Nacho Figueras Presents (12 page)

S
ebastian led his little piebald mare, Elizabét, from the barn out toward the practice field. He'd had to ask one of the grooms to help him tack up since he still had only one working arm, but riding one-handed was not going to be a problem.

He swung up into the saddle and rode out onto the field. It was still early in the morning. The sun was just slanting over the horizon, and the air had a kiss of nighttime coolness.

He had briefly gone home after leaving Kat at her house, but found that sleep was elusive.

Lying there in his room, staring up at the ceiling, he'd felt hollow inside, gut-punched. He could still hear the way she had talked to him—like he was some stupid, reckless child.

He urged the mare into a trot as he remembered the first time he had met her—the look in Kat's eyes just before she'd slammed the door in his face. How had he not seen it? She'd been a mistake from the very beginning. What had possessed him to think of her any differently than the multitude of other women he'd been with? Why had he let his guard down?

He pushed the mare harder, urging her into a full-blown gallop. He'd been a fool. Hanging around her like a lovesick puppy, bringing her gifts, introducing her to his family. He glowered at the thought.

He had actually imagined it was different with her. That she was different. That
he
was different with her. He'd let himself go soft, to fantasize about the kind of future he'd never allowed himself to imagine before. Talking about staying at her house in L.A., going home to Argentina together, assuming that this movie was their project to complete together…

He let Elizabét slow back down to a canter.

Of course, Kat was wrong, too. Maybe she wasn't wrong about them, but she was wrong even to consider compromising on her beautiful script. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone making changes or giving notes to make it more commercial. Reading it had been like having his
abuelita
back in the room with him again. He could feel her warm affection and her humor, the way she didn't give a damn about what was expected of her. It reminded him of all the things she had worked so hard to teach him and Jandro, of her fervent wish that the brothers grow up to live passionate and extraordinary lives.

When they were very young, they would trail ride with her at their
campo
in Argentina, and she would tell them stories about the way she and their grandfather had courted. How, even though their families disapproved of the match, and
Abuelo
's family had even threatened to disinherit him, they never wavered in their affection. They never backed down. “Your
abuelo
and I, we felt no fear,” she'd say, smiling at the memory. “We were meant to be together, it was
destino
, and no one could stand in the way of something so strong.”

Sebastian took the pony up to a gallop again, feeling the horse flying under him.

When he was reading that script, he had to admit that there were moments when he thought that maybe the words were just a little bit about
them
, too—him and Kat. That just maybe what his
abuelita
had described—that kind of destiny—was showing itself to be between the two of them as well. Certainly, he'd never felt this way about any woman before, never felt this aching desire that pulsed through him even as he held her in his arms, even as he took her…hell, even after he found his release. He felt like he could have her a million times over and never stop wanting her.

And it wasn't just sex. It was her laugh, and her wit, her generosity. It was the way she cut right to the heart of things. Everything simply made more sense when he was with her.

With her, he saw himself in a new way. He thought he was a stronger, better man when he was in her arms. Before he had met her, the furthest into the future he was willing to think about was what bar or club he would go to that night, and what girl he might go home with after. But with Kat, suddenly he found himself thinking about things not just days ahead, but
years
.

He shook his head, sneering at himself. What was the point of belaboring it? He had been wrong about so much; he was surely wrong about all this as well. She obviously thought him as insubstantial as Alejandro did.

He slowed the horse to a walk, cooling her off. His
abuela
had also taught him to ride it out when things were bad, that time on a horse could work magic, that it could change everything. But as the horse slowed beneath him, he felt a numb, hollow feeling in his chest rise up once more.

He bent to Elizabét's neck, resting his cheek against her velvety coat, and sighed, still waiting for the magic spell to kick in.

K
at sat with her father over dinner. The rehabilitation center seemed quiet tonight. Or perhaps it was just them. Her mother had pleaded a headache and sent Kat alone, her father seemed tired, and Kat herself couldn't seem to find the heart to keep even a polite conversation going.

The other patients sat at the tables around them. Some of them obviously had family visiting, though few had daily visitors like Kat's dad did. Others—especially the folks who were here long-term—had made friends within the facility. In fact, her father had recently told Kat a rather scandalous story of a couple of married patients who had met during water aerobics and struck up a hot affair.

But Kat felt bad about the people who ate alone, the ones who never seemed to have anyone, who passed their time with a book propped up in front of their plate or who quickly bolted their meal and then hurried back to their rooms. Or worse yet, thought Kat as she watched a sweet-faced older woman picking at her food, the ones who just kind of stared off into space until dinner was over.

Sometimes her family invited people to their table. But tonight it was just Kat and her father.

“Looks like a nice night,” her father said.

Kat looked out the window and nodded in agreement. “Yes, not too humid.”

The dining hall overlooked the gardens, and usually Kat enjoyed the view—a brightly colored hodgepodge of tropical and native plants, palms and bromeliads, and oversized aloe—but tonight, she couldn't seem to focus.

