Sombra Read online

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Guapa, there’s nothing wrong with a kiss.”

  “Yes, there is. There’s someone else.”

  And with that, she is a torero, who has just killed me, the bull.

  Her bright eyes darken, and she becomes unnaturally still and pale. With a quivering chin, she rubs her nose and looks away, drawing her shoulders up and tucking her elbows in. When her eyes come back to me they’re full of regret. I grit my teeth and pray.

  Eight

  Kim - Decadence

  Tavo’s muscles become rigid. He takes a step back, his eyes shut, jaw clenched, and biceps jumping under his skin.

  “You’re prometido?” He frowns and scrubs his face with his hands. Hands that I was just holding. “But … but—”

  I hold up my finger. “I figured the ring gave it away.”

  “In España, we wear wedding and engagement rings on the right hand. I thought it was an heirloom.” He turns away and ruffs up his hair. “I apologize, Kim. I shall leave you alone—”

  “Don’t!” I blurt out, wanting to reach out and touch him. Not wanting to hurt him. “Don’t you dare. I was asked, but I haven’t said yes.”

  He gets a gleam in his eye.

  I keep talking. “I just agreed to wear the ring. I’m not sure if I’m actually going to get married to him. I … I don’t know anyone here. I like you.” I cringe and try again. “I need someone here.”

  Flapping his hand, he dismisses me. “You need a tour guide.”

  “I need a friend.”

  He turns toward me with narrowed eyes. His face becomes blank, and he lets out a breath. Giving me a weak smile, he says, “I would like to be your friend. I apologize.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry.” My heart beats in my ears. Even though I can’t kiss him, I can’t be separate from him either. “Please.”

  I’m not sure what I’m asking.

  Please don’t go. Please don’t apologize. Please be my friend. Please understand. Please help me figure this out.

  Thankfully he stays. “Who is your intended?”

  “His name is Shane Nichols. I’ve known him forever.”

  He swallows hard. “And your family likes him?”

  “My family loves him.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I can’t answer that. And it’s embarrassing how long I take to say anything. But before I can respond, Tavo starts nodding his head almost violently. “I understand. Why did Shane let you go to Spain?”

  I lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘let me go’?”

  Picking up a stick, he throws it in the orchard and faces me, his eyes blazing. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “I don’t understand why you’re here. If you were mine, I’d never let you leave me this long. I’d want to be with you every moment I could.”

  My heart flutters, and I flush. The thought of never leaving Tavo derails my need to stick up for myself and all modern women. I force myself to put my hand on my hip. “I’m not property, Gustavo.”

  His large pupils lock on mine, and he speaks softly. “You aren’t. But I wouldn’t want to let you out of my sight.” He takes a deep breath. “I still don’t want to,” he mutters.

  “Oh.”

  Oh.

  I want to move closer to him, to touch him. But I can’t.

  The rows and rows of olive trees stand like noble guards. I pick at a leaf, then speak quietly. “I guess what I want, what I really want, is to figure out who I am without him.”

  Tavo’s eyebrows furrow then release. “Isn’t being in a relationship wanting to spend time with the person?”

  My arms cross over my chest. “It is.”

  “Then why did you need to get away?”

  I flinch. “I told you. Because I needed to be myself.”

  “Don’t you think that says something—that you need to get away from him to be yourself?”

  “Don’t ask questions like that.”

  “I apologize. I am just not understanding why you would leave the love of your life, the one you are going to be engaged to, if you really are in love with him.”

  My teeth grind, and my muscles quiver. “He is my love. It’s just not an all-consuming love. It’s a quieter love. One of mutual respect.” Even as I’m saying the words, I’m not really believing them. Because while Shane does respect me in that he treats me politely, I don’t think he respects who I am deep down inside. And he doesn’t care for me the way I need.

  Tavo grabs both of my hands and holds them together. His callouses chafe my knuckles. I like his hands. They’re veiny and work-worn. Honest hands. And dare I say, passionate hands. “Then why are you settling for anything less than what you deserve?”

