"Properly," he added quickly to clarify. "I mean, I'll play the role properly."
Raquel swallowed her bite. "Really?"
"I am in your debt," he continued. Encouraged by her olive branch, he picked up his fork and loaded more veal onto her plate. "I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't have to thank me," she replied, watching him abuse her plate with meat. "But this doesn't mean that I like you."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said. He then sprinkled the thin slices of veal with parsley and drizzled more lemon sauce onto it.
"So, stop giving me more food," she pushed his hand away.
"But you haven't tried it with the parsley," he said, raising his voice. "You have to eat it with the parsley, or you'll ruin your palate."
"Stop it," she groaned, looking around in the restaurant. Other customers were starting to stare at them now. "Or I'll ruin you."
"Raquel, please. I only want what's best for you."
"For me or my palate?"
"You are your palate," he insisted. This woman had no sense of taste whatsoever.
"How about you stop obsessing over my mouth and start worrying about the investigation?"
He slowed down his assault on her plate and withdrew his fork. Raising his hands in defense, he nodded. "Right. Where do I start?"
"Put these away," She handed him the bank statements. "We need to talk about this Saturday."
He took the documents from her and stuffed them back into the briefcase. Thankfully, the ten-course meal he had ordered was beginning to arrive, and he felt himself relax. Business should be discussed over chickpea crumble, not on an empty stomach.
"What's this Saturday?"
"It's the fundraiser," she reminded him. "An event we definitely need to attend together."
He frowned. "That's not really an event. It's just an evening for our shareholders to announce our new line of product. Not even the employees are invited."
"But the board members are, right?"
"Sure," he shrugged. "Andres likes attending to keep the investors happy. But there is no point in me being there. I am in charge of the financials."
"Well, now you have a reason to be there. You are going, and you are taking me."
"Raquel…" he began, already reluctant to waste his hair mousse on an event like this. "I don't think-"
"You agreed, remember?" She interrupted before he could finish his sentence. "You agreed to do better."
He watched her expression, watched the way she leaned over the table to invade his personal space. The smell of butter from the scallops reached his nose and eased his senses. She was right; he couldn't keep hiding anymore. He needed to embrace this role and begin taking Raquel to these high-profile events.
"Alright," he nodded, retaining his reluctance. "We'll go."
"Good," she grabbed her own fork, suddenly having gained an appetite.
He gently pushed the plate of foie gras into her direction. "We won't be sneaking into his office again, will we?"
"I don't think so. I just need him to get used to my presence. Maybe if we spend more time with him, he might slip and say something he shouldn't."
"So, the plan is to be around him as much as possible?"
"Exactly," she took a bite from the myriad of appetizers that decorated the table. "He already sees you as family. Knowing that you have a girlfriend now will soften him even more."
"I've known this man for years. What makes you think that my love life will loosen his tongue?"
"I am also relying on your acting skills to achieve that particular objective."
"Of which I have none," he reminded her.
She let out an exhausted sigh and gave him a pointed look. "Is this you trying harder? Because I'm not seeing it."
"I am trying, but I can't create something that simply doesn't exist," he leaned back into his seat. "I agreed to take you to these events and introduce you as my girlfriend, but I can't just manipulate Andres into sharing his secrets with me."
"This is an undercover operation. What did you think? That you'd be telling the truth the entire time?"
"I didn't think, I was ambushed."
"Don't be dramatic." She threw him an incredulous look. "No one ambushed you."
"That's right. The Spanish police don't ambush. You just threaten to take away my freedom," he scoffed.
"When are you going to realize that you have no freedom left! You are either my way into Andres' life or his little corporate toy!" She dropped her fork, and it landed on the plate with a huge clank. A few customers raised their heads from their meal to see what was going on between the two.
"I will realize it when you also realize that I am a human being whose life is hanging on the line!"
"A collection of Beethoven tapes and a yearly subscription to Vogue is not a life," she bit back.
He immediately lowered his voice. "How do you know about that?"
"I found your stash under your bed, next to the facial cream you clearly order in bulk."
"You went through my things?"
"I can't believe you thought you could keep your privacy after trying to flee the country twice!"
Sergio did a quick mental check as to what incriminating evidence Raquel might have found in his bedroom. There were the polyester bedsheets he had accidentally bought online that he kept hidden under his mattress, the ugly Christmas sweater Andres had gifted him last year, and the nose hair trimmer that he kept locked in his bathroom.
"Don't worry," she added after a beat. "I didn't find your porn or anything."
He gasped. "Raquel! I do not keep… pornographic material in my bedroom!"
She threw him a knowing look. "Where do you keep in then?"
"Nowhere! I don't own such material!"
"Right…" She scoffed, going for her fork again. This time she reached for the roasted pumpkin, and Sergio watched as she brought a small bite to her lips. "All men have porn."
"I am not all men," he gritted between his teeth. "I don't… consume pornography."
She eyed him up and down and licked the crumbs off her fork. His eyes immediately found her mouth. There was a subtle shift in their tone, as though time had deliberately slowed down around them to give them a moment to catch up.
"You really don't?"
"No!"
"So… How else do you… do it then?" She asked carefully.
