by J Q Anderson
I swallowed hard, desperately wanting to believe that. The pad of my thumb traced his lips and he kissed it. God, I wanted that mouth on me, everywhere. I blushed at the thought.
“When I come back”—he kissed me softly—“you and me.”
“You and me,” I breathed.
Chapter 15
I was up most of the night, tossing and turning, praying Sebastián was safe. It was torture not to be able to call him. In the morning, I called my parents and made plans to join them at their rowing club. Since I joined the company, I hadn’t seen much of Mamá and Papá. I missed them, and it seemed like a good distraction while I waited to hear from Sebastián.
I hurried through Estación Retiro, the main train station, a gargantuan marvel of French stylings and a steel frame made in Liverpool. Papá had told me it was once considered the most beautiful in the world and truly representative of Buenos Aires’s European roots.
I found an empty seat and rode the train to the Buenos Aires Rowing Club, a traditional landmark located in the Tigre neighborhood, twenty miles north of downtown.
A relaxing sanctuary away from the dense air and noise of the city, the club’s island on the Río de la Plata was a welcome change of scenery. There, I could lie under the peaceful dance of the wind and the willows and bring myself to a Zen state of mind that would last me for days. The Rowing Club island had always been a place where I connected with the real me and could see my life with clarity.
The train lumbered sleepily along the river, waddling on the tattered tracks. I sank into my seat, letting my eyelids drop and the exhaustion settle, and surrendered to the rocking motion.
The train stopped with a jolt, and I startled awake. Tigre station was the end of the line. Through the window I saw my mother at the club’s landing by the shore. She was sitting on a bench under the shade of a weeping willow, her statuesque figure elegant even from a distance. Slipping my backpack across my shoulder, I waited for the doors to slide open, then jogged toward the landing.
Seeing my mother always felt like coming home after a long trip. That comforting feeling of stepping into your bedroom to find everything exactly the way you had left it. I greeted her with a tight hug, lingering a bit longer than usual, the familiar scent of roses from her L’Occitane perfume soothing me.
“Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“It’s good to see you, Mamá.”
She pulled away and studied me. “You’ve lost weight, and you look exhausted.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mamá.”
“Don’t overdo it, Cami. It’s no joke.”
“Where’s Papá?”
She raised an eyebrow. From the time I put on my first ballet shoes, she had warned me about the eating disorders that haunted ballerinas.
I sighed. “We’ve just been working longer and harder, that’s all.”
Her hazel eyes watched me with a mix of concern and understanding.
“Your father is in the club, choosing the boat.”
“I’ll go catch up with him.” I kissed her cheek, then hurried across the street.
I pushed open the doors to the Tudor-style building that housed the Buenos Aires Rowing Club, a two-hundred-year-old beacon majestically erected across the river landing. Black and white portraits of crew races lined mahogany-paneled walls, interrupted by cabinets showcasing trophies from different eras. Perpetually polished, the checkered floors glowed under the slanted sun that filtered through the iron-framed windows. I had always found the atmosphere mesmerizing. A ghostly, mystical feel drifted through the hallways as I hurried toward the courtyard on the other side. I welcomed the familiar string of memories that paraded through my mind: Papá holding my hand when I was five, the two of us wandering the halls. He would point at the images while he told me about famous athletes, now fading ghosts forever memorialized in snapshots of greatness. His eyes would glint as he told the stories, which had always been my favorite part. Being a member here was a privilege that had been granted to my great-grandfather by a wealthy patient after he had saved the man’s life. The membership was closed to newcomers for decades, even to this day, and could only be inherited from a previous generation.
“You must always stay a member of the club, Camila,” Papá would say. “It’s Abuelo Armando’s legacy.”
So, I had. Despite my demanding schedule, the ritual of rowing with Papá on the weekends was a cherished part of my life.
On the other side of the patio, Papá waited in the small office assigned to check out boats. Even from a distance, his frame looked a little less erect, and a faint, silver glint kissed his hair. I greeted him with a hug, basking in the comfort that I always felt in his presence.
“Cami,” he said with bright eyes. “You’re right on time. We have a good selection today.”
“Good,” I said, nodding. Picking the right boat was a key part of our routine.
“How’s that ankle?” He signed the log and handed the attendant his driver’s license.
“Oh, fine. Almost back to normal.”
“Things going well at the theater?
“I guess. I don’t know, really.” I shrugged. “I feel a lot of pressure to do well on this soloist role. The others are breathing down my neck. It weighs on me.”
“Hmm,” he said as he finished filling out the log. “One of the many prices of rising to the top. But you’re a professional now, honey. You know what you’re doing. Trust your instincts.”
“Thanks, Papá. You have more confidence in me than I do, sometimes.”
Papá squeezed my shoulder, and we strolled back to the landing, where Mamá waited, reading a magazine. Behind us, Paco, my favorite boatman, wheeled the boat along the rusted tracks that led to the riverbed. He always had a “new” joke I’d heard at least twenty times over the years, but I laughed anyway. I liked Paco because there was nothing you could do to sour his mood. He found happiness in the smallest things.