  Am I settling?

  I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I need to get away from Tavo. I’m engulfed by my emotions and in a new country with this new guy anyone with eyes and a brain would be attracted to.

  But I don’t make a move. I just lock my eyes on him. I delight in his hands holding mine. And I feel so guilty about doing so.

  “Kim, I know we’ve just met, but I’m attracted to you. You make me think my dreams are possible. But it’s going to drive me crazy that I can’t have you—”

  “So maybe it’s that. Maybe you just want the things you cannot have.”

  The sad way he shakes his head hurts my heart. “I am very good at that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he says, “Nada. Es nada.” He says it more to himself than to me. “Let me take you back.”

  He drops my hands, and we walk back through the orchard. This time it doesn’t sparkle like it did on the way in. The colors are muted, and I’ve changed. Tavo gazes at the ground when he walks, his hands deep in his jean pockets.

  When we get back to my room, he pauses in the doorway. There’s nothing to say. I wring my hands, and he strokes his chin. He reaches out and runs the back of his finger across my cheek. “Just when I thought I’d found the right one,” he whispers. And he turns and leaves.

  After my toes cross the threshold of my room, I fling myself on the antique bed and play over and over (and over) again in my mind the consummate torture of Tavo’s full lips on mine. The gasp of his fervent breath against my smooth skin. The sweet taste of his ardent tongue. His shiny, thick hair wrapped around my fingers.

  What did he mean by, “the right one?” Does he think I’m the right one?

  Is he the right one?

  I roll from my back to my front and then back again. My heart drums in my chest. My arms tremble. I slide my feet up and down the sheets, unable to stay still.

  All during our walk this morning, thick tension filled the space between our bodies, like a bubble. Like one touch would break it all down.

  One touch did.

  That kiss.

  My tongue in his mouth. His firm hands on me. The way our teeth knocked together. The way he woke me up. He woke my body up. Teasing that desire out of me.

  I scooch around on my bed like I’m dancing, arms making snow angels, my butt wiggling against the mattress. Nerve endings ping throughout my body. I felt the same way after the car ride, although that was centered between my legs.

  But it’s not just physical feeling. It’s Tavo’s overpowering effect on me.

  Not only is he so dang—damn—sexy with that ridiculous six-pack that makes me drool, he’s also courtly and kind, thoughtful and sweet. And he’s so touchy-feely. I love it. I’m pulled to him like an anchor hauled up by a ship with no choice but to go to him.

  Like everything here, he’s just so … decadent.

  I’m not used to decadence, unless you count deep fried butter. I’m used to sensible. Five- and ten-year plans. Laminated menus in bright restaurants where I know what’s coming next.

  Here, I have no idea. I didn’t know he was going to kiss me or that one all-consuming kiss would create extraordinary anarchy.


  I blame this place. It’s too damned romantic. The property is hauntingly gorgeous, with a low-walled garden full of tomatoes, cucumbers, garlic, and flowers, and acres and acres of greenish-gray olive trees as far as the eye can see. Where else can you live on ground previously occupied by the Romans? With a dim, stone barn hundreds of years old?

  This charmingly dilapidated two-story house, baked in the Spanish sun and designed for the Mediterranean lifestyle, is about as different from my parents’ 1960’s ranch-style house as you can get. It doesn’t snow here, so there’s no basement. No heavy doors. No glassed-in patios. Life is indoor-outdoor, with open windows and doors, eating outside under the stars, and feeling the dirt under your feet.

  I absolutely love it.

  And the difference isn’t just the atmosphere, but the rhythm of life. It shows up in something as simple as the food.

  Last night, Tavo’s mom placed plate after plate of food on the table under the lights strung outside. Croquettes of potato fried with bread crumbs. A lovely pork with apricot sauce. Fresh green beans with slivered almonds. Local olive oil, local produce, local wine. My parents don’t have multi-course dinners, even on Thanksgiving. We subsist on my mom’s carefully portioned meals or a “treat” of barbecued chicken and corn.