"Do what?" His eyes were still on her lips.
"You know…"
"I really don't."
"Don't you masturbate?"
He snapped himself out of the trance that was her mouth. "Excuse me?!"
She evaded his gaze as though she was having trouble retaining her usual confidence. She took another bite out of the pumpkin for the sake of having something to do with her hands. "It's just a bodily function. Everyone does it."
"Everyone?" He swallowed. His hand subconsciously went to his collar, and he loosened his tie. "Do you do it?"
Now it was her turn to stall. Her focus rested on the appetizers. Her eyes momentarily flickered to his own, but she quickly looked away. He was growing intrigued by the coyness in her stare. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, and he found it to be the most exquisite shade of pink he had ever seen.
"Everyone does it," she repeated.
He was being swept up by the current. Having lost all sense of reality, he ventured even further into the unknown. "When was the last time you did it?"
She drew in a sharp breath.
All of a sudden, she grabbed her half-empty glass of water and threw the liquid at his face. He jumped in his seat in utter shock. A few customers gasped and peered at their table.
"You can't ask me that!"
Cold water dripped off his face. He sat there, his mouth open in shock, and stared back at her with such astonishment that she found herself looking away in guilt.
"I think…." He began, reaching for a napkin. "I think I deserved that."
"I am sorry," she shook her head and handed him her own linen napkin as well. "I was… caught off guard."
"No need to apologize," he took off his glasses, shaking the water droplets off the lenses. Then he dabbed the napkin on his face and dried off his beard. "I shouldn't have asked that."
"No, no," she argued. "I opened up the subject."
Despite his own shame for failing to control himself, he could tell that she was enveloped in her own sense of confusion. He had never seen her back down from something she did or said. But sitting right across from him in the quiet restaurant, he sensed an unfamiliar emotion within her. It almost made him forget about the cold water running down his neck.
"Raquel," he repeated. "I apologize. It was entirely my fault."
Her eyes lingered on his. She opened her mouth to speak, as though she was about to say something back, but then closed it again.
Then she stood up abruptly. "I need to go."
"Raquel?"
"Enjoy…." She pointed at the dozen or so plates. "…all of this."
"Raquel, wait!"
But she had already stormed out of the restaurant, leaving him staring at the door in confusion.
#
Sergio spent the next few days trying to decode what the hell took place in that restaurant. He was either turning schizophrenic, or something had definitely shifted in their dynamic.
It had all started with a tactless question on his part. So what if she had broached the subject? He knew better than that. He was raised with proper manners, wasn't he? What had prompted him to invade her privacy like that? What was he even thinking? Was he suicidal?
He spent the rest of the day hiding in his office, refusing to take any calls. The same scene played in his mind over and over again like a bad tape from the 90s. Raquel was a strong, confident woman. It wasn't unusual for her to bring up the topic of masturbation. Hell, it was even expected. She looked for creative ways to humiliate him as a hobby. His sex life, or lack thereof, was just delicious material for her to exploit.
What was not expected was her reaction to his question. Sure, he deserved a full glass of ice water to his face, but he had witnessed the ghost of a blush creeping up her cheeks. He was sure of it. He had cleaned his glasses right before their lunch, and he was sure that she had blushed.
Then, there was the matter of her rushed exit. She had practically run out of the restaurant. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that she was allergic to shellfish. But no, she had tried the scallops, and she hadn't slipped into an anaphylactic shock. Raquel must have had some other reason as to why she'd run out of there like their table was on fire.
When he arrived home, he was ready to have a discussion. He needed answers, and he needed them now. He had put together a brief mental outline as to how he would start the confrontation, which included a careful analysis on managing his own expectations. Raquel was not going to be forthcoming. Her decision to reveal information to him fluctuated based on her mood. Accordingly, her mood fluctuated based on a myriad of factors, the primary one being their interactions.
Therefore, when he unlocked the door to his apartment, he had a clear idea as to how he would steer this particular conversation.
What he didn't expect was the hiding.
Faint upbeat music coming out of her room was the only sign of her presence in the house. However, her door was shut closed, and the only clue as to her entire existence was a single plate that was washed and put out to dry on his dishrack. From the sliced bread and tomatoes he kept spotting in his fridge, he knew that she had been surviving on sandwiches, and he briefly wondered about her protein intake.
With timid steps, he went to her room and knocked. "If you lock yourself in your room, how will you make sure that I don't escape?"
There was silence on the other side. For a moment, he didn't think she was going to reply. She might have even gone to sleep. But seconds later, the door flung open, and she emerged with a very pissed off expression.
When he looked down at her hand, he saw that she was holding the very gun she had shoved in his balls earlier. He took an instinctive step back.
"Sergio," she exhaled dramatically and took a step forward. "If I kill you today, I'm going to have to explain it to the precinct. Then I'm probably going to have a discussion with Prieto, and he will assign me to some other board member. Then I'm going to have to end up playing some other weirdo's girlfriend. You see how this is an inconvenience for me?"
He nodded carefully, slowly retreating down the hall to his room. "That's good because it is also an inconvenience for me. I am too busy with work to plan my own funeral."