At the landing, Paco slid the boat onto the water. I carefully stepped in and scooted to one of the two wheeled seats at the oars. Papá took the other while Mamá sat facing us, arranging the steering ropes over her shoulders. Even without knowing anything about my mother’s glory days as a prima, you would still recognize her as a dancer. Everything she did was graceful, even the way she sat, crossing her legs to the side, her feet softly bent, yet perfectly aligned. I admired her in silence, wondering if anyone would ever see me the way I saw her.
Papá and I flexed in unison, our skin glistening under the sun as we rowed the wooden shell through the copper Delta while Mamá steered, dozing off often and shifting our course.
“Inés, please. Stay awake and keep your eyes forward. You need to point the boat to the island.” He gestured with his head. He winced at the sweat dripping down his temples. “Can you see it? Or do I need to take the steering too?”
Mamá adjusted her hat, dismissing him with a quick flick of the hand as he continued his mumbling. It was sweet and comforting to see them interact in the same way after so many years.
We veered into the heart of the forest, the river channels spreading out like veins. Over the canals, the willow branches intertwined in a dense canopy of greens, their protruding roots clawing the mud at the river ledge. Distant roars from motorboats faded behind us, swallowed by the deep silence of the forest and replaced by the chants of birds above us and the soft buzz of curious dragonflies circling about. We followed the familiar route, the river lapping rhythmically against the boat, with the soothing pace of the oars cutting through the patterns of filtered sunlight playing on the golden surface of the river. From the islands lining the canals, modest houses on stilts watched us pass. The stilts were an architectural necessity to endure the frequent high tides brought by summer storms. Hydrangeas grew wild in the Delta, splashes of purple and blue bursting like fireworks for miles. Papá and I rowed in silence as we had done for so many years.
At the club’s private island, Mrs. Flores greeted us with a wel
coming smile. A table covered with an array of tapas waited. She and Mr. Flores lived on the island, cooking for visiting members who were eager for a day away from the city. I checked my phone incessantly but there were no calls or texts from Sebastián. My anxiety rocketed, and out on this island I felt a million miles away from him.
“I can’t wait for opening night. Giselle has always been one of my favorites,” Mamá said without opening her eyes. We were lying on lounge chairs by the water after a scrumptious lunch. My chest tightened a fraction. Mamá had danced the part of Giselle many times in her time. I bet she could still get on a stage today and run through all the variations. But she had never played the role of Myrta, so my personal quest to make her proud piled onto the weight I already carried on my shoulders. Mamá stretched her feet, turning them at the ankles. “How are rehearsals coming along?”
“Fine. Vronsky’s pushing us to the brink. That woman's ruthless.”
“Is your ankle still bothering you?”
“Hmm…It was fine till this week. It hurts at night because I've been rehearsing through lunch every day. Oh, which reminds me”—I sat up on the chair—“I didn't tell you. Marcos and I are performing a tango this weekend at that guy's house…Koviesky. The mogul with the polo team? Javi knows him.”
Mamá lifted her hat. “Vladimir Koviesky?” Her eyebrows shot up. “How did that happen?”
“Nata was invited to perform, but she turned it down to go to Brazil with her new guy.”
“She turned it down? For a boy? That’s absurd!”
“Exactly what I said. She’s nuts. But she really likes him. I think this one’s a keeper.”
“Koviesky’s party will be great exposure for you. Marcos is the perfect partner. You’re doing a tango?”
“Yes, Marcos put together the whole thing. It’s challenging, but if we pull it off, it’ll be amazing.”
Mamá smiled, but it was a mix of pride and sadness. She knew how I felt about Marcos. “I’m thrilled for you. And…I'm sure there will be lots of single men at this party.”
“Mamá, I'll be working. Besides…I've sort of…met someone already.” I reluctantly glanced at her.
Her face lit up. “Tell me everything,” she said. “A dancer?”
Papá lumbered over and plopped on the lounge chair beside me. “Everything about what? Who’s a dancer?”
“Cami has a boyfriend.”
“Mamá!”
“Who’s he?” Papá frowned. He was the epitome of the protective father, not big on distractions from my career.
“He’s not my boyfriend. But…I do like him…A lot.” I avoided their eyes and played with the end of my long ponytail.
“Is he a dancer?” Papá prompted now.
“No, Papá. It’s not Marcos, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Hm. Who, then?”
“We met by chance on my way to work. Then…we ran into each other the day I came to see you for lunch.” I looked up at him. “His building is by your office.”
Papá pressed his mouth into a grim line. “Is it, now. What does he do?”
“He's an architect.”
Papá thought for a moment, his frown deepening as he shook his head. “The only architects by my office are Palacios and De la Viña.”
Why was I the only person in this planet who hadn't heard Sebastián's name before? I nodded. “Yup. He's one of them.”
Papá's face blanched. “Camila…No. Are you serious?”
“I haven't even told you which one of the two he is. You're already disapproving? I'm shocked.”
“Either one of those last names would be something I'd want you to stay clear of.”
“Why? He's a nice guy. I like him.” Suddenly I was four years old again.
“Which one is he,” he spat out, both a question and an accusation.
“Palacios. Sebastián Palacios.”
