Three months passed in the same routine, lectures, tutorials, the odd presentation which he sweated over and every spare moment filled with Rita. He failed to understand how he had spent his entire life without knowing her but one thing was certain, he would no longer be able to do so. Life without her constant chatter was unthinkable. Occasionally he would lie awake on Monday or Tuesday nights and tell himself to take a step back, she was too wealthy for him, but he was unable to do so. Truth to tell, he didn't WANT to do it.
The weather deteriorated sharply and he met her at the library rather than in the park, where she read through his essays and suggested improvements, correcting his grammar. He reciprocated by writing her own essays in American history in point form, copying the sentences worth quoting from a host of books, saving her hours of time. They ate lunch together in the cafeteria, Marco choosing the cheaper meals, occasionally bringing her a cup of coffee as she held their table. She took him to see the various museums, the water tower and eventually to Spanish dancing, where he stood unnoticed at the back and watched the performance, enchanted by the way she whirled among the dancers. She's the best of the lot, Almeida; the others don't even come close!
'So how long have you been dancing?' he asked the next morning, sliding into his customary seat in the back row beside her.
'Since I was six years old,' she said cheerfully. 'Did you like it, last night?'
'It was great,' he replied warmly.
'And what did you think of mama?' she asked.
Marco fell silent, chewing his lower lip, unconsciously rubbing his neck. He had been terrified of Catalina Torres when Rita had slipped over to him between dances and pointed her out. Ramrod straight, dark hair drawn into a severe bun she occupied the front row, her hawkish eyes searching the room's occupants as though she sensed an alien presence. Their eyes had met for the briefest moment before she dismissed him with a slight raise of her eyebrows, turning to kiss a well dressed young man in a grey suit. 'Javier. How wonderful to see you.' He had dismissed Javier as some relative until after a dance, when he had taken Rita's hand and kissed her cheek, handing her a bouquet. She blushed and shook her head, her words lost in the room's chatter, but her mother's eyes had flashed and she had taken the flowers and pressed them into her daughter's hands.
'She looks a little strict,' he observed, not daring to voice his concerns.
'She is strict. It's her way - or no way!' Rita said with a shrug.
He nodded, believing her. 'And who was that guy?' he asked casually, unable to resist the question.
Rita let out a long sigh, her eyes fixed on the desk. 'He's just graduated from medical school. We've known them forever,' she muttered.
Sensing more, he turned to examine her. 'Your mother likes him. Why did he bring you flowers?' Keep going, Almeida! Question her like the ignorant boor you are and frighten her away. Why can't you let it go? He failed to heed his own advice, aware he needed an answer.
'His father sits on the city council,' Rita began, twisting a pen through her fingers. 'His brother is a diplomat, and his uncle is an ambassador somewhere. Nowhere terribly important, you know, but still, it's an illustrious position. They got 28 houses, most of them small that they rent out, but they got three huge ones near the lake, and they got a property in California near Lake Tahoe, and another in Canada, where they invited us a couple times for skiing. Oh, I'm sure they got one in the Canary Islands, too.'
Marco nodded grimly. Seems they're even wealthier than the Torres family. A lot wealthier, by the sounds of things. 'Your mother likes him,' he pressed, uneasily.
'Mama would like me to marry him,' she admitted, her fingers white on the pen. 'She got this crazy idea years ago, and his mother, Tia Rosa likes the idea. I'm not sure why, we can't ever match them…'
An icy fist squeezed the breath out of him. You know why alright, Almeida. She's beautiful. Everyone in the world would welcome her into their family… He gasped for breath, rubbing his face and chewing his lip so hard he tasted blood. 'You like him?' The words came out a lot harsher than he intended.
Rita stared at him in surprise, the angry retort to mind his own business dying unspoken as she observed his distress. Noting his cracked lip she withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood, shaking her head. 'Not that way, no. He's unsteady.'
'What?' he demanded, unfamiliar with the term.
'He likes every young woman he sees. I know all about that. Mama knows too, but she says it's not important,' she muttered darkly.
He breathed easier, sensing her indignation. 'His wife would have everything money can buy,' he remarked, watching her intently.
'Everything except a decent husband, sí. I'm not interested, Marco, I never was! I'm going to marry a man who comes home after work and helps round the house and who loves kids. Lots of kids,' she repeated emphatically, searching his face.
'How many?' he questioned in alarm.
'Six,' she said firmly, obviously having given the matter considerable though. 'Three girls and three boys. I've got their names all planned. How many would you like?'