She looked down at her gun and looked back up at him with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page."
Then she returned to her room and closed the door. Raquel was keeping him from running away based on sheer fear alone, and it was working.
#
He didn't see much of her over the next few days.
She kept to her room and skipped dinner on most days. Every now and then, as he walked past her room, he heard the unsettling hum of the two computers the police had furnished her with. He knew that she worked. One evening when she was in the bathroom, he had peered inside her room to see piles of folders all stacked up on her desk. He had no doubt that her investigation into Andres' affairs continued. Despite the fact that she wouldn't have access to him until their next event, he knew that she was renting a parking space in his building's garage, and she followed Andres around during the day.
On some days, she wouldn't even come home until after he was in bed. He knew that she kept tabs on him. If he left a briefcase out in the living room, he never found it in the same place he left it. If he didn't emerge from his bedroom for some time, he'd hear to walk past his door a few too many times. If he was at work, he'd spot her car on his way out. It unnerved him at first, but he found that he was slowly growing used to the warm pair of eyes watching his every move.
So, he stepped up his own game.
He began cooking more often. When he did prepare his meals, he always spared a plate for her and made an effort to let her know. His daily warnings regarding the amount of fiber one should consume in a day mostly went ignored. It was as though he was speaking to a wall. She either responded in short grunts on her way to her room or straight up didn't answer.
On Wednesday, he woke up in the middle of the night severely dehydrated. He put on his glasses and dragged his feet to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Just as he was calculating the exact deficiency in his REM cycle in minutes, he heard a faint sound coming from Raquel's room.
He paused in the dark hallway, afraid to move. He looked to his left, then to his right, making sure that they were still alone in the house. If the police had sent additional officers to guard him, Raquel would have said so.
He shook his head, not willing to give in to this phantom sound. Just as he was about to resume his journey to the kitchen, he heard it again. This time he took a step towards her door, making sure that it wasn't a mistake.
She was sobbing. No, she was talking. When he rested his ear against the door, he heard her groan.
"It was a mistake."
He quickly jumped away from the door as if he had been burned. Was someone else in there with her?
Nope. Not dealing with that ball of disaster today. He needed to be up early for work the next morning, and his REM cycle was suffering.
With tentative steps, he started heading towards the kitchen once more.
Then he heard her sob again, louder this time.
Damn it.
With a sign, he turned around and came to a halt in front of her door again. Possibilities: either she was awake, and she was in distress, or she was asleep, and she was in distress. Either way, something was wrong. Not that he ever saw Raquel needing his help, but the sound of her voice pulled at his conscience.
Just make sure she's okay, he told himself. You are doing your duty as a human being. Maybe she'll pity you and testify as to your good character when she eventually arrests you.
Ignoring the irony in his own thoughts, he softly called out to her. "Raquel?"
No answer. Of course. Make my job difficult, why not? This is why humanity is dead, and it's your fault, Raquel.
"Raquel, you okay?" He tried again, a little louder this time.
This time he did hear her. A faint voice, barely audible in the night, littered with sobs.
"I didn't mean it…"
Didn't mean what, he thought to himself. What was she talking about?
In the end, concern took over caution. He slowly cracked her door open, no more than a few centimeters, to peer inside to ensure her well-being.
The room was pitch black, but his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and he could make out her small frame under the blankets. She was curled to her side, clearly still asleep. She clung to a fistful of blanket. Her body trembled in the night.
"I-I'm sorry," she moaned again. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
It took him a moment to realize that she was having a nightmare.
He immediately closed the door in shock. Raquel? Raquel had nightmares?
Raquel didn't have nightmares. She caused them.
In another stroke of worry, he cracked open her door once more to confirm what he had just witnessed. There she was, buried under his maroon blankets, shaking in distress. The room was devoid of oxygen, and he could barely breathe. She tossed and turned in the bed.
After a particularly loud gasp, he briefly pondered whether he should wake her up and save her from her own mind. He even took a shy step into the room. But then he paused.
No, he couldn't just barge into her room like that in the middle of the night. If she splashed his face with ice water after an intimate question, he didn't even want to imagine what she would do if she caught him in her bedroom in the middle of the night. Besides, he wasn't sure whether Raquel would feel okay with him knowing about the nightmare.
No. He couldn't wake her up, no matter how much he wanted to.
With a heavy pang in his heart, he clicked the door closed and returned to bed, having forgotten all about his glass of water.
The next morning, he paid a short visit to Andres's office. He hadn't seen Raquel in the morning, and he was still pondering over her nightmare. Upon setting eyes on the exact person he was looking for, he smiled.
"Anibal…" Sergio stopped by the young secretary's desk. "Are you settling in okay?"
Anibal paused his violent typing and looked up at him in shock. "Sir, you are the first person to ask me that."
Ignoring his answer, Sergio scanned the small desk. When his gaze landed on a small leather-bound notebook, he smiled in triumph and snatched it off the desk. "What's this?"
"That is Mr. Fonollosa's weekly planner."
"It isn't important, is it?"
"Actually, it is the most important thing in my life."
"Good, good. So, you don't mind if I borrow it?"
