. Their voices and intonation send my bones to jelly and my organs to mush. Of course, I can’t understand what they’re talking about—not more than an odd word here or there, and not enough to even derive context—but I don’t care what they say, just the cadence of the language makes me feel untethered to my corporeal self. It’s almost sensual.

“¿Quieres un café?”Constantin asks, rising from his lounger, and I smile up at him. This one Idoknow, and there’s no way I’m not going to want a coffee, but I answer anyway.

“Sí, por favor.”Partly to practise and also just to get him to say “very good” again—which he does with a slow smile that reaches his eyes. My breath hitches a little as he says it, the anticipation becoming part of the experience.

He returns a short time later, with the coffee and Florencio in tow. Florencio throws himself down on another lounger with a grunt. He looks very pissed.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Families are the worst.” He flings an arm over his face as if blotting out the sun will help.

“My father isn’t happy with myprogressreports.” He spits out the last two words.

“What are you supposed to be reporting on?” I ask.

“My aunt.” He sighs. “I’m supposed to give him daily updates on her health. I refused. I said I wasn’t going to do that. It’s not my business, and truthfully, I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me even if I asked her. Do you know what he told me to do?”

We both watch him, knowing that we’re not required to answer the question.

“Snoop, that’s what. I’m not going to do that. And then he said that I should go home for a while, back to Argentina.” The last comes out with a cry. “Like he has any use for me back there!”

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