  Here, my God, the bread. I’m going to gain weight here. I’m not used to any of this.

  And yet, this is where I’m supposed to be. I knew I was drawn here for a reason. I’m tasting, actually tasting my food. I’m slowing down, finding out what I really like.

  I want more.

  Not only is this place too damned romantic, Tavo is too damn romantic.

  I’m so ashamed of how I’ve been acting. I need to call Shane and end this now. I send him a Skype message.

  Hey. You there? How’s it going?

  He calls. He’s in the car, talking on speakerphone.

  “Kim! Hey! Sorry, I’m out with Meals on Wheels with Randy. Early breakfast.” Shane does this once a week—sometimes alone, sometimes with me or Randy.

  “Who are you delivering to?”

  “Sorry! I can’t hear you. The connection’s breaking up. Wait.” He fumbles with the phone. “Okay. That’s better. Did you ask who I’m delivering to? A few cute little old ladies and a patient with HIV.”

  Why can’t he be alone? I force out, “Oh, that’s so sweet! Hey, Shane, we really have to discuss what happened before I le—”

  As I’m talking, his expression sobers up, and he pulls over the car and turns it off. I exhale. Now’s my chance to say it.

  There’s a ding-ding-ding from the car. “Sorry, Kim, we’re at the next delivery. We’ve gotta go. I’ll try you later.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly, as he hangs up on me. Angry tears well up. I need this resolved.

  The delay makes my guilt weigh even heavier.

  I call Maggie. When she answers, she immediately responds to the tear-tension in my voice. “Kim? What’s wrong.”

  “I have a problem.”

  “Oh no! What?”

  My next words come out in a rush. “Mags, I can’t be tied to Shane while I’m here.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve been thinking. Everyone wants me to be with him, but it’s not what I want. I slept on it, and I’ve decided to break up with him. I called him just now to tell him, but he was out with people, and I’m not going to do it in front of anyone else. The whole point is not to embarrass him. I don’t know how to fix this.”

  “You tell him, that’s how you fix it.”

  I take some time before I reply, and I measure each word as I say it. The more I talk, the more I know what I’m doing is right. “I’ll tell him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but it’s going to. And I’m scared that I’ll never talk to him again. Just because I don’t want to marry him doesn’t mean that I want him out of my life. The thought of never talking to him again is painful, too.”

  “Yeah, honey,” she says quietly. “Yeah.”

  “And it gets worse. I, uh …” I can’t use the word “cheated.” That makes it too real. I don’t know any other word, though. “I had a fidelity problem.”

  “What?”

  “Tavo kissed me.”

  “Who’s Tavo?”

  “A hottie who lives here.”

  She shrieks back at me. “A Spanish hottie kissed you! Named Tavo? No fucking way. What happened?”

  My hands flap in the air. I don’t want anyone to overhear this. I hit the volume button a million times, turning it down. “Shh! Yes. He didn’t know about Shane. I told him after. I feel so bad. I’m so ashamed of myself.”

  “Slow down, and tell me what happened.”

  With a voice that breaks a few times, I tell her about when Tavo answered the door of his little house all shirtless and tan with toned muscles and sleepy stubble. “Maggie. I was done for. Those dark, flashing eyes. The perfectly tousled hair.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right. When we walked in the olive orchard, he held my hand.” My next words are a whisper. “And he kissed me, and I’m so confused.”

  “Okay …”

  “Because even though I’m really attracted to him, I don’t think I should get involved with the first guy I meet in Spain.” But I’m still tingling from the kiss, and I replay it once again.

  “Maybe.” Maggie’s not saying more than that.

  “I need to fix this first.”

  There’s a long pause on the laptop, and I think that the Wi-Fi disconnected for a moment. But when she speaks, I can almost feel her smiling. “Tavo’s a good kisser?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’ve never, ever been kissed like that before.”