"Sir, you can't," Anibal stood up and tried to reach for the notebook. However, Sergio was taller than him, so he pulled the book away from his grasp.
"I'll return it momentarily," he whisked the little object away and walked out.
"Sir, NOooooo….." Anibal's screams faded into the background. Sergio's position as CFO ranked far too high for anyone to actually challenge him.
He quickly went to the copy room and made a few copies of all the pages that had appointments scribbled on them. The planner wasn't full by any means; Andres hated prior commitments. He was a spur of the moment kind of manager. But the little notebook wasn't devoid of any information either. Whatever it took to cheer Raquel up, he thought.
After stuffing the copies into his own drawer, he returned the planner to Anibal, who snatched it away from his hands and clung to it so desperately that Sergio worried about the young man's mental health.
When he came home that night, he stacked the pages together and slid them under Raquel's door.
He didn't hear from her that evening. So, he cleaned his ears, polished his nails, and went to bed.
When he woke up in the morning and came home after his workout to prepare his breakfast, he found a little post-it note on his smoothie maker.
"Thank you."
He spent a few seconds scrutinizing her handwriting. Her cursive was messy but legible. With a satisfied smile, he folded the note and slipped it in the front pocket of his shirt.
#
By Friday night, he was a little more at ease. He wasn't irked by her quiet presence around the apartment anymore, but he wasn't used to it either.
Full autonomy didn't exist. He found that he kept to his room more. Once upon a time, he might have watched a documentary in his living room after dinner. But nowadays, he preferred spending his evenings in the little armchair in his bedroom with a romance novel keeping him company. He felt safer there. Raquel might have been forward, but at least she wasn't intrusive. He knew that she would never enter his room, not when he was there at least.
After dinner, he brewed himself the sweet chamomile tea he had delivered from Egypt. With his counters wiped clean and the dishwasher murmuring quietly in the corner, he took out his laptop and settled onto the dining table. Finding solace in his solitude, he began work.
He had been engulfed in the computer screen for half an hour when he heard quiet footsteps.
She paused when she entered the room. "Oh, I thought you were in your room."
"Careful," he mused, not looking up from his laptop. "You are losing track of me."
She headed for the sink and took out a glass from the cupboard. In his open floor plan, the only thing that separated his kitchen from the dining area was a line of counters that he used as a bar. Though living alone, he found that he didn't have much use for the sleek stools he had stacked by the counter.
"Don't worry, I always know where you are," she remarked as she filled the glass with water.
"I am flattered."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know," he said.
There was a brief pause before she spoke again. "What are you working on, anyway?"
He finally looked up from the screen, surprised to hear her inquiry. She looked softer in the dim lights of his living room. The night became her, he thought to himself. Then he quickly shook his mind off the idea.
"I am creating an excel spreadsheet."
She frowned and made her way to him. It was strange to see her in comfortable clothes. She had traded the jeans and the leathers for leggings and a sweater that came dangerously close to falling off her left shoulder. He quickly focused his attention back on the task in front of him.
"An excel spreadsheet? About what?"
"About you."
"What?" She circled the dining table and came to stand behind him. "About me?"
"Well," he adjusted his glasses and turned to look up at her. "About us and our relationship."
"I don't understand."
"It is for my sake mostly. I just want to be able to keep track of what lies we've been telling people, and I want to make sure that I don't screw up."
He turned his back to her, ready to reemerge himself into the tiny rows and columns he had painstakingly created to gain some sense of control back. Sergio couldn't exist without a chart, and he was determined to fit this chaos of his life into a carefully organized excel sheet, or else he was going to die with it. There was no in between.
Raquel scoffed. "Are you serious? You are creating a spreadsheet about your love life?"
"You asked me to do better, Raquel. This is the only way I know how."
Another backhanded insult was on the tip of her tongue; he could feel it. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact. However, what came next shook him to the core.
"Show me," she said and settled down on the chair beside him.
He raised his eyebrows. "You want to see my excel spreadsheet?"
"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds dirty," she gave him a playful smile. "But yes. You are making an effort, and I want to be a part of it if I can."
"Alright," he replied, slightly encouraged by the warmth in her tone. "Well, as you can see here, the vertical column on the left is your subcategories."
"Subcategories?" She leaned into the screen, and he automatically leaned away from her, not feeling quite ready to breathe in the same air. "I have subcategories?"
"Yes, well," he continued. "Your likes, your dislikes, your hobbies, that kind of basic information every boyfriend should know about. Then, there are the additional factual categories about us and how we met." He pointed at the screen. "The horizontal row headings at the top are dates, indicating time passage. They demonstrate when we experienced something together as a couple, whether it is an event or something I learned about you, in weekly increments. So, for example, the first vertical subcategory is 'Setting and Event.' Following through that, if you look at cell B2, it says we met in cooking class. This is the first point in time we interacted."
She grabbed hold of his laptop and pulled the device closer to herself to get a better look. "I see it."
"Good. Now, if you follow that column down, that was the day I learned that you couldn't chop onions which corresponds to the 'Qualities' subcategory. Therefore, we should be able to track down what I learned about you at what point in time without making any mistakes."
