The Spanish Love Deception

by Elena Armas

  “I won’t do that, Catalina,” I heard him say. “Not even if you really pushed me to, and I know that you can.”

  I had the feeling that he had purposely said that with sarcasm. Just enough to bait me into snapping back. But for some reason, I didn’t. His words felt sincere. But I just … couldn’t know if he meant it. It was really hard for me to get past our history. All the jabs, nudges, and shoves. All the small ways we had made sure the other one didn’t forget how much we disliked each other.

  “Whatever you say, Blackford.” I didn’t sound like I believed myself, but it’d have to do. “I don’t have time for this.” Whatever this was, I wasn’t sure anymore. I brought my hand to the side of my neck and massaged that spot absently. “Just … make yourself at home. I’ll see what I can find for this fundraiser we are attending.”

  I walked to where he was standing, his large frame blocking the opening that gave way to my living area. Coming to a halt a step before him, I looked up and arched an eyebrow, asking him without words to please move. Aaron’s head towered over my short height, staring down at me, his eyes flying all over my face. Down my throat and around my neck. Right where my fingers had massaged my skin a moment ago.

  His eyes returned to mine with something I didn’t recognize in his blue gaze.

  We stood close, my bare toes almost touching the point of his polished shoes. And I felt my breathing increase its pace at the realization. My chest moved up and down more quickly with every second I was under Aaron’s scrutiny.

  Refusing to look away, I held his stare.

  Leaning my head back, I couldn’t help but notice that he felt larger than ever. As if his frame had expanded a couple of sizes more. Seeming much taller and bigger than me, all clad in that tux that had the power to turn him into someone I was finding hard not to look at. Not to drink up every detail that sparked with this newness he seemed to be carrying around today.

  Aaron’s tongue peeked out and traveled along his bottom lip, driving my gaze to his mouth. His full lips shone under the light of my kitchen.

  My skin started turning too warm beneath the fabric of my stupid robe. Standing this close, I was feeling too hot, seeing too much of him, noticing way too many things at once.

  I willed my gaze up, back to his blue eyes. They were still studying me, that something still locked in. Hidden behind them. A heartbeat passed, and I could have sworn that his body inched in my direction, just the splinter of a hair. But maybe it was just my imagination.

  It didn’t really matter.

  “I was serious.” His voice was low and hushed, the quality of it almost raspy, hearing it this closely.

  Every rational thought was long-lost, but I knew what he was talking about. Of course I did.

  He exhaled softly, and I smelled the mint on his breath. “I wouldn’t retaliate in any way. I know how important your sister’s wedding is.”

  The truth behind his words hit me harder than the lack of distance between our bodies. My lips parted, and my stomach dropped to my feet.

  “I won’t go back on my word. I never do.”

  Was Aaron Blackford really reassuring me? Guaranteeing me that no matter what was or had been between us, this was safe ground? That he would keep his word, fair and square? That he wouldn’t go back on it? Was he doing all that? It certainly sounded like it. Which told me that either he read minds—which I honestly hoped he didn’t—or that perhaps Rosie hadn’t been wrong about him.

  Maybe Aaron wasn’t all that bad.

  Maybe I had been wrong about him. I … I didn’t know what to say to him. What to do with any of this, frankly. And the longer I spent in silence, with him radiating this openness right on me, the more he made me warmer and dizzier, and the harder it was for me to complete thoughts.

  “Do you understand me, Catalina?” he pressed, that warmth coating my whole body.

  No, I wanted to say. I don’t understand a single thing that’s going on here.

  My throat moved, my vocal cords somehow failing at voicing an answer. A strange sound left my lips, making me clear my throat right after. “I should go,” I finally managed out. “If you don’t mind, I should change. We will be late otherwise.”

  With a motion surprisingly smooth for someone his size, Aaron moved out of my way. He placed his body to one side, still too large and wide for my cramped apartment. Still taking up too much space and still making me feel itchy and tingly. Especially when I walked past him and my robe-clad shoulder brushed his chest.

  His very hard chest.

  All the heat I felt in my body rushed back to my face.

  Stop. I moved on weak legs, my skin feeling clammy. I just need to get out of this robe, I assured myself, tugging at the neck. That is the only reason why I am flushed and warm.

  Walking to the other end of my studio apartment as I fought the urge to fan myself, I made myself think about something else.

  Dresses. Not Aaron. Not him in a tux. Or his minty breath. Or his chest. Or any other body part. Not what he said either.

  But my head started turning, wanting to look back. At him.

  No.

  Reaching my wardrobe, I threw the doors open. Rummaging around as I searched for whatever I owned that would rise to the occasion, I slowly regained my focus.

  I fished the one piece of clothing with the potential to save my ass out of the depths of my wardrobe, grabbed the pair of heels I reserved for special events, a couple of accessories, and headed for the bathroom.

  On my way, I gave Aaron a sideways glance. He was hovering somewhere close to the velvety blue sofa, dwarfing it, his gaze on the screen of his phone. He didn’t even lift his head when I walked in front of him.

  Good. Better than him snooping around or flaunting his apparently very distracting body around.

  It had to be the tuxedo. This behavior of mine—this reaction he had caused in me—wasn’t normal.