Marco shrugged, not having given the matter a moment's thought. Eyes fixed on the lecturer he drew a deep breath. 'Six. A few boys and girls, doesn't really matter how many of each.' He waited for the customary swat on the shoulder but it failed to come.
She gasped instead, eyes dancing. 'Six! Really?'
'Shh,' he whispered, delighted at her reaction. 'Professor's looking at us. Sí, six,' he said softly, deciding it was a pleasant enough number.
'I'm going to call my first girl Jane,' she told him, head bent close to his ear. 'And the next one will be Justine. Do you like those names?'
Marco's eyes opened wide and he shook his head. 'No,' he said honestly, seeing her eyes darken. 'But it hardly matters. It is the mother's role to name the children. Whatever she decides is fine.'
'Really?' she cried, startled. The professor glared at them and he kicked her under the table.
'Really. Shh.'
'But that's…'
Marco pushed a blank sheet of paper over to her and put her pen in her hand. 'Write it down or you'll get thrown out,' he whispered, passing it to her. Stopping Rita from talking when a topic excited her was about as simple as planning a permanent colony on the moon, he thought, chewing his lip hard to prevent from laughing aloud at the idea. She glanced at him, scribbling furiously. Marco studied the question in silence, an ear on the lecture.
'Anna and Rita,' he wrote, passing it back to her. 'One girl should always be named after the mother,' he hissed as she tapped her pen questioningly at the name. 'What are you doing?' he whispered, narrowing his eyes as she folded the paper and put it into her purse.
'Keeping it,' she said smugly. 'Shh, or you'll get thrown out!'
Marco shook his head, rolling his eyes at her. Not if he lived forever would he understand how women thought, but he loved it anyway.
They stood outside the lecture theatre an hour later, debating whether to go to the library or for a walk. Marco, who was by far the more conscientious student suggested they spend the afternoon studying, possibly preferring the warmth of the library to the icy wind that howled round them. Rita, born in Chicago appeared undisturbed by the late autumn weather. Wrapping her hood round her face she smiled mischievously up at him, well aware he would agree to whatever suggestion she made. 'Let's go for a walk. I love to see the autumn leaves.'
Marco grimaced, cold despite the shelter of the buildings. 'There aren't anymore leaves, querida. They're all on the ground.'
'It makes a fantastic sound when you walk over them,' she told him warmly. 'Is that agreed then?'
'I guess so,' he said reluctantly, following her over to the car. 'What about lunch?' Freezing beside a lake was one thing, freezing and starving quite another, he reflected.
Rita shook her head, taking his hand. 'Men. All you think about is food! I packed us a lunch this morning, mama's away. You'll get to taste my sandwiches. Don't even think of complaining!'
'Wouldn't dream of it,' he assured her, fastening his seatbelt.
The day, which had began in such a similar fashion changed pace abruptly once they reached the deserted parks of Lake Michigan. Marco climbed out, collecting their sandwiches, a hopeful eye on her. Come on Rita; please say we should eat first. Noticing his hopeful expression she nodded at him. They ate in the car watching the myriad leaves flying in the wind before walking to the shore hand in hand, peering at the waves. As usual she led the way along a path, the wind blowing through his sweater freezing his bones. He was unable to hide his shivers.
'You really should get a coat, Marco,' she urged, staring at him. 'You're freezing.'
'I haven't seen any I liked yet,' he lied, his face turned to the water. You can't afford it yet, Almeida. Without buying her coffees and cakes you could, but…
'I'll come shopping with you tomorrow,' she insisted, slipping her arm closer about him. 'We'll find something.' Ashamed to admit the state of his finances he nodded wordless, resolved to plead a headache the next morning to avoid the trip.
'You're not working tonight, are you?' she asked, watching his poor attempts at looking comfortable.
'No, it's a Monday.'
She turned away, ordering him to wait for her. Wrapping his arms tighter about himself he nodded, settling on the ground to avoid the brunt of the wind. Never in his life had he been in such dismal weather, he thought miserably, and it was still nothing. The infernal snow was bound to fall soon. The thought of snow caused him to feel colder. Teeth chattering, he forced his mind to remember warmer times, Rita's arrival taking him by surprise. She wrapped the picnic blanket round his shoulders, laughing so hard the tears came to her eyes at the sight. 'Feel better?' she asked when she regained her breath.