She was quiet for a moment as she scrolled up and down the screen. "Cell C4, I like roasted duck?"
"That is the 'Likes' category, and a week after we met which corresponds to our first date."
"And, cell M4, I like soft rock?"
"That is something I learned about you this week." He smiled sheepishly, remembering the music he had heard coming from her bedroom.
"Sergio…" She leaned back into her seat and turned to him with her mouth gaping open. "This is…"
"Too much?"
Nerdy? Pathetic? Sad? Disorganized? Go to hell and take this chart with you?
"Amazing," she breathed out. "This is brilliant."
His lips twitched. "What?"
"This is the most meticulous thing I've seen in my life. We have data scientists with years of experience at the station who couldn't produce a document half as beautiful as this!"
"B-beautiful?" He asked, taken aback. "You think my chart is beautiful?"
She turned back to the screen and let out a chuckle in disbelief. "Yes, you did a great job."
Even the early morning sun after a chilly evening couldn't warm Sergio as much as what Raquel had said about his chart. His precious spreadsheet was…. Beautiful. She had said so. He was swept up by such euphoria that he forgot how to speak.
"I…" He began, struggling to find the right words. He looked at her with pure glee. "You think…. Beautiful?"
"Do you need help filling it out?" She focused her attention on the screen, seemingly unaware of the utter ecstasy he was currently experiencing. "We haven't had a chance to plan much, and a lot of the cells are empty."
"Yes…" he breathed out. "Please."
"Here," she started typing. "Dislikes. I hate parsley."
Sergio paused. "So… at the restaurant that day…?"
"When you put parsley on my plate? I hated it."
"Noted, no parsley." He began compiling a mental list of all the dishes he knew without parsley.
"And rap music," she added. "I don't like people talking during a song. Songs should be sung, not yelled out."
He threw her a brief look and smiled. She was so fixated on the chart that she didn't notice.
"I agree," he remarked quietly.
"And dishonesty. I hate being lied to."
"That's ironic coming from someone who's an excellent liar."
"Just because I'm good at it doesn't mean I like it," she shrugged. "Besides, that's business. This is personal."
"I won't lie to you ever again," he reminded her upon hearing the word 'personal.'
She stopped her typing and turned to him. They weren't accustomed to being this close to each other. Sergio evaded her gaze and looked back at the screen with a nervous chuckle.
"I think you know what will happen to you if you lie to me again," she replied. It sounded more of a threat than anything.
Their thoughts landed on the same moment in time where she had a gun leveled at his crotch. They both looked down at his pants, and Sergio placed a protective hand over his manhood. Their eyes met.
"I don't have any doubts," he nodded.
She licked her lips and turned to the laptop.
She filled out a few more cells, edited out some details, and wrote in more facts. Without a word, she reached over and took a sip from his tea. His heart fluttered like a newborn dove in his chest, hoping to hear her thoughts on the organic chamomile. But she didn't comment and continued typing.
"You don't want to hear about my likes and dislikes?" He asked after a beat, ready to begin a lengthy discussion on chamomile and its benefits.
"You don't have to tell me. Let me guess…" She paused her typing and leaned back in her seat. "Likes... You like structure, and you like planning for something before it happens. The more details, the better. In fact, if you could plan your own death, I'm sure you would. Dislikes. Anything and everything that defies your plans, starting with me."
"Well, you-" he began, about to refute her most recent point, but she continued.
"Then there are the small things. You are well groomed; you buy any product from Yves Saint Laurent, even if it's actual dirt in a bottle. You can't live without your custom-made kitchen knives and imported hand creams. You don't like it when other people touch your belongings, but you let me drink from your tea because you are dying to talk about your expensive chamomile. Then there is the striped pajama set and satin bedsheets."
"I…"
"And yes, I've seen the nose hair trimmer. Don't try to hide it."
"That's in a locked drawer," he whispered in embarrassment.
"You keep the key on your nightstand."
He closed his mouth, having run out of arguments. How did she know him so well, he didn't have a clue. But he was growing more and more nervous about her ability to read into his mind without any effort.
"I get it, you don't need a chart," he murmured quietly.
"No, but we still need to fill in yours."
She scooted her chair a little closer to the dining table. Her hand brushed against his sleeve by accident. He flinched at the sudden contact.
She noticed. Her eyes flickered to her own hand, then she looked up at him in question. Nervous, he tried to ignore her stare and focus his attention on the laptop. But she had already detected his sensitivity, and she wasn't letting it go that easy.
She frowned and brushed her pinkie against his sleeve again. He balked from her touch.
"Well, we gotta fix that," she said after a beat.
"Fix what?"
"You can't just recoil from me."
"I didn't recoil," he was quick to defend himself. "I'm just not used to people touching me."
"But I'm not people. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend. How can we keep playing this role if you can't even touch me?"
"I can touch you," he said, staring straight ahead to the computer screen. Turning to her direction would mean acknowledging her words, and he wasn't ready for that particular step.
"Alright, show me."
"Show you what?"
"That you can touch me."
"Now?" He scooted his chair back.
"Yes, now. Touch me."
"I… Well…"
Raquel gave him a minute to process that request. She raised her eyebrows and threw him an expecting look.