“This is delicious,” said her father, forking up another bite of chicken. “Y'all are spoiling me.”

She nodded again and smiled distractedly, toying with her food.

“How's the script going?”

“Oh, well, Honey loved it.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah, she's slipping it to some people already. I'm really excited.”

He scratched his head. “
Hmph
. You don't look too excited to me.”

She shook her head. “I am. I swear. I just…”

“You just what?”

“I just keep thinking about…Well, the woman I wrote the script about, Victoria Del Campo? She kind of has me thinking about the idea of destiny.”

“Destiny? What kind of destiny?”

She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, considering. “Like, how maybe there is one great thing a person is meant to do, a path you're supposed to take, and it's your life's work to find that path.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“And sometimes it's easy to find that path. Like, it's obvious. But sometimes you really have to search.”

“I can buy that.” He ate another bite of chicken.

She hesitated, looking at her hands. “And so there's just one person you're supposed to find, too, right?”

He laughed. “Aha. I knew it. Boy trouble.”

She felt herself blush. “No,” she protested. “I'm just talking philosophically, you know? Theoretically.”

He shook his head. “Okay, okay. So are you asking me if I think that each person on this earth is meant to walk only one path and find only one great love?”

“Yes. More or less.”

He cocked his head, thinking. “Well, I don't know. I mean, we can't all be artists or geniuses, right? We're not all going to cure cancer.”

“No, but someone is, and what if that person missed their chance to go into medicine?”

“But isn't the whole point of destiny that it's inevitable?”

She frowned. “Well, I guess that's how it's supposed to work. But do you think that sometimes we miss our calling?”

He took a sip of milk. “You know, honey, I don't know about this on a big old macrolevel, but I do know that I feel pretty strongly that I was put on this earth to be a husband to your mother and a father to you. And I guess there might be another woman out there who I could have loved, and maybe we would have had different children together, and I'm sure I would have felt like their daddy, but”—he smiled—“I can't help but think that if that had happened, I would have always felt like there was just…something missing, I guess. Something not quite right. A little itch, you know? And maybe I would have listened to that and found another path to your mama and you.”

Kat laughed. “Your poor abandoned theoretical wife and kids, Dad!”

He laughed with her.

“But how about work? Does it happen the same way?” she asked.

“Well, it could, I guess. Though I can't say it's particularly exciting to be predestined to be a handyman.”

“But you can fix anything. Not many people can do that. That's a gift.”

He smiled, pleased. “I suppose it is.”

Pilar and Georgia had gone out to see a movie together, leaving the brothers alone in the house with the baby. Sebastian sat on the terrace with Jandro and Tomás, having dinner.

It was a beautiful night, warm and balmy but not too humid. The sun was just setting, casting pink and gold rays into the dusk, but Sebastian couldn't enjoy the view. He had been restless all day and then started drinking early. A martini. And then, before he knew it, another two.

Now he was having red wine, and he had a splitting headache and was pretty near drunk. He picked up his fork and then put it back down. He looked at his brother.

“Do you remember trail riding with
Abuelita
?”

Alejandro looked surprised. He fed a small bite of pasta to Tomás. “Trail riding?”

“Yes, at
el campo
.”

Alejandro knit his brow. “
Sí
, of course.”

Sebastian picked his wine back up and drained it. “Do you remember when she told us that a little time on a pony could solve practically anything?”

Alejandro smiled fondly. “Yes, she said that all the time.”

“It didn't, though.”

“What didn't?”

“Time on the ponies. It didn't solve everything.” He poured himself another glass of wine.

Alejandro shook his head. “What do you mean?”

Seb drank. “I mean, we could ride all day long and
Papá
was still off screwing the help.”

Alejandro snorted. “True.”

“And you rode and rode and that didn't make Olivia's death any easier.”

Alejandro frowned. “I don't see what that has—”

He interrupted. “And
Mamá
rode and
Papá
rode and that didn't stop them from fighting all the way through our childhoods.”

“What's your point?” said Alejandro.

“My point is”—Sebastian could hear the slur in his own voice—“my point is that I'm beginning to think that, despite what I was raised to believe, there is nothing so very magic about the ponies. You might win games on them, but that doesn't mean they can do anything else besides eat and shit.”

Alejandro shook his head. “Why would you say that? You of all people know better. You love the ponies.”

Sebastian shrugged belligerently. “Who says I do?”

The baby made a little squawk as Alejandro wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “You're drunk,” he said.

“Maybe,” agreed Sebastian, “probably. But I still think I'm right. You can ride and ride and you're still going to get off the horse exactly the same as when you get on.”

“Not if you're riding the right way.”

Sebastian laughed. “Oh! There's a right way?”

Alejandro shook his head. “I'm not going to have this conversation with you right now.”

“No, please tell me,
hermano
, what is the ‘right way' to ride?”