'Yeah,' he agreed, his natural humor returning. So you look ridiculous, Almeida! What the hell, at least you're out with the most beautiful girl in the world. In this kind of wind it's virtually guaranteed no one will walk past and laugh at you. Slipping a cold hand from the blanket he took hers. Rita settled against him, her hair brushing his cheek. She tugged at his arm, her signal for him to bend down and wrapped the blanket round his head, helping him to warm up quicker. Their eyes met as they faced each other, her hand on his face. Without thinking of his actions he slipped his arm round her neck, tilting her face upwards. Her lips opened a crack before he reached them, warm and sweet smelling, inviting his lips inside her. Marco pulled her closer, his tongue parting her lips. She yielded, trembling, eyes shut as he probed her mouth, warm shivers coursing through her.
'I'm sorry,' he whispered, breaking away abruptly.
Disoriented, she blinked, noting him watching her embarrassed. 'What. Why?' she gasped, grabbing his sleeve.
'Querida, you're the loveliest girl I ever met,' he said softly, tilting her chin to stare into her eyes. 'Anywhere. There's nothing I'd love more than to marry you tomorrow, but I just can't do that right now. Not for a long time,' he concluded gloomily. 'You need to finish your degree too, and go out some more with Javier and others and make sure you don't want them, and if you still want me, I'll be here - waiting.'
She stared at the earnest brown eyes before her too shocked to speak, noting the love that shone from them. 'You'd marry me?' she choked.
'If you still want me,' he repeated adamantly. 'But not now, Rita. Like I said, you need to finish your degree first.'
'What about now?' she questioned, breathless with excitement.
'We stay best friends?' he suggested, squeezing her hand tightly. 'You come to dinner with me tonight, I can finally afford it!'
'I'll pay,' she said, pushing her arm inside the blanket to slip it round him.
'No, you're my guest tonight. Say yes,' he urged, eyeing her hopefully.
She nodded. 'I'd love to, if you're sure you wanna waste your earnings on me.'
'It's not a waste,' he said seriously, tucking the blanket round both of them as they walked further, arms intertwined.
They ate together in a cozy Italian restaurant miles from the university to preserve their anonymity, chatting over plates of lasagna with Italian salad. Rita reached into his bowl and boldly removed his radishes, lifting them straight into her mouth. 'My favorite,' she said, grinning at him as she crunched them.
Once again the breath caught in his throat as he examined her eyes, desperately hoping she would pick him to be the father of all her six children with the unusual names. Jane and what was the other one? He shrugged mentally, digging through his salad to discover hidden pieces of radish to present to her.
Rita watched him eat, longing for a second chance to feel his lips pressed against hers. Instead she cast a hurried glance at the customers who entered to make certain they were not Spanish. The last thing she needed was for her mother to discover the existence of Marco. Without logical reasoning she knew how horrified Catalina would be, aware of the powerful gossip that would surely circulate.
They walked past the car to a park at the top of a hill, Rita insisting he explain the constellations. Taking her hand he pulled her towards him, pointing upwards. 'See that bright one over there. Now look below, no there…That's Taurus. This one's my favorite, the Bear. And there's the North Star. Sailors navigate by that, in this hemisphere at least. They don't see it past the equator.'
She cuddled closer against him amazed at his vast accumulation of facts. 'Could you find our way home by looking at that North Star?' she asked, dreaming of the two of them lost in some arctic wilderness with him leading her home, arm around her, eyes searching the sky.
'Sí,' he agreed confidently. 'We had to do orientation in the army. It's the only thing I passed successfully.'
'Show me more,' she insisted, unwilling to end the night so early. 'There's supposed to be some arrow…'
'An archer, sí,' Gentle hands turned her face and pointed upwards. 'See that…'
'What have we here?' a voice interrupted, harsh in the silence. They jumped, Marco's grip on her waist increasing imperceptibly. They stared into the surrounding darkness towards the direction of the voice unable to see anyone in the gloom.
'Let's go,' he said quietly, instincts heightened, aware there were several people in the dark bushes. Gently he turned her round, giving her a slight push towards the direction of the car, reluctant to alarm her but feeling the need to leave immediately.
'He's running,' the voice continued, each syllable drawn out in disbelief. 'Shit useless, these spics. Out with our girls and they run when we arrive. What's your name, darling?' The last question was addressed directly to Rita by a youth in a torn t-shirt wearing black jeans.
Her heart skipped a beat as she moved closer to Marco, avoiding his gaze.
'I asked you something, bitch!' he said, stepping in front of her to prevent her escape. 'What's…'
'Leave her alone,' Marco said, his voice firm, the order startling her. 'Come.' The last order was addressed to her and she moved closer to him, stepping round the youth, who put out his hand and grabbed her arm.
'Not so fast, bitch. I haven't finished yet. Check her out. She's hot!'