"I'm waiting."
"Give me a minute," he let out a long exhale, steady and controlled. He ignored the little shake in his breath.
Right. He could do this. What was his mantra again?
Women are people.
He could touch Raquel. He should touch Raquel. Well, he had to touch Raquel, or Raquel was going to touch him, and from their prior course of dealing, he knew her approach to be much more direct.
He had touched her before, albeit under pressure. Now, there was no pressure. It was just the two of them alone in his apartment with the sweet chamomile keeping them company. But he could still do it.
With a forced motion, he raised his hand and patted her gently on her upper arm. He felt the soft material of her sweater. She radiated warmth, which was something he didn't expect. He immediately pulled his hand away.
Nice, he thought to himself. Good job. You handled that like a pro. You proved her wrong.
"That was pathetic," was Raquel's only reply.
"What are you talking about? I touched you!"
"I touch my dentist more affectionately."
"It's not my problem if you are intimate with your dentist," he pulled the laptop closer to him, determined not to be swayed from their goal of the evening. He was immensely enjoying his spreadsheet, why did she have to go and ruin the experience like that?
"That's the point. I am not intimate with my dentist."
"Why do you touch him then?"
"Because unlike you, I am not some humanoid robot placed on this earth by aliens from another galaxy."
He stopped typing. "I have a feeling that you're being sarcastic."
"You have feelings?" She scoffed.
"It was a figure of speech."
"Oh, thank God," she let out a dramatic exhale in relief. "I thought you were a normal person there for a second."
"I am a person," he replied, offended. "I am great at being a normal person."
In fact, that was something he was incredibly proud of. He was a very high functioning adult. He invested his money, maintained a retirement account with great interest rates, and deep cleaned the inside of his microwave every week. If there was ever 'who's the best at being a person competition,' he'd win. He was more of a person than Raquel.
"Then prove it."
"Do you want to see my mortgage plan? Is that what you want because I can pull it up right now."
"No, you idiot. I want you to touch me."
Well, he had walked right into that one, hadn't he?
He finally fully turned to her, having accepted that his spreadsheet was a lost cause. He let out a breath and adjusted his glasses, then he gave her a long hard look.
"Raquel…." He began. "I… I don't know how to touch you."
"So, you can't?"
"I really don't know how."
"Alright," she nodded. "I'm going to show you." She stood up.
"No, wait a minute!"
"Don't worry," she said softly. "It's not going to be that bad."
He didn't believe her. Why didn't he believe her?
She pushed her chair into the table and headed over to his couch. He watched her walk, still trying to get used to her chaotic presence in his sharp and crisp apartment. It was as though his place was filled with black, blue, and gray, with every piece of furniture meticulously selected to fit into the giant puzzle of his décor. But her being there was like red. She brought warmth and disorder into his place. He didn't know how to handle this presence, so he just observed quietly, liking the way her brown hair fell on her shoulders in soft waves.
"Well?" she said after a beat, and Sergio realized that he had been staring at her for far too long. "Are you coming?"
He got up from the dining table and followed her into the living room. When she sat down on the black leather couch, he followed suit. He left a respectable distance between their bodies.
"I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," she said once they were face to face. "I just need you to be a little bit more at ease around me."
"I thought I was making progress."
"And you are," she nodded. "Just not as fast as I'd like. Especially when we have an event to attend tomorrow."
"And what do you propose?"
"We'll start slow."
There was something different in her expression. He recognized some shades of patience and a hint of understanding. Even though he felt grateful for her composure, he knew that she was helpful as long as it benefitted her. It wasn't his comfort she cared about; it was the results. He tried not to get too caught up in her sympathy.
"A-Alright," he said.
"How about you try sitting a little closer to me?"
The leather of his expensive couch made it easy for him to slide closer to her on the couch. The dishwasher hummed quietly in the background. He didn't look directly at her face. With their newfound proximity, eye contact was impossible.
"Good?"
She nodded. "Can you come closer?"
"Raquel, I'd be invading your personal space!"
"I know. That's kind of what I want."
He groaned internally. Alright, he could do this.
He shifted even closer to her. Their knees almost touched. This was definitely not a respectable distance.
"Good job," she encouraged him. "Now, look at me."
Looking at her took less energy than moving closer to her, but somehow it was even more difficult. In a burst of courage mixed with a hint of curiosity, he raised his head and looked at her.
He sucked in a breath.
Her gaze was sharp, observant, but charming. It betrayed no feeling.
From this angle, he noticed the things he hadn't seen before. He realized that her eyes were brown. They were almost the same shade as her hair which he also noticed in detail. Some strands were lighter than others, almost like caramel. She really was even more stunning up close. Her hair shined warmly even in the evening light.
He was drawn in once, and he found that he was unable to return.
"How are you?" She asked, and he realized that she had also been staring at him.
Mystified. Hypnotized. Glamorized.
He didn't know if it was her or the inherent excitement that came from looking deep into someone's eyes that made him feel this way. He placed his bet on the second option.
"Good," he replied instead, keeping his voice steady. "I am good."
The longer he looked at her, the quieter he grew. His heart picked up a faster pace.