  “I will … get ready in there,” I said over my shoulder to the man who seemed to take all the space in my small apartment. “Make yourself at home.”

  Once inside the only walled room in my apartment—the bathroom—I felt somehow lighter. My skin cooler. It didn’t have a lock, so I simply shut the door and hung the dress from the shower bar and started with my makeup and hair.

  After what seemed like an eternity—and at the same time, not nearly enough time—I was finally content with how I looked. The woman who stared back at me from the full-length wall mirror I had cleverly installed in the bathroom was wearing a sleeveless floor-length dress. A color somewhere between onyx and midnight blue. The cut and the fabric were rather simple—and definitely not evening gown-ish enough—but the slit that traveled along the skirt all the way up, stopping above my right knee, gave it a graceful and classy touch. Although the real star of the show was the neckline, which—even if it didn’t give an inch of cleavage away, closing around my neck like it did—was embedded with white beads that imitated pearls. It was absolutely beautiful. That was exactly why I had impulsively bought it months ago. And why I hadn’t had the chance to wear it yet and forgotten it was even there.

  My gaze inspected the waves of brown hair falling on my shoulders. Nowhere near perfect, but it would have to do. For a long minute there, I considered putting on red lipstick. But I quickly discarded it, thinking it would be overdoing it. I’d rather reserve that for a real date.

  Not that it would be happening anytime soon. Dates hadn’t been in the cards for a long time.

  Sighing softly, I felt an uncomfortable twinge in my chest.

  I hadn’t gone on a date in what felt like an eternity. Not that I considered myself unworthy or unattractive enough not to pique someone’s interest. I had gone on a few dates here and there shortly after moving to New York. But at some point, I had stopped trying. What was the point when it was clear there was something wrong with me? I might have left Spain, but somehow, I had managed to leave my trust—my willingness to fall in love ever again—somewhere across the o
cean.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized I hadn’t put effort in my makeup, hair, and clothes for just as long. And now, I wished I hadn’t noticed that.

  Because pitying myself was something I had long ago promised myself I wouldn’t do. It was a route I swore I wouldn’t take.

  Then, why was I feeling this way? How had I let myself get here? To the point that for the first time in months, I was putting actual effort in my appearance and my clothes, and I was doing it for something that wasn’t even real. A fake date. A deal. A sort of business agreement. Jesus, how had I gotten to the point where I needed to make up a relationship, so I didn’t feel like a total failure?

  My fears rang as true as ever. I was broken. I was—

  A knock on the door returned me to the present, reminding me of who was waiting for me outside my bedroom. Impatiently, if the pounding on the door was any sign.

  “How much longer is it going to take you, Catalina?” Aaron’s notoriously deep voice carried through the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there long enough.”

  I looked at the time on the little clock I had on one of the bathroom shelves—6:45 p.m. Still fifteen minutes to spare if we went by the time he had initially agreed to pick me up. I shook my head.

  Another knock. This one was harder. More impatient.

  “Catalina?”

  I decided to answer his lack of patience with silence. Someone had to show him that he couldn’t always get his way. Plus, I had been promised fifteen—all right, fourteen—minutes more.

  Still feeling the crack that had reopened in my chest, I slipped my right foot inside one of my heels and lifted it to the toilet seat. Meticulously, I worked on the strap.

  Taking my time, I did the same with the left one. I still had a few minutes, and I planned on—

  A third knock never came. My lockless door flew open, startling the crap out of me and revealing a very restless man.

  Aaron’s simmering blue eyes found mine.

  I stood in heeled and shaky legs as I felt my chest heave with the aftershock of the intrusion.

  “Catalina.” A speck of relief surfaced in those blue pools of impatience. “Why didn’t you answer when I called your name? You’ve been in here for a whole hour.” His palm was still on the doorknob, one of his feet on the tiled floor and his wide shoulders occupying all the space beneath the threshold of the door.

  His blue eyes searched my face very slowly. Almost painfully so. So much that my breathing didn’t get a chance to go back to normal and scattered all over the place. I watched Aaron’s eyes traveling down the length of my dress, his expression hardening with every inch he navigated. I could see his jaw cramping down tightly by the time his gaze made its way back to mine. A muscle jumped.

  Was he … was he mad?

  It certainly looked like he was. For what reason, I couldn’t fathom. But it was right there. His lips pressed in that tight line that screamed something bothered him.

  A subdued voice in my head told me that he probably regretted ever asking me to come to this thing with him. The attire of someone who didn’t even own a proper evening gown was probably not to his standards if he looked so displeased.

  I ignored the discomfort in the pit of my stomach and snatched the first emotion that I could get ahold of. One that was extremely easy to summon when it came to him. “Aaron Blackford,” I hissed, finding my voice. “What in the world is wrong with you?!” My chest heaved up and down. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

  “I knocked.” His tone was hard, matching his expression. “Twice.” That stupidly deep voice of his reverberated through my bathroom.

  “I could have been naked, you know.”

  Aaron shifted in front of me, not letting go of the knob. His large fingers gripping it in a way that made me wonder if it would give out under the pressure.

