Page 74 of It Takes Three To Tango

“I was going to wish you luck for the reopening.”

“Thank you,” I manage through clenched teeth.

“How are those lovely guys of yours?”

“They’re notmyguys,” I grind out.

I hear a slightly exasperated sigh. “Con, what did you do?”

“What makes you thinkIdid anything?”

“Because I know you, Con, and if anyone was going to fuck it up, it would be you.”

“Well, I rather think it was you,” I spit.

“What the hell didIdo?” Luis’ voice is incredulous.

“You said they were perfect together, and what the hell did they need me for?”

“I did not say that!” he almost shouts down the phone. “Yes, I said they were perfect together, but I didn’t say they weren’t perfect for you as well. Don’t go adding your narrative to my words and blaming me. I’ve always said you should stop moping and get back out there. It’s you who’s always got his head up his arse. Fucking hell, Con, I’d give my right arm for half a chance at one go at finding love, but you have it right in front of you again and throw it away. You need to take the chances you get in this world.”

“Valery said as much.”

There’s the briefest of pauses. “Valery?”

“He wrote me a letter before he died. I’d forgotten about it, but I’ve just found it. He said I would be stubborn.”

“I always said he was wise. You didn’t deserve him.”

“Ouch!” That was really below the belt. It’s only because he’s my cousin and best friend that I don’t hang up on him.

“Tell me that isn’t so right now.” Luis is still pissed at me. “Tell me I’m wrong, Con.”

The coil of my core that’s been tightly wound for the last few days springs free and unravels. I let out a deep sigh. I finally allow myself the truth—that I want nothing more than to be back with Rafe and Florencio.

“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“I’ll say you have.” Luis doesn’t pull any punches, but it’s what I need right now.

Dread floods through me. It might be too late.

“What do I need to do, Wis?”

“What you do best, Con.” This time, his voice is softer. “And good luck.”

I stand, and picking up my glass, I pour the rest of my drink down the sink. I throw my cigarettes in the bin. I know exactly what I have to do.

I pace the house again, the way I have been doing most of the morning. It’s become a route, from the lobby through the halls to the ballroom, out onto the terrace, down into the kitchen and back. There’s no point sitting still, I can’t settle long enough to do anything. Rafe is arriving very soon.

Last night we talked on the phone for a long time, longer than we have since he had to return to England. Afterwards, I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had since he left. This morning, I cooked some empanadas for him, the first meal I’ve prepared that hasn’t been just heating something out of a tin. But now, as the time inches closer to when he’s due to arrive, I’m like a nervous horse, skittish and jumping at my own shadow.

My heart constricts when I hear a car on the driveway, and then suddenly he appears like a golden vision. I almost knock him over as I leap at him, and he drops his bags to clasp me tight.

I kiss him long and hard, tears of relief and joy running down my face.

“Niño de oro,”I breathe when our lips part. “I thought you weren’t coming back.” I kiss each part of his face between every word, and still, it’s not enough.

“Flo, baby,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I won’t leave again.”

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