Trusting Again (12 page)

“Are you sure? I mean, don’t you have a lot to do before you go? Won’t I be in the way?”

“You’ll never be in my way,
mi amor,
and, no, I don’t have a lot to do. The travel arrangements were all made before we left; I got a text yesterday from my assistant that my itinerary has been re-confirmed. All I need to do is pack, which I could do in my sleep, if I had to.”

“Okay, then. Okay.” She shook her head. “I must be crazy to do this.”

“Why? Don’t you want to be with me?”

“More than anything. But spending more time with you will just make it harder for me to see you leave.”

“Ah-ha. You have uncovered my plan. I want you to miss me while I’m gone so you’ll be longing for me to return.” His smile was positively lascivious. “That will make you very interested in showing me just how happy you are to see me when I get home.”

“Like that wasn’t going to happen anyway,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, as she slid into the passenger seat of the car.

If she thought their time in the San Juans had gone by quickly, the five days after they returned raced by in some sort of supersonic blur. Cynthia spent her days at the studio catching up with messages that had come in while she was gone and making arrangements to restock galleries with new work. Marius, to hear him describe it, spent his days on the phone — either with his father and uncles in Miami, their clients up and down the West Coast or his business contacts in Central America.

In the evenings, depending on the weather, they ate the dinners Cynthia prepared for them either at the breakfast bar or on the deck. She realized after the second night that she was cooking all the things she did well, even spending one day making coq au vin, trying to impress him, she was sure. It was funny and pathetic, all at the same time. But she kept doing it. After all, because of him, she was living in one of the most beautiful houses she’d ever seen after spending ten days on his equally beautiful sailboat.

On the evening before he was to leave, however, Marius insisted she join him at the restaurant where they’d had their first date.

Hoping to make it easier on herself emotionally, she moved most of the clothes and things she’d accumulated at his home back to her apartment that afternoon. She thought it would be better to get dressed at her own place for their dinner out. But it didn’t work. There was a huge pit in her stomach every time she thought about his leaving that didn’t seem to improve by being back in her apartment.

Dressing in what she’d worn to the ballet auction helped a little. She knew he liked the dress. Putting her hair up in a twist made her feel good, too, because she could look forward to having him take it down later. When she was finished — she didn’t think she would ever be
ready
to have what she was trying hard not to think of as their last dinner together — she drove to the restaurant.

This time, there was no waiting in the bar. John, the maitre’d, immediately seated her at Marius’s table and returned five minutes later with a bottle of Malbec, two glasses and a message. Marius was held up on a conference call and would be about fifteen minutes late.

He was only ten minutes late but apologetic.

“I am so sorry,
mi amor.
Last minute marching orders from above. My father and uncles act like I’ve never done this before. I get detailed instructions about what I’m supposed to do before every trip, in spite of the fact I’ve been doing this job for ten years.”

“Not to worry. John took good care of me.” She poured him a glass of wine.

He took a big swallow before saying, “This was one of those days when I wanted to be the kind of person who drank at work.” His expression belied his words, but she knew what he said was, as her mother often described it, “half in fun and all in earnest.”

“I’ve wondered what it would be like to work for family. Does this sort of thing happen often?” she asked.

“No, most of the time it’s great. There are times, however, when it feels like I’m in that other kind of family — the organized crime kind — and there’s no way out. Today was unfortunately one of those rare days. I don’t know if it’s different from any place else; I can’t make a comparison. I’ve never worked in any other job. It was planned from the time I left for college that I’d be in the business.”

“I don’t think I know where you went to school.”

“The University of Pennsylvania. Wharton. I did both undergrad and graduate work there. So did my brother.”

“Even after two generations of running the business, they wanted you to go to business school? And get MBAs?”

“Especially after two generations of running the business. My father and uncles decided it was time to get some new ideas.”

“That sounds amazingly open-minded.”

