Page 69 of It Takes Three To Tango

When I wake up, the first thing I do is reach for my phone. There’s a reply text from Florencio, which eases the knot in my chest, and I call him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How’s it going?” he asks.

I fill him in on the progress, even though it’s still early stages, and how I’ll be heading back to the hospital soon and will update him later.

When I ask him how he is, he’s subdued, and hasn’t heard anything from Constantin.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I tell him.

“Good. I miss you.” He rings off, and I hold the phone in my hand for a long time before I work out that his tone sounded like he didn’t believe me.

“You’ve painted that spot three times already,” Alena says, and I turn to scowl at her.

“Just pointing it out, boss.” She’s the one person I can stand to be around right now, so it’s a good job she not only doesn’t care that I’m grumpy and surly, but is happy to come and help me finish getting the bar ready to open next week.

But she’s right, I’ve painted the same area of the wall. I throw the roller down into the tray and reach for a cigarette.

She raises an eyebrow, and I know what she’s thinking, but I don’t need her judgement making me feel any worse about myself right now. I had all but given up smoking, but found myself reaching for them more and more over the last few days.

During the day, I’ve made sure I’ve kept busy—painting, cleaning, and sorting not only the bar area but my apartment as well. As soon as I wake, I throw on some clothes and get to work. Alena has started bringing me food, but I have noappetite, so half of it doesn’t get eaten. When I do eat, it’s usually only because she’s standing over me. I work until I can’t do any more and then I knock back a couple of drinks to numb my mind so I can sleep.

Anything to keep myself from thinking, because if I go down that route, I fall into a pit of self-loathing and embarrassment. I can’t believe I didn’t wake up sooner. But my jagged heart was awakened, and I followed the siren’s call even though I knew it was a foolhardy idea. I had no right to lust after two younger men. Nobody has a relationship like that. It’s bizarre and I’m disgusted with myself, so I don’t allow myself to think, and I don’t look at myself in the mirror. I don’t need to see my mistakes reflected back at me.

I know I’ll be able to get over this because it was never real in the first place. It was just a fairy tale, and I needed a dose of reality and my bar to let the memories fade. I just need to ride it out. I’ve had the love of my life, Valery, and I feel ashamed that I might have denigrated his memory by getting carried away in a delusional fancy. Love never strikes twice, you only get one chance, so I know this will pass. But what I don’t understand is why every time I wake up, I feel worse instead of better, and my heart feels like it’s turned to ash.

I sign my name on yet another document that Señor Bernat puts in front of me. This is to set up my own secure storage at the bank. There have been several documents, signing over ownership of most of the art that hangs on the walls of the mansion. I don’t know much about them, and I’d usually ask Rafe as he has far more knowledge of art than I do, but he’s not here. No one’s here. It’s just my aunt, Juana, and myself, and it feels empty.

Apparently, on paper, I’m now very wealthy. I’ve craved financial independence all my life and now that I have it, it brings me zero joy. I wander listlessly around the house, trying to avoid areas that bring back memories, which are pretty much all of them. Instead, I spend more and more time with my aunt, reading to her and talking with her, but even she grows weary of my melancholy.

I’ve spoken with Rafe a few times, and while he says he’s coming back, each time he feels more distant—more English—which is a ridiculous thing to say. I don’t know whether he noticed, but from being with us so much, he’d started speaking English with a Spanish accent. Now it’s fading every time he calls me, and that makes me sad in a way I can’t describe. It’s like every time you look at a picture, the colour fades, making it look more translucent. That’s only one of the layers of emotion I’m experiencing. I hover between anxiety that he’s going to forget me and sadness that he won’t want to come back. Then there’s the huge part of my heart that Constantin has ripped out and left bleeding. I didn’t even know I loved him too until he left.

I knew the moment I fell for Rafe; it hit me like a freight train when we were in Park Güell. It was the day when everything looked brighter and tasted sweeter and I knew I would do anything for him, even if that meant letting Constantin in. I liked Constantin a lot, but I didn’t think I was in love with him. I was expecting another huge impact, but nothing came. There was no big revelation. My love for him is more subtle, it’s grown gradually, like ivy taking possession of a house, entwining its roots into the brickwork. I didn’t notice how much it had become symbiotic with my soul until he tore it all away.

I walk into the kitchen, usually my happy place, but I can’t calm myself by cooking. What’s the point? There’s no one to cook for. I miss seeing Rafe burning pancakes as I distract him with kisses, or having them try to steal empanadas when they think I’m not watching. The conversations we’ve had over the many meals we’ve taken together. What was it all for, if I’m left feeling like this? I stare uselessly into the refrigerator, trying to remember what I came in for. Something to eat? No, that can’t be right. I’m not hungry. Maybe just some coffee then.

I force myself into the ballroom and make myself dance, partly because I need to exercise so I can keep supple, but I’mhoping that moving my body will unlock some of the heaviness I’m feeling. Going through the varied practice routines does help to a certain extent, but the memories crowd round me as soon as I stop. Constantin at the piano, his soulful dark eyes watching Rafe and me dancing. Beautiful, sweet Rafe in my arms, always trying his best, and his joy when he gets something right. It’s too much and I can feel the tears welling up again. I thought I was done crying, but it seems the tears aren’t done with me. I sit on my bed, my arms gripping a sweater Rafe left behind. Like I have every night, I bury my head in it, inhaling the scent of him.

My phone rings and my heart jumps a little as I see it’s Rafe.

“Hey,” I say as I answer it.

“Hey, Flo. Baby, I’m coming home.”

After getting off the phone with Florencio, I feel a lot more settled. The turmoil of the last few days has left me feeling jittery and being able to make plans is calming. My mum was discharged yesterday, and apart from being weak, she’s doing well. It turns out the virus had affected her so badly because she had an unknown iron deficiency. Now they’ve diagnosed her, and she’s getting treated for that as well. She just needs to rest but isn’t in any danger. I want a couple more days to make sure she really is on the mend before heading back to Spain. I know I’ve only been there six weeks, but I love the city, and it feels a lot more like home to me than England.

I don’t know what the future holds. I need to make plans and discuss them with Florencio, because apart from the fact he doesn’t want to go back to Argentina, I don’t know what he wants to do.

And then there’s the massive ache in my heart called Constantin. I haven’t even begun processing what he means bywhat he said and did. I couldn’t take it on board when I found out about my mum, so I put a plaster over that part of me, and now I’m scared to rip it off. I live with the dull pain that’s constantly with me, carrying it around like a cumbersome bag I can’t put down anywhere.

Whilst I’ve told my parents that I want to go back to Spain, I haven’t told them about Florencio and Constantin. I think it’s time they knew, and I honestly have no idea how they’ll take it. It’s a big change from marrying—and then not marrying—Loretta. They’ve only just got over the shock of all that.

I seek them out in the living room.

“Mum, Dad.” I wipe my hands down the front of my jeans and take a seat opposite them. “I know I haven’t turned out the way you wanted.”

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