  “But you are not,” he said, voice still hard. “You are definitely not naked.”

  My gaze shot from his hand to his face. Just in time to watch how those two blue eyes jumped to my shoulders, traveled along my neck, and then returned to my eyes. His expression clouded further as we looked at each other for a long moment.

  My palms started sweating, the longer neither of us said anything.

  Jesus, what is even happening?

  My heart raced faster, the more the air filled up with a tension I didn’t understand.

  It was almost suffocating. Much more than earlier in the kitchen. So much that I felt how my guard came down, all kinds of thoughts assaulting my mind with nothing to stop the bruising.

  “Is there …” I broke the silence. My voice coming out breathy. “Is there anything wrong?”

  He shook his head. Just once. His eyes bounced down my body again very quickly. “You found a gown.”

  “I did,” I admitted, looking down briefly. “It’s been such a long time since I last went on a date that I forgot it was even there.” I watched his expression take on a new edge, making me feel incredibly stupid for saying something like that. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Not that I’d wear this to any date anyway, I guess. It’s the only one I have, so I hope it’s okay.”

  I passed my sweaty palms along my thighs, stopping myself at the prospect of messing with the fabric.

  Aaron’s throat worked. “It’ll do.”

  It’ll do?

  I had no idea what I had been expecting him to say, but I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t stung a tiny little bit.

  “Good,” I answered, looking away, not letting my shoulders sink. “Let’s go then.” Instructing my mouth to smile, I only looked back at Aaron when it was toothy and big.

  He remained where he was, not uttering a single word.

  “Come on,” I told him, keeping that fake megawatt smile where it was. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  A couple of seconds after, he moved out of the way. Without a stare-off, which I appreciated because I wasn’t in the mood to look at him just yet.

  I stepped out of the bathroom, and I made sure of two things. One, I didn’t brush his chest with my shoulder. And two, I didn’t have any reason to feel hurt by whatever Aaron Blackford said.

  Chapter Seven

  We had been driving in silence for the longest fifteen minutes of my life when I decided I could not take it any longer.

  I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and I knew that waiting for Aaron to say something would be like waiting for a brick wall to crack open and reveal the entrance to a wizardly world. But if I didn’t say anything to fill in this silence, I’d have to jump out of the moving car.

  “So, a fundraiser.” My words fell into the reduced and quiet space, sounding too loud.

  Aaron nodded, his gaze remaining on the road and both hands on the steering wheel. “For a good cause, naturally.”

  Another nod.

  “And it takes place every year?”

  An affirmative grunt.

  If he didn’t start talking, saying anything, I wouldn’t jump out of the moving car; I’d be pushing him out.

  “And …” I needed a question that wouldn’t strictly require a yes or no answer. “How are the funds going to be raised?”

  He seemed to consider that for a long moment, almost making me believe I’d really have to shove him out.

  “An auction.”

  Finally. “What’s being auctioned?” I fidgeted with the simple gold cuff bracelet that circled my wrist, waiting for an answer that never came. “Is it art?” I turned the smooth piece of jewelry around. “Golf lessons?” Another turn. “A yacht?” I looked at him. Nothing. No answer. “Elvis’s underwear?”

  That got me a reaction. He sent me a puzzled look and then returned his attention to the road.

  “What?” I shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll have you know that someone auctioned a dirty pair of undies Elvis had worn to a concert in the ’70s.”

  I watched Aaron’s head shake. Mr. Proper was probably scandalized, but he was still not talking, so I kept
filling in the silence.

  “Chill. Nobody bought them.” I studied his profile for any reaction. Still nothing. “Or bid for them,” I corrected myself. “I don’t know much, if anything, about auctions.” More silence. O-kay. “But the conclusion was that, apparently, no one wanted Elvis’s used underwear.” I snickered. “Which, frankly, it sort of strengthened my faith in society. Not all is lost yet, right?”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped.

  “Who would want to own something like that? And what’s even more daunting, what for? To frame it?” A grimace bent my lips. “Imagine being invited to a home and finding a dirty pair of underwear framed, hanging above the sofa. Or the toilet.”

  Aaron shot me a quick glance, something that looked a lot like wonder filling his eyes. Then, he finally spoke, “I never know with you, you know?”

  And that’s what he decided to go with?

  “You never know what?” Frowning, I watched his head give another light shake.

  “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” His voice sounded almost thoughtful. “You always find a way to catch me completely off guard. And that’s not something many people can do.”

  Uh …

  What was I supposed to do with that? Was that … a compliment? I had been rambling about Elvis’s used underwear hanging in somebody’s living room, so I was going to go with no. Not a compliment. Plus, this was Aaron we were talking about, so double no.

  “Well, I have more fun facts for you, if that’s what you want,” I offered with a smile. “Of all kinds, not only underwear-related.”

  “Of course you do,” he muttered.

  “Unless you want to use this precious time to, I don’t know, give me some kind of context about tonight.” I waited one, two, three seconds. Once more, he seemed to fall silent when I asked. “You could maybe explain to me why I’m here, pretending to be your date. That’s a good start.”

  His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter; it was hard to miss because, well, I had been carefully watching him for the last couple of minutes.