  “Girl. You’re in so much trouble. Trouble with a capital T for Tavo.”

  I let out a rueful laugh. “Exactly.”

  “You’ve only ever kissed Shane.”

  “This is true.”

  I scrutinize the cork oak tree shading this room and rub my nose. When I let out my breath, my chest tightens and my throat thickens. “I want more out of life, Maggie.”

  “And you deserve it.”

  My response is a big sigh.

  After talking with Maggie, I hang up with a promise to call her as soon as I can. I start replaying what happened—that kiss—with anxiety creeping up the back of my neck. Tavo didn’t know I have a boyfriend, but I knew. It was wrong, and I need to stop this before it gets any worse. I pin my arms to my sides. I’m still unavailable. I curl up into the fetal position on my bed and hug my knees, hoping to get this all straightened out soon.

  I pass the day with Mari Carmen in the kitchen, making gambas al ajillo—shrimp sizzling in fried garlic and olive oil served in a terracotta dish—and staying away from Tavo, who’s out in the orchard so he’s easy to evade.

  At dinner, Tavo’s grandfather jovially spends the entire time pointing to things on the table and making me say their name in Spanish. When I win a “muy bien” or a pat of his hand on my shoulder, it’s worth it.

  I give a polite, “Hola,” to Tavo, who barely eats anything at dinner. He keeps rubbing his wrists and moving in his seat. While it’s a relief when dinner’s over, I end up with a pain in the back of my throat and tightness in my heart. I lie on my bed and pull out my laptop to Skype Shane again.

  “How’s it going?” he asks. “How’s Spain?” I can hear Randy in the background yelling at the television.

  “Good …” I trail off, pissed. Why can’t he ever be alone? Finally, I just say, “We’re going to go register for classes, and I’m going to see Granada. This jet lag is kicking my ass.”

  “Whoa, Kim swears.”

  “Ha ha,” I say tonelessly. “What are you doing?”

  “Randy and I went to the mall shopping for him, and now we’re at his place.”

  “How’s Randy doing?”

  “Why? What do you mean?” Shane’s tone is strangely sharp.

  “Jeez, don’t be so defensive. I was just asking.”

  His
voice relaxes. “Oh, he’s fine. Typical Randy. You know. He’s a freak.”

  “I’m a freak,” Randy calls in the background.

  I choke out a laugh. “Yeah, I know. What’d you buy?”

  “New shoes, actually.”

  Telling me about what they bought and how Randy has been working out and his parents are thinking of redoing the basement and he has a paper due already, I listen to him talk. And I don’t really know how to answer his questions about my day, other than I cooked.

  Sitting in front of the laptop screen, I’m almost forced to pay attention, which is a good thing, since if he couldn’t see me, I’d probably be banging on the walls or crying. This whole thing is driving me crazy.

  After saying goodbye to Shane, I go to bed, frustrated again.

  In the early morning before it’s light, I wake up, unclear on where I am and what time it is. I guess the time change is what’s doing it. I need to recalibrate my body, or maybe I’m finally letting myself hang out in the murky dark.

  I had that dream again. The one I had in the car, where I was splayed on a soft fur while the man circles the pressure point between my legs with his calloused fingers.

  I still feel those fingers. They make my blood run. Whatever is happening to my brain, I can’t … I need to let my body release. I need an orgasm now or I’m going to explode.

  Fumbling for the clock, I calculate the time back home. I can text Shane. Should I tell him how horny I am? Or is that crass? If he’s my boyfriend, doesn’t he want to know everything about me? Maybe this would rekindle our relationship. We very rarely go here. Maybe we can progress to being lovers instead of best friends with rare benefits.

  Maybe he’d want to do a little sexting.

  What are you wearing? I message him on Skype.

  He messages back. Hey. Why? Sweats.

  The message bubbles keep coming.

  Oh, baby, what are you wearing?

  Wait.

  That’s not Shane. I text, Randy??!!!

  Hey, girl. Hey.