Mateo? I thought for a moment. No, she meant Dave. Of course.
She went on, “You’ll see. End of this week, you’ll learn who has hooked up with who. It’s like…you isolate a bunch of adults in the middle of the Spanish countryside and all the rules get thrown out the window.”
I finished my coffee down. For some reason the conversation was making me uncomfortable. “Sounds like it gets messy.”
She nodded slowly. “It can. But most people try and protect their hearts. I think that’s only natural. No one expects anything when they come to one of these places and if they do, they learn from it. I know I did after Blair—that was my Kiwi love. Xavi was just for fun. And this time? Well, I don’t know. After everything I’ve said, I don’t actually come here to find love. It just happens.”
“Why do you come here?”
She turned so the sun was at her back and her face gazed at me through shadow. “To belong.” She looked back to the crest of the hill. “Shall we head back? Don’t want to miss breakfast. That’s one thing I’ve learned as well. Always eat as much as you can. You’ll need your strength. And drink lots of water. And when all else fails, talk about music. Everyone loves to talk about music.”
I kept that—and everything else she’d said—in mind as we walked back up the hill.
Chapter Seven
Misery loves company.
To my pleasant surprise, almost every other person at Las Palabras was hungover. If this was what belonging felt like, then I was feeling it full-throttle.
Becca and I had sat down at a table with a green-looking Angel and a quiet Eduardo. It was Becca’s choice of tables and the more I watched her over breakfast and her interactions with Eduardo, the more I started to get an idea that she was setting her fairy dust on him.
I saw Mateo come in but he barely acknowledged me before going to sit with Beatriz, Polly and some bearded man called Skip. I wondered if Mateo was hungover too—if he was, he was making it work for him. He hadn’t shaved again, so the stubble was rough and dark and, combined with his tousled, messy hair, it made me want to do bad things to him. He was wearing another suit—a light grey one this time that complimented his dark skin. I wondered if all he had packed was suits. Surely he knew that this place would have been more casual than that.
I heard Becca clear her throat from beside me. I looked up in time to see Dave entering. He saw me and broke into a crooked grin which then quickly evolved into the casual head nod. Typical.
When breakfast was over and I was managing to keep the fruit I had consumed down (no way was a meal of meat and cheese going to cut it) I took a look at my schedule for the day. My first one-on-one was with Mateo. I barely looked at the rest. My smile could have broken my face in two.
I waited in reception by checking my emails, while Mateo finished up his breakfast. Jocelyn hadn’t sent me anything yet but Josh did. It was short and sweet. He was glad I was having fun. He’d just drawn something that he thought was good enough to enter into a contest (he’s an illustrator, like, an awesome one, and hopes to illustrate a graphic novel or comic book one day) and he said it’s been hard with me gone, mainly because our mother has taken to harassing him twenty-four seven about getting a better job than the line order cook one he already has.
I sighed, feeling bad for Josh. Ever since Mercy moved out and got engaged to her self-righteous prick of a fiancé, Charles (but you have to say it with a nasally English accent), my mother has been focusing her efforts on me and Josh. The thing is, housing prices and rent is so expensive in Vancouver that both Josh and I have nowhere to go but home. Part of me always entertained the idea of Josh and I moving out together, but since I’m a student with a shitty part-time job, that idea never gets very far.
“Who is Josh?”
I spun around in my seat to see Mateo standing behind me, scrutinizing my computer screen. Thank god I hadn’t written anything to my brother about him.
“He’s my brother,” I said quickly, heart racing and head still thumping. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden?
“Did you say anything nice about me?” he asked.
What? I frowned.
He shook his head, the grin spreading across his face. “I am just making fun. Come, let’s go talk. Where do you want to do it?”
Um, on the floor, against the sink, in the bed?
I shrugged and got out of my seat. “It doesn’t matter. Somewhere quiet. And with access to water. Or a toilet in case I vomit.”
Smooth, Vera, real smooth.
“You don’t feel so well also?” he asked. He put his hand on my lower back and gently guided me out of the room. It was crazy, the heat I felt from that, imagined or not. I never wanted him to take his hand away.
He took me back outside and pointed to two wicker chairs in the shade of the building. “How about here?”
We weren’t the only ones outside. Lauren and Sara were on the other side of the patio, trying to have a conversation. I smiled at Sara—she also looked worse for wear—but avoided Lauren’s eyes. I knew they wouldn’t be friendly.
I collapsed into a chair, nestling in the cushions and trying to get in a comfortable position without the wicker imprinting lines on my face. Mateo did the opposite. He sat down, legs splayed, arms resting on the sides, the picture of total elegance. He stared at me, eyes lazy and subdued, like he was panther sizing up his prey.
I hadn’t been anyone’s prey in a long time. And, despite how my body felt about it, it wouldn’t be a good time to start.
I cleared my throat. “So.”
“So,” he said right back, still staring. “Did you have fun last night?”
I nodded, wondering how much he knew. “Too much fun, maybe.”
“I didn’t see you leave,” he said.
Good.
“Though, I heard you did,” he added.
Shit.
I didn’t bother looking at him. Instead I brought out my sunglasses from my bag and slipped them on. Ah, much better. The world was less bright and headache-inducing and Mateo couldn’t see my eyes.
When I didn’t say anything he said, “You should have come say goodbye.”
“You looked busy,” I said, a little too quickly. “Dancing.”
“That was nothing. You should have seen me dancing like Justin Timberlake.”
I gave him a look he couldn’t see.
He gave me a shit-eating grin. “That’s what I assume I look like when I dance. I could be wrong.”
“I had too much grappa,” I managed to say. “What about you?”
“Even a little bit is too much but perhaps that is why we drink it. Perhaps this is why I think I dance like Justin Timberlake.”
This Mateo was like all Mateos—unflappable, calm and smooth. In charge of the ride. But for a moment I remembered the Mateo on the phone yesterday, the business man who freaked out because he didn’t know what he was doing—in either language. That Mateo intrigued me more than most.
I wondered how to start pulling on the threads.
“So, what shall we discuss,” I said.
He smiled. “We’re already discussing. There is no script here. Let us just talk.”
“Okay,” I said. He was right, of course. When you were with someone you liked during your one-on-ones, it was different. You were just hanging out. It was kind of genius when you think of it. I wondered if that’s why Jerry had the drunken party on the first night, so that people would break down the language barriers and get comfortable with each other.