Page 67 of It Takes Three To Tango

I sit back and roll my eyes at Luis, but there’s not a chance he won’t tell his favourite story about me.

“My father always visited his sister in the holidays, so I spent my summers in Gran Canaria with Con. This particular year, when we were about ten... Well, I was. Con was twelve, and he thought he was so much more mature than me. He was grown up and a man now. There’s a secluded beach on the north of the island and he said he could jump off the largest rock and onto the beach. He said he was old enough, being the man that he was. He made a big show of it, how Iwas too young to try it, and he was going to be fine. Needless to say, he jumped, landed, tried to roll, and broke his collarbone. I’m sure he felt like a man when he had to ride his bike one-handed all the way home and tell our parents what happened.”

Yes, I remember the telling off I received, not only from my parents for being stupid enough to do it, but also from my aunt and uncle for leading Luis astray. No one seemed to care that it hurt like hell. Eventually, I got it checked out and had to wear my arm in a sling for the rest of the holiday while it set.

The next day, after a luxurious night in theonebed, we discover just how much fun can be had in the enormous shower. A three-way frot is possible if you have large hands, as I do, and use them both. Though I’m sure my arse cheeks will bear the marks of their nails for a long time. As if there wasn’t anything else for them to hold on to. But I don’t mind, and rather like the reminder every time I take a step or sit down.

After a hearty breakfast, we’re treated to a full tour of the vineyard and an extensive wine tasting. Luis shows us the latest batches that are ready to be drunk, and we insist on finishing the opened bottles over that evening’s dinner when we’re joined by Luis’s friend Jiordi. I’ve only met him a few times, though I know he and Luis have been friends for years. By the time I’ve dug up some stories of Luis and he’s told some outrageous ones of our family—Jiordi joining in with a few as his father works with my uncle over at the Otero estate—we’re all fit for nothing but climbing exhausted into bed and sleeping soundly.

On the last morning, I walk with my cousin and tell him all about the bar, how the repairs are going, and the reopening plans once the final decorating has been completed over the next week. Rafe and Florencio are ahead of us, holding hands, talking, and occasionally laughing. More than once, I catch Luis looking at them.

They stop, and Florencio pushes a strand of hair away from Rafe’s face. Rafe says something, and Florencio brings their clasped hands to his lips and kisses Rafe’s knuckles before they continue walking.

“I wonder what it’s like,” Luis sighs wistfully. “To be young and so in love.”

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, cracking the shell I’d constructed around us wide open. The illusion I’d formed while we’d been together, effectively cut off from the rest of the world. The one that let me believe I could be a part of their life. Now it lies broken round my feet, and I feel like an old fool. Who was I kidding? They’re perfect together, just as they are. They have no need of me, and I was naïve to think so. I should’ve known better at my age. I said love could never happen twice, and for a while there I believed I might be wrong, but no, I was correct all along. I just wasn’t following my own advice.

My skin prickles all over, and I want to pull it off like an itchy sweater, but I can’t. I feel on edge and give Luis a terse goodbye. He frowns and asks if I’m all right. I’m not, but I don’t tell him that. I’m sure I will be fine in time, when I’ve forgiven myself for making such a huge mistake. We’re all quiet as we drive back to the city, which is fine as it saves me having to say anything just yet, but I know I will have to when we reach the house. I can’t stay there anymore. The bar is habitable now, so I can move back. Ishould have done so already, really. I’ve not given it enough attention, but I will do so from now, without the distractions I had no right to get involved in. What was I thinking, letting myself get swept away in the magic? I’m too old for that.

When we get back to the house, we climb out of the car. Florencio and Rafe go to enter, but I stay by the car. They turn back.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Florencio asks.

I shake my head, all my carefully rehearsed words flying out of my head.

“I’m going back to the bar. I’m going to stay there tonight, and from now on.”

“Of course, you have a lot to do,” Rafe says, and I close the ache in my heart at his willingness to understand, to give me that leeway.

“No, I won’t be coming back. He was right. You are perfect together. You don’t need me.”

I don’t wait for a response. I don’t want to hear their answer to that. I know if I look back, I might just crumble, so this is for the best. They deserve to love each other without me getting in the way and complicating things. I get back in the car and drive away, back to my bar, back to the only thing I truly have.

“What just happened?” Rafe says as we both stare at the tail end of the car disappearing out the driveway.

“I have no idea.” The words die away as I recall his words, trying to make some sense of them because he wouldn’t just leave us, not Constantin... would he? Despite the warmth of the day, a coldness forms in my core, dread pooling in my bones.

Rafe turns to me, bewildered. I want to say it’ll be all right, and that he can’t mean it, but in truth I don’t know.

His phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket. Frowning, he says, “It’s my dad.” Before turning away to answer it.

I watch as the colour drains from his face, turning his golden features ashen.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll let you know.” He rings off and stands stock-still in the middle of the driveway, looking lost. I tentatively move to him, wanting to offercomfort for whatever it is, not knowing if it’s something he’ll want. As soon as I get close, he pulls me to him and I hug him tightly as he burrows his head into my shoulder. It takes several minutes before he lifts his head enough to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“My mum’s in the hospital. She collapsed. I need to go home.”

“I’m so sorry. Do they know what’s wrong with her?”

I feel the slow shake of his head. “They’re running tests.”

He pushes back a little so he can look at me.

“I’m sorry, Flo. I need to book a flight.”

I swallow back the panic that threatens to overwhelm me, the one that makes me want to scream that it’s unfair he’s leaving too. Instead, I say, “What can I do to help?” His small, grateful smile wrings my heart dry.

I’m not much help. I just trail after him, unwilling to let him out of my sight as he reserves a seat on the next flight out, books an Uber, and then packs up his notes and laptop from the Hollywood room. I sit on his bed as he stands in front of his case, randomly throwing things into it.

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