“No. No.” He growled.
“Papá, I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one. Do you know who the Palacioses are? It’s not a joke. How in the hell did you end up mixed with someone like that?”
“Like what? Papá, I like him. And for the first time, I may have a chance to be happy with someone instead of looking through a glass wall at Marcos while he makes out with the entire cast. There, have I humiliated myself enough for you?” I looked away, swallowing through the thickness in my throat. Mamá’s hand covered mine and squeezed it.
Papá groaned. “I'm not happy about this, Camila. It’s a detour and a bad idea.”
“Why? Why does everything in my life have to be so carefully planned? Every single thing I do has to have a purpose. There's got to be more than dancing all the time. Maybe it's not so bad if I have fun for a change. I’m young.”
He let out a breath through flared nostrils. “Think about what you're trying to build for yourself. What you’re working so hard to accomplish. What do you think the company will say when they find out one of their rising ballerinas is dating a gangster?”
“Papá!”
“Camila, those people are criminals!” He slammed his fist on the chair so hard Mamá and I jumped in unison.
I rubbed my forehead and clenched my teeth. “I don't even know why we are having this conversation. I’m an adult. And I've only seen him a few times.”
“Read the papers. Go online and Google them for Christ’s sake. They don’t only control the docks. They have their hands in casinos, oil companies, waste management, refineries, wine, you name it. All money laundering. Don Martín himself has been under investigation more times than anyone can count. He’s got politicians in his pockets, so no one can touch them. It’s scandalous how deep the corruption goes. I don’t want you associated with that. Do not jeopardize your career over some punk you just met.” He turned to Mamá. “Are you hearing this?”
I pulled up my feet and hugged my legs, holding in the tears. Why in the hell did I think telling Papá about Sebastián would be a good idea? Deep inside I already knew he wouldn’t approve. Did I subconsciously want to get this out of the way? I quickly wiped a stray tear off my cheek.
“Camila.” Papá reached for my hand. His tone was softer, but I kept my eyes down, pressing my chin to my knees. “This is your life. Your future. But you dance at the most prestigious company in the country. That means that from now on, you have to consider every step you take. You’re so close to what you've always worked so hard to achieve. Don’t put it at risk.”
“Esteban,” Mamá said, finally interrupting her long silence. Papá looked up and met her eyes. Amazing the speech that woman could deliver with just one word. Mamá understood my career path better than anyone. But she also knew well the things she had turned away for the sake of dancing. Like me, ballet had been her master, owner of her young years and her free time. From the time they were both young, Papá had been at her side through all of it. Ballet had always come first. It wasn’t until after her career had peaked that she finally stepped out of the ballet world to have a family. She could’ve kept going, but it was what she wanted, I knew that in my heart. But like me, Papá felt we somehow had to make her feel like her decision to give it all up had been worth it. That we were worth it.
I knew Mamá probably wasn't thrilled with my choice in Sebastián, but she often insisted I should bring balance to my life. She also always had my back when it came to Papá.
Sulking, Papá sank back in his chair, his gaze lost somewhere in the horizon. I hated arguing with him. We had always been close, but I had inherited his stubbornness, and when we didn't see eye to eye, it wasn't pretty.
A silent half hour went by. I checked my phone for the millionth time, but there were no messages from Sebastián. Anxiety unfurled in my gut.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” I muttered. “You look tired.”
He half smiled, and I knew the storm had passed for the moment. He closed his eyes, and I guessed he hadn’t slept at all. Part of me felt guilty for making last-minute
plans to come rowing, but I also knew he enjoyed our time together as much as I did.
Mamá shifted in her chair, her face hidden under her hat. “Esteban, why didn’t your patient just call the ambulance?”
“He’s old. He was just scared.” Yawning, he leaned back in the chair, his eyelids growing heavy as Mamá began talking about their upcoming trip to Europe.
Staring at my phone screen, I listened to their conversation absentmindedly, hoping they had change their minds about Sebastián once they met him. All this negative press on him weighed in my mind, but I had promised him I wouldn’t buy into it. I wanted to trust him, though the rational part of me needed to know more.
Later in my apartment, I paced around like a caged animal. It was nearly eleven at night, and my damn phone was quieter than ever. I folded laundry and did the dishes, but my mind was racing through the options as my anxiety peaked. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt? My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I jumped, almost dropping it as I yanked it out.
“Thank God,” I said without hiding my desperation. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” Sebastián said. “It’s over.”
“And the girls?”
“Safe.” His tone was low, exhausted. “Cami, I can’t talk now. I need to board the plane, but I’ll call you in the morning?”
“Yes, of course. I’m so glad you’re safe. The last twenty-four hours have been torture.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
The line went dead, and I closed my eyes, plopping back in my bed. He was safe, and apparently so were the girls. How in the hell had he pulled off something like that? The Palacios name became bigger and harder to avoid with every passing second. Sebastián had done something that a regular person wouldn’t have been able to do at all, and not only that, he had succeeded. Rescuing trafficked girls surely required contacts with important people, dangerous people. The thought lingered and the red flags telling me to flee flared in the back of my mind. Would I constantly worry about him? Would I be in danger too?