“Don’t be too impressed. When we arrived back in Miami with our brand new degrees, my brother Carlos and I, along with our cousin Alejandro, who went to Stanford, were full of all sorts of ideas on how to make the company better. Ninety-nine percent of them were shot down by our father and uncles. The one they actually listened to led, after a few years of research and negotiations, to my opening the Seattle office. I was not happy to discover that my sister-in-law and my cousin’s wife had more clout than I did in influencing who would move here.”

“Ah, so you lost the coin toss.”

“More like the argument. But lately, I have come to be extremely grateful I did.”

He took her hand and kissed the palm of it. As he did, the errant strap on her dress slid off her shoulder.

“Damn this thing,” she said as she grabbed for it. “I think I’ll just cut them off. They’re not good for anything except decoration and distraction.”

He interrupted her attempt to return the strap to its rightful place. “Leave them. They’ve been kind to me.” Sliding his forefinger up her arm, he caught the strap and slowly, very slowly, inched it upward. “This little piece of nothing allowed me to touch you for the first time. To find out how soft you feel. I’ll always be grateful.” He leaned in and kissed her shoulder, making her shiver, as she was sure he knew she would.

The maitre’d materialized by the table. “Your dinner will be here shortly. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hernandez?”

Marius turned away from her but kept his hand on her arm. “No, thank you, John. You did an excellent job of taking care of Ms. Blaine. I appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure. She’s an easy person to take care of.” He smiled at Cynthia and left as noiselessly as he had arrived.

“Our dinner will be here shortly? You took it way too seriously the last time when I let you order for us.”

“I thought it would be nice to have the same dinner we had on our first date.”

“Completing the circle, are we? Ending as we started?”

“You make it sound like something is over,
mi amor.
Unless you mean this is the end of the beginning, we’re not ending anything. We have a long way to go together.”

“You don’t have to say things like that, Marius. It’s okay. While you’re away, you’ll have a lot of time to sort things out. Everything has happened so fast with us. You should probably be grateful you have this break.”

“I don’t need a break and I won’t think about anything except getting home to be with you. Why would you think otherwise?”

Before she could answer the unanswerable question, their salad appeared. It was followed by their entrees and eventually a cheese plate. Between bites, they talked about more neutral subjects — her plans to go to Bellingham to see her parents and to take a few day trips to galleries on the coast with new work, some highlights of his travel schedule. She hoped they’d left the previous conversation for good. Thinking about what he might reconsider during his six weeks away was not conducive to enjoying her meal.

It would have been nice to have a romantic moonlit ride back to his house in the Porsche, but they’d driven separately to the restaurant. Besides, when they walked out after dinner, the moon was behind a band of clouds that threatened rain. By the time she got to his house, Marius had already started coffee and had put on some of the Latin music he loved, this time sultry tangos. When she got to the kitchen, after using the key he’d given her to unlock the front door, she put it on the counter and slid it toward him.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“It’s your house key.”

“I know that,
querida.
I don’t know why you’re returning it.”

“I won’t be here anymore.”

The expression on his face was puzzled. “Keep it. You might need to get back in the house while I’m gone; maybe you’ll leave something. And you’ll want it after I get back anyway, won’t you?”

Reluctantly, she slipped the key into the small purse she was carrying. He must have noticed her hesitancy because he came around the counter and pulled her to him, kissing her gently on the temple. “Why do I think you’re convinced we’re having our last night together?”

“No, I don’t really think that. It’s just that … ” She hesitated, burrowing her face into his chest so he couldn’t see the fear she was sure was evident in her expression.

“Just that your ex-boyfriend messed with your head and I’m paying — we’re paying — the price for it.”

She looked up at him with what must have been a surprised expression, if his raised eyebrow was any indication. “Do you really think that’s all it is?”