"Can you handle some physical contact now?" Her voice had also grown lower, almost velvety.
"Yes," he breathed out.
They sat side by side, but their bodies faced each other. Raquel had one leg folded underneath her. Slowly, she reached out and placed her hand on top of his on his lap.
He couldn't help but slightly flinch. Breaking their eye contact, he looked down at where both of their hands were now joined on his thigh.
"Don't focus on that. Keep looking at me," she said quietly.
He didn't know how he was not supposed to focus on her hand on his. He was hypersensitive to her. All he felt was her touch. But he obliged and looked back up at her eyes, finding comfort in her gaze.
"You don't do this with everyone you go undercover with, do you?" His voice came out darker than he intended.
She bit down on her lower lip. "No, this is special for you."
"I am honored," he said, their eye contact earning him some confidence. It was as though he was finally allowed to do something he could only dream of doing in his dreams. He was allowed, clearly, explicitly, without a doubt. He didn't worry about what was appropriate.
Allowing himself to build back control, he turned his hand so that his palm was facing up. His fingers curled around her hand. Not expecting an affirmative action from him during their little training, she drew in a sharp breath. His eyes immediately went to her lips.
"It looks like you haven't done this with a lot of people either," she whispered.
"I haven't done this with anyone."
"So…" Her breathing was different. It was faster. "You really haven't been with anyone before?"
He allowed himself to smile. "Is this your way of asking if I'm really a virgin?"
She chuckled, and his heart skipped a beat. He wanted to hear that sound again, no matter the cost.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yes." He allowed more freedom to his fingers. He started tracing lazy circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She shivered. "And the answer is still no. I am not a virgin."
"But this…?"
"I've only been with two women," he said, his eyes on her lips. "A very long time ago, and casually."
"What happened?" She shifted closer to him and rested her knee against his. This time, he found himself welcoming her touch.
"One of them couldn't put up with… well, me."
She let out a deep laugh. "I don't blame her."
"Hey!" He pushed her hand away. "That's not how you get more information out of me."
"No, no, I'm sorry," she giggled and reached for his hand again. "Please keep going."
He indulged her and interlaced their fingers together. "And the second one was…"
"Imaginary?"
"What did I say about being nice?" He pressed, only for the sake of that carefree smile on her lips.
"Sorry, I'll stop. I promise," she laughed again.
But he was already distracted. The soft waves of her hair bounced with every laugh. Her smile was infectious. It was the most marvelous thing he had ever seen. He lost his train of thought.
"Well?"
They played with each other's hands, no longer clinging to steady embraces. His fingers danced around hers. He even ventured as further down as her wrist and felt the delicate bone there.
"We just didn't click. I didn't stay with either of them long enough for a real relationship. Then me and Andres formed the company, and I got too busy with work."
She paused at the mention of Andres. Her hand stilled in his grasp. He felt her reaction and wished that he could pull the words back into his mouth.
"You've been doing good so far," she said, throwing a look at her interlaced fingers.
"I've had a good teacher."
"Ready to take it to the next level?"
He froze, not feeling quite ready to say yes to a proposal without knowing the context first. He gave her a questioning look.
Without warning, she stood up and pulled him to his feet.
"Dance with me."
"Dance with you?"
"The whole point is to attend as many events as possible. One thing we'll be doing the most is dancing," she explained. "It's also a good way to ease your body language."
"But there's no music?" He stood in front of her, his nerves pouring out of him. He looked around in panic.
"This is your apartment," she shrugged. "Find some music."
"Right," he stepped away from her and reached over to the coffee table to pick up the little remote that controlled his high-end surround sound speakers. Within seconds, soft jazz was heard through the room. He lowered the volume and looked at her in question.
"Perfect," she said and held out a hand.
He looked down at her hand, looked at the way she had it stretched towards him, all warm and inviting. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but he gently placed the remote on the coffee table and took her hand.
She pulled him closer to herself. Holding her hand came easier now. His heart fluttered in his chest, and his lips pulled into a coy smile.
"Don't be shy," she comforted him. "Come closer."
He stepped even closer to her, their hands clasped loosely together by their side. She was so much shorter than him, and she raised her head to meet his gaze. It made him smile.
"How's this?" He said, leaving only an inch between their bodies.
"Good. Now put your hand on my waist."
God, what was he getting himself into…
He reached for her and placed a hesitant hand on her back. Her sweater was thick, and he could barely feel her body. The quiet jazz playing in the background alienated him from logic and pushed him closer to her.
"Lower," she whispered. "I'm not your ballroom dance partner, I am your lover. Hold me like you mean it."
Hold her like he meant it… He looked down at her suspiciously, confirming her request. She nodded in approval.
Well… If that's what she wanted. He slid his hand lower and wrapped his arm around her waist.
Then he pulled her flat against his body.
She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Her free hand hung in the air, not having caught up to the momentum of her body.
He stopped, savoring the feeling of being pressed against her. Every inch of their physical contact sent sparks down his spine. Her perfume reached his nose, and he instinctively leaned even closer to detect the nature of her scent. Something sweet and light. Something so inherently feminine.
