I sat up on my beach towel and untied the back of my string bikini, my breasts coming free. I could see a bit of movement in Mateo’s board shorts, the ever-present erection.
“I approve of this,” he said, eying my breasts lustfully. They were so white in the glaring sunlight I was surprised he didn’t need shades. He could go blind staring at them for too long.
“I figured if you can’t beat them, join them,” I said, lying back down.
“Now this must be an American or Canadian phrase because no one should beat your breasts. Bite and lick them, yes, but only me.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun, looking up at him. “It is an expression. Meaning, everyone else on this beach is topless so I might as well be too.”
“Yes, might as well,” he said. “Too bad I don’t like it when men stare at you.”
I frowned. “I would think most men on this beach are used to seeing breasts.”
“Yes, but not your breasts. Your breasts are pale, Canadian breasts. They are special, beautiful, and very large.”
I let out a laugh. “Wow, you really are putting on the charm, aren’t you?”
He shrugged and ran his fingers over the shooting star on my chest. “The other girls on the beach aren’t marked the way you are. They are just topless women, but you are something amazing that no one but me should get to see.”
“I’m keeping my top off,” I told him. “And if we’re lucky, I won’t burn them to a crisp.”
He immediately picked up a tube of sunblock. “Then may I volunteer for the job?”
“Will you try and not have sex with me in public?”
“I promise nada.”
He smoothed the sunblock on my breasts and I did what I could to not be turned on. While we could go back to the apartment for another roll in the hay, I also wanted to soak up the sun’s rays while still possible—this was pretty much the last week or two of good weather. I was only a light golden color while Mateo was this rich bronze that bordered on mahogany. The Spaniards got dark over the summer.
When he started paying too much attention to my nipples, I swatted his hand away. Eventually he got the hint and rolled over onto his stomach, perhaps to keep his hard-on hidden from passerby. While women did go topless on the beaches here, it wasn’t seen as a sexual thing.
Eventually I got tired of lying around and getting sweaty, so we went into the surf, playing in the waves. I was still topless and finding the whole thing absolutely liberating. Yes, I got some looks because of my tattoos and such, but overall, no one really cared. The only time people really looked was when Mateo picked me up over his shoulder, strode out into the waves and unceremoniously dumped me into the water. I landed into the end-of-summer chill of the Mediterranean and flailed for a few shocking moments, shrieking, before he pulled me up, grinning. I tried to take him down too but I just wasn’t strong enough and fell into the water again.
Jerk.
We came out of the waves and he pulled me to him, kissing me hard, tasting like salt. Then he slapped me lightly on the ass and laughed. Barcelona Mateo was a bit of a deviant—I liked that.
The next day we pretty much did the same thing, except we headed out into the city to have our lunch at one of the small bars we had stumbled upon the other day in a pretty yellow courtyard. It was so fresh and new in Barcelona that I was oddly sad that we had to return to Madrid. I guess the sea air and mild breezes reminded me of home, plus there was the fact that the two of us could just be ourselves and wander around the city without a care.
That said, there was plenty to look forward to upon our return. When we arrived back in Madrid on Wednesday, the weather now cooler by a few degrees, I had the party that Friday night to plan for the Las Palabras folks. I had gotten in touch with Jerry, whom I didn’t realize actually lived in Madrid, and reached out to about twelve Spaniards on the list, telling them to bring their significant others or a friend. It felt good to have a mini reunion, and I started entertaining the idea that maybe I could get a job working for the Las Palabras office in Madrid. I know that Mateo had said he’d take care of me and everything, but since I wasn’t going to school, I would eventually need to do something. And while I had planned to immerse myself in Spanish, I wasn’t going to be fluent for a really long time. I needed something to occupy my days and make me feel like I was contributing to the relationship and our way of life, even if in such a small way.
It was Thursday night when I was settling down on the couch with Mateo, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around us, glasses of red wine in our hands, when I got a call from Claudia. I eyed the time and thought that ten o’clock was unusually late for a call from her; then again the party was tomorrow and perhaps she wanted to know what to bring.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Vera?” she said, her voice sounding odd, kind of panicked. It made my heart skip forward in time.
“Yes? Claudia, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said with a note of unease. A pregnant pause followed. “Have you seen the latest issue of Diez Minutos? It just came out today.”
“No,” I said carefully. Mateo was staring at me inquisitively but I could only shrug. I turned my attention back to the phone. “Why?”
“Um,” she said. “I’m not sure if it will be on the online version or not. But perhaps you want to go to the store and get a copy for yourself, to see. There is a…there is a picture of you in it.”
My heart came to a screeching halt. “What?” I asked, voice hard.
Now Mateo was sitting up, trying to get my attention, to figure out what was going on. But even I couldn’t figure it out because what Claudia had just said made no sense at all.
“How could I be in it?” I asked carefully.
“You just are,” she said. “On page eight. It, um, it’s a picture of you. The paparazzi took it.”
“What?!”
“You’re in Barcelona, on the beach. You’re topless in the pictures.”
I gasped loud enough to shake the walls. I shot up straight to my feet, hand to my mouth, the phone nearly dropping out of my hands. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know,” Claudia said, sounding desperate. “They often take pictures of celebrities on the beach. Your, um, nipples are blocked out. But it is you. Three pictures in a row. In one you are kissing Mateo. The other he is carrying you on his shoulder. The other he is slapping your behind. Vera, these were all about Mateo. And now they are about you.”
I couldn’t even breathe. I let the phone slip through my fingers, thudding to the floor. I pushed past Mateo, grabbed my house keys and a ten euro note from the change bowl on the counter, and ran out the door. It didn’t matter that I was barefoot and in pajama pants and a t-shirt, I was running down the stairwell, through the lobby and out into the dark of night.
The nearest convenience store was open late and just a block away—perfect for when you needed coffee, toilet paper, eggs, or a gossip magazine. The bell above the door rang as I pushed myself into the fluorescent lights, my bare feet slapping on the sticky floor. I didn’t care and I didn’t have to search for long. There it was, propped up below the counter, beside the newspaper and the candy bars.
I snatched it up, trying my hardest not to flip through the pages, and bought it. And by buying it, I mean I slapped the ten euro note on the counter, and without meeting the clerk’s eyes, I left it there and ran out of the store with the magazine.
I made it about half a block when I decided to break down and flip through it, but I saw the shadowy figure of Mateo leaving the apartment building and heading straight to me. “Vera,” I heard him call after me, but I was on a mission.