Alejandro looked at him. “With heart, to begin with. And with discipline.”

“Oh, here we go, it's the charity dinner all over again.”

“You brought it up, Sebastian.”

“And you brought it right round to where you always do”—his voice rose—“to my terrible shortcomings as a player.”

“You could be so much better if you just put in a little more effort. You could be great.”

Sebastian laughed ruefully. “And how would you feel if I suddenly was, Jandro?”

Alejandro looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Never mind. Why talk about it now when we've avoided it our whole lives?”

The baby began to whimper.

Alejandro shook his head and lifted the baby out of the highchair. “I'm not going to let you pick this fight right now. You're drunk, and you're upsetting Tomás.”

Sebastian blinked, looking at the unhappy baby. “Yes, of course,” he said quickly. He felt like an ass. “I'm sorry.”

Alejandro sighed as he walked out of the kitchen. “I'm putting the baby to bed. I suggest you go, too. The women will be home soon, and you won't want them to see you this way.”

N
o party,” said Kat as Camelia looked at her expectantly from across the table. “The last thing I need is a party.”

Camelia rolled her eyes and stole a fry off Kat's plate. “That's ridiculous. A party is exactly what you need. Get dressed up, drink a lot, dance, flirt—just scrub off all that sad my-boyfriend-just-dumped-me dirt.”

“He did not dump me, and he was not my boyfriend.”

Camelia snorted. “Girl, in the entire time I have worked for the Del Campos, I have never, not once, seen Sebastian with the same girl twice.”

“So?”

“So you guys have been holed up together for, like, a month. I mean, this has to be his record.”

“I wasn't just with Sebastian that whole time, you know. I've been working, writing. And helping out with my dad.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Camelia, helping herself to another fry.

Kat grabbed her plate away. “Stop eating my fries. Get your own.”

Camelia laughed. “You have not changed one bit, Katy Ann.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about the fact that you still hate sharing your food. I'm talking about your temper. And I'm talking about the way you're so insistent about pretending that something isn't bugging the shit out of you when it very obviously does.”

Kat felt her face burn. She pushed the fries back at Camelia. “Fine. Take them.”

Camelia shook her head. “Look, I don't blame you even one little bit. If I'd ever even dreamed that I could've held Sebastian's attention for more than one night, I would have been all over him like sauce on pasta.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “That's absurd.”

Camelia laughed. “No, it's really not. Perhaps, coming from the land of movie stars and billionaires, you have not noticed that Sebastian Del Campo is basically the hottest guy in the entire world.”

Kat sighed. “I've noticed.”

“Well then, it's okay to cry a little over him slipping free. I know I'd be a puddle of tears. And then I'd put on my hottest dress and go make myself feel better at the awesome party my BFF just invited me to.”

Kat looked at her suspiciously. “What kind of party is it, again?”

Camelia shrugged. “You know, just the Wellington usual. No big deal. But it should be fun.”

Kat ate a fry. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

“Yay!”

“But for the record, he did not dump me. I broke up with him.”

Camelia nodded. “You just keep telling yourself whatever you need to make it through the night, sister.”

Sebastian lay on the couch, trying to watch a movie, but his mind kept drifting. He turned off the flat screen with an exasperated sigh. It was useless. It seemed that the woman had spoiled everything fun for him. Drinking, movies, probably sex with anyone else but her…

He shook his head. This would not do. He was not going to be a sad, mean, abstinent monk of a man for the rest of his life. He was going out.

He pulled on his jacket and found his mother outside in the garden, trimming roses. Pilar wore an enormous straw hat, which she swore was the reason she had yet to succumb to a face-lift.

“I'm going out,
Mamá
. Maybe late.”

Pilar frowned. “But you'll be back before we leave tonight?”

He shook his head. “Leave for what?”

“
La fiesta.
The party Lord Henderson is hosting.”

He groaned. “I forgot all about it.”

“I told you last week. The whole team needs to be there.”

“But I'm not on the team. Tell Jandro to call up Mark Stone.”

She snorted in exasperation. “I'm certain he will be there, too. But this is a party for real polo players.”

“Where was that snobbery last week when I needed it?”

She waved her hand. “Make sure you have time to change your clothes. It's black tie.”

He groaned. “Oh come on,
Mamá
.”

She met his eyes. “You need this.”

He looked away. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't be coy with me,
hijo
. A mother knows when something is wrong.”

He shrugged. “It's nothing,
Mamá
. A tiny bump in the road.”

She shook her head. “No. Even before the girl. You and Jandro fighting all the time—”

“Who said anything about a girl? And the fighting is all Alejandro.”

“The way you were playing on the field.”

“I had one bad game,
Mamá
.”

“No. No. You are in trouble. A mother knows.”

He sighed in exasperation. “And putting on a tux will somehow save me?”

She considered him for a moment, her green eyes flashing, and then went back to cutting her roses with a shrug. “It would be a beginning.”