In truth, he hadn't planned on pulling her this close against himself, but there was an inviting quality to her petite frame that made him want to hold her, just to see what she really felt like under his touch.
When he looked down at her and saw the faint crimson creeping up her cheeks, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing.
"Not bad," her voice was deep, sultry. Her hand fell gently on his shoulder.
"I'm glad you approve."
Their fingers were still interlaced. She raised their hands and started swaying gently to the music.
He went along, not daring to interrupt the magic of the moment. He was too caught up in the feel of her to pay attention to his own anxiety.
"Your heart hasn't exploded in your chest yet," she remarked. "I'm taking this as a good sign."
"How do you know it hasn't?" He quipped.
"I haven't heard you mention neither your will nor your lawyer," she looked up at him.
"Ah, that's different."
"How so?"
"We're home," he replied as though it was obvious.
"And?"
"I have a written copy of my will at home, as should everyone. I don't need my attorney."
She looked down and let out a lovely giggle. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were shining with amusement. "You really do plan for everything, don't you?"
"Postmortem property distribution is not a joking matter, Raquel," he said, though feeling a similar smile creeping up his lips. "You should have a will as well, in case, you know…"
"Get killed?"
He faltered in his sway, and his hand tightened instinctively around her. Thinking back to her nightmare, he cleared his throat. "Is there a chance you might get… killed?"
She looked away, though her body kept moving in rhythm with his. "I can't answer that."
"But how will I know whether you're safe?"
"You won't."
He stopped and looked down at her, trying to catch her gaze. She let him, and there it was, her chestnut brown eyes, drawing him in.
"Raquel…" He whispered, pulling them down into the depths of an unspoken secret. "What are you hiding from?"
She shifted under his touch and tried to break free, but he held on tighter. He was just beginning to learn the language of her body; he wasn't ready to forfeit that knowledge.
"There's nothing for you to worry about."
"What if something happens to you?"
"Then they'll assign you a new officer."
"I don't care about a new officer."
"You should," she said, her voice like the edges of a blade. Her hand resting on his shoulder shifted to the back of his neck, and she guided his gaze towards her. "You can't be worried about me. You need to focus on yourself."
He looked away, not willing to come to terms with the reality of her insignificance.
"Besides," she continued. "This is the most secure place I can be right now. I won't be found here."
"So, you're somewhat safe with me?"
"Somewhat."
He closed his eyes, letting out an anxious exhale. They continued to sway slowly to the music.
"You're quite a good dancer," she commented after a beat, her words dispersing the heavy aura around them.
"Please," he scoffed. "This isn't dancing."
"No?"
"No." He shook his head. "But you're right. We wouldn't be expected to do more than this at the company events."
"Is this your way of telling me that I don't know how to dance properly?" Her hand tightened on the back of his neck in a menacing way.
She got what she wanted, which was his unconditional attention.
"You insult me every day, but I make one comment, and I'm guilty?" He passed her a curious look.
"You are guilty, that's why we're in this mess to begin with."
"Andres is why we're in this mess," he replied. "I know you hate our world, but try to remember that I am innocent."
She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him. "You may not have done anything incriminating, but you are part of the system that enabled him. You can't ask me not to hate you."
"I am not asking you to like me. I am just asking you not to execute me without a trial, that's all."
Their gaze stayed locked in for a few more moments, longer than usual. He silently pled his case.
She gave him a curt nod. "I'll try."
"That's all I need."
The song had ended. Now they danced to a faster number, more upbeat than the piece before. But they maintained their steady rhythm. Despite his protective hand around her waist, he was reluctant to explore any other territory of her body without explicit permission.
But he found himself wanting to. For the first time in his life, his fingers did not agree with his logic. So, despite the internal war that had started within him, his hand slipped an inch lower against her back.
Her eyes fell close.
"Raquel…" He whispered, his attention sliding lower until it rested on her lips.
"Hmm?"
"We wouldn't be expected to… kiss, would we?"
She snapped out of the moment, her eyes flung open. Then she let out a soft chuckle. "Of course not."
"You sure?"
"Sergio," she smiled knowingly. "When was the last time you had to kiss someone in front of your friends to prove that you were dating them?"
He paused, feeling stupid. "Never."
"Exactly. No one will be expecting us to kiss, trust me."
Despite their growing proximity, he felt relief. He was beginning to realize that he liked touching Raquel, but that was normal, he thought to himself. She was slowly becoming an integral part of his life. The desire for intimacy was natural, it was predicted. Getting to know her eased his senses, calmed him down. Besides, they needed to adjust to each other to maintain convincing body language.
So far, so good. But all that was strictly platonic. Kissing would tip the scales to an unfavorable result. No matter how curious he was about the taste of her lips, kissing was a wretched idea.
No, he was not prepared to kiss Raquel. He hadn't kissed anyone in years, and he wasn't about to start now.
"I'm glad," he let out a short huff of breath.
She smiled. "Trust me, so am I."
Her hand fell from his shoulder and found his around her waist. She then unwrapped his arm from around her body and stepped away from him.
He felt kicked in the stomach but forced a smile, only to return hers.
"I think you're ready for tomorrow."