Marco chewed his lip in rage as he felt her beginning to tremble as they were surrounded by what his training told him were at least eight hostiles. 'Take your hands off her,' he snapped, his temper rising.
'Or what?' the first youth asked, blowing smoke from his cigarette into his face. 'You gonna make me.' He laughed into his face, pulling Rita towards him. 'I'll take her first…'
A white hot flash of rage rushed through him as he turned to the group. Peaceful and slightly indolent as he was he had only ever experienced it a handful of times before, each time with dire consequences as he lost control of all reason. Noting the youth dragging Rita he lashed out, catching him squarely on the jaw, his fist connecting with a sickening thud. His opponent crumbled to the ground, choking on a mouthful of blood. 'Go, Rita,' he snapped, pushing her roughly. 'Run.' She remained rooted to the spot a moment longer staring at the scene in disbelief. 'Run,' he yelled as the rest of the group surrounded him. Shocked, she moved backwards, watching as they started shoving him in their circle, pushing him viciously from one to the other, each one dealing him a blow as he attempted to fight back.
Marco Almeida was no weakling. Raised as the youngest in a family of five he had defended himself from slights regularly. Fists clenched, he gave as good as he got, ignoring the blows he received. The sheer number of his opponents inevitably wore him down as he sank onto the ground under increasingly savage blows, the world spinning before him as he noted her presence in dismay. Maldita sea! She's still there. Why the hell won't she run? His struggles intensified as they knelt on top of him, slamming his head into a path.
'Leave him alone,' Rita cried outraged, her hands seizing the first object she could use as a weapon to defend him – a metal garbage can lid. She raised it, slamming it with full force onto the head of the man kicking Marco in the ribs, shocked to see him crumble to the ground.
'Bitch,' one of the fallen man's friends cried, turning to grab her.
Marco stirred, kicking out, knocking him to the ground before he could reach her. 'Rita, run…'
'Freeze,' snapped an authoritative voice and blinding light surrounded them causing her to cover her eyes. Four police officers leapt from a car, night sticks in hand. 'On the ground, hands on your heads,' one yelled, knocking over the first youth he reached. Muttering curses they lay down, hands over their heads. 'You too,' one yelled, kicking Marco over with his boot.
'Don't touch him, he just defended me. They attacked us,' Rita gasped, rushing to his defense.
'Stay where you are, miss,' one ordered, grabbing her arm. 'You say you were attacked.'
'Yeah, by those thugs.' Indignantly she pointed at them. 'He's hurt,' she said, dangerously close to tears. 'Help him…'
'That's a lie,' a youth yelled, outraged. 'We were just out for a walk like, and that spic attacked us! He broke Dan's jaw!'
'No way,' Rita yelled furious at the lie. 'They attacked us! Think, officer, would we want to fight nine guys?'
'That spic started it,' the youth insisted. His friends raised their heads, confirming his story.
'Alright, I've heard enough,' an officer decided. 'On your feet. Hands on the car.' He dragged Marco up, shoving him against the patrol car. Face burning with humiliation he remained still as he was frisked, avoiding her eyes. 'Alright, he's clean. Slowly place one hand behind your back.'
'He didn't do anything,' she cried in disbelief as his hands were cuffed behind him. 'They…'
'I got someone with a head wound,' another officer called, flashing his torch on the man she had attacked. 'Hit with a blunt instrument.'
'That bitch hit him with the lid,' a youth began.
'No, she didn't. It was me,' Marco said, his tone expressionless. Heart bursting with indignation he stared at the group who were given permission to rise, determined to protect her. 'She's just a girl.'
They appeared to understand him. 'You admitting you attacked him with that instrument?' demanded an officer, pulling out his notebook.
Narrowing his eyes he nodded. 'Yeah.'
'Marco, that's not true. That was me,' Rita began, shoving the officer who held her aside and rushing to his side. 'Why…'
'Go home, Rita,' he snapped, longing to bundle her into her car.
'Go home, miss,' the officer said, agreeing with him. 'You can come make a statement tomorrow. Get in the car.'
Chewing his lip he bent his head, two officers pushing him into the back of the patrol car, shackling his wrists. One ordered the youths to sign a statement at the station and they started the car. 'Wait,' Marco begged, struggling to free himself. 'You can't leave her out here alone. At least take her to her car,' he insisted.
'Good idea. Let's go.'
Longing to cry he remained silent, eyes fixed on the seat before him, heart aching. What a nighmare, Almeida. You're in real trouble now and you'll probably never get to see Rita again. They'll deport you. He blinked hurriedly, ignoring the pain of his battered body. Please God let her get home safe. I'll be okay, just help her.