“Yes.” He kissed her again, this time not so softly. But he broke from the kiss abruptly and pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, an excited expression on his face. “I have an idea. Come with me. Come see Central America with me.” Before she could respond, he said, “I know, you can’t be gone for six weeks. You said at dinner you have a lot of work to catch up with. So, join me someplace in a couple weeks. I can show you some beautiful places. Wait until you see the amazing art.”

“It sounds fabulous, but one: I don’t have that kind of money. Two: I don’t have a passport.”

“The money isn’t a problem but the passport is, obviously.” He seemed to be thinking over other options. “All right then,” he finally said, “if you can’t come with me, live here while I’m gone. That might convince you I mean to come back to you. I’d have to sell the house and everything I own not to see you again.” He was smiling a particularly winsome smile.

“Now you’re being silly. I’m not going to move in here for six weeks. I’ll be fine in my own apartment.”

“Please?”

She shook her head. Emphatically.

“The offer will be here as long as I’m gone. Just let me know if you change your mind, so I can warn my neighbor not to call the cops.” He went to the living room and pulled something from his briefcase. “I have my itinerary for you. Put this on your refrigerator and circle the last date. It’s when I’ll be back home, back with you. Until then: text, email. I can’t hear from you too often. I’ll do the same. But it will be irregular. Some of the places I’m going are remote, no cell reception.”

He looked at the paper as if seeing it for the first time. “You know there’s another thing we could do — I end up in San Francisco for three days. Why don’t you come there to meet me? You don’t need a passport to go to California. And I can get you a ticket with my frequent flyer miles.”

“You’re sweet, but I think we should just let it go for now. Who knows … ?”

“I’m not going to change my mind about us while I’m away, Cynthia. Get that idea out of your head.” He looked frustrated at the direction the conversation was taking. “But if I can’t even talk you into joining me in San Francisco, I guess I’m officially out of ideas on how to convince you I mean it.”

She turned so he couldn’t see her sad eyes. “Coffee’s ready, I think,” she said with a catch in her voice. “Shall I pour?”

He didn’t respond for a few moments, looking like he was lost in thought. She wasn’t sure if he was thinking of another wild suggestion like traveling to Central America with him or if he was reconsidering … no, she wasn’t going to go there.

When he came back to her, he said, “I will. Then let’s take it downstairs.” He poured two mugs of coffee then started for the steps downstairs to his bedroom, motioning her to follow.

The first time she’d seen his bedroom, she’d been struck by the colors. Tonight, all she could do was wonder if she’d ever be there again.

“Let’s drink our coffee outside,” he said as he pushed a button and the floor-to-ceiling drapes along one side of the room opened to reveal yet another glass wall with a deck on the other side of it.

“I had no idea that was there,” she said.

For the first time since they’d gotten to the house, he smiled. “You must have had your mind on other things when you’ve been in my bedroom.”

“Oh, come on, I’ve been here in daylight,” she protested. “Those drapes have never been open. I thought they were just a decorative thing. Instead, they hide the deck.”

“I don’t open them often. This window faces east and I … ”

“Don’t like morning. Right.” Desperate to get the conversation on a lighter note, she said, “But that might explain why I’ve been sleeping late since we got back. I thought I was just tired out from crewing on the boat.”

He flipped the lights off in the bedroom. For a few moments, it was not only dark but quiet. Then, when he spoke, it was as if he knew she wanted to have a different conversation. He gave it to her. “
Querida!
You mean it wasn’t wanting to stay cuddled next to me that has kept you in my bed in the mornings? I woke up every morning this week with you wrapped around me. I liked it. Now you’re telling me it was just because the curtains were closed?”

“Well,” she said as she stepped out on the deck, “I have to admit that being in bed with you might have had something to do with it.”

“Here, join me,” he said as he sat on an oversized redwood lounge. When she sat beside him, he put his arm around her and settled her against his chest.

She could hear soft Latin music in the background. “You can hear the music down here, too?”

“In every room. A system it took me a month to figure out came with the house. It was yet another thing I didn’t know about until I moved in.”