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"But it was more than that,
More ever than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing."

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iv. grace coming out of the void

It had been exactly fifteen years since the last time the four of them had been together. Syaoran and Sakura had finally married the year before. They had separated throughout high school and college—Sakura at the University of Tokyo and Syaoran at Beijing University—but came back together after graduation. Some people were meant to be. The two had waited a couple of years before they tied the knot officially; everyone knew they were made for each other.

Tomoyo had spent the past fifteen years mostly in America, except, of course, for her frequent travels abroad. She now lived in a stylish penthouse in the Upper East Side in Manhattan. She opened an art gallery only a few years ago and has become one of the avant-garde authorities on the international art scene.

But Eriol was a mystery. Everyone had heard the rampant rumors about him from the British tabloids. Eriol had been linked to several European Princesses and Duchesses throughout the years. He had lived all over the world. First it was Venice, then Prague, Amsterdam, Vienna, Bordeaux and slowly they lost track of his whereabouts. For their reunion, Eriol had come all the way from Sydney.

The gathering was Sakura's grand idea. Eriol had not been able to attend the Li-Kinomoto wedding the previous year due to some unspecified pressing matters back in London; no one knew the details exactly. Sakura had thought it appropriate to celebrate their first anniversary together—no one could refuse. Sakura insisted that they meet in Havana, where Syaoran had wanted to come on honeymoon before they decided to go to Greece.

And Havana! Beautiful, decadent Havana of faded old-world glory and turn-of-the-century charm. The streets were lined with sleek 50s and 60s American cars and paint peeled from the walls of everything. The city was bursting in spectacular Spanish colonial architecture. Everything was inundated in golden light.

It was mid-December but Havana was damp and hot. The waters of the Gulf of Mexico were particularly warm this year. Tomoyo was rather glad to have gotten an excuse to leave the grey skies of New England for Cuba's brilliant colors and sultry atmosphere.

The four spent their first weekend together in a little town just outside of Havana, soaking in the endless daylight of the white beach and crystal blue waters. They had a great time with the natives. Eriol and Syaoran spent hours with the fishermen conversing in fluent Spanish about everything and anything. Tomoyo picked up a beautiful hand braided palm leaf sunhat which she wore all the time. Sakura, vivacious and glowing, spent the most time in restaurants and kitchens, sampling every bit of Cuban cuisine she saw.

The following week, they stayed in Habana Viejo at a luxury hotel along Malecón. The four engrossed in the vibrant Cuban nightlife of salsa lounges, intense Latin music and sensual dances fueled by rhythm. Early in the evening, they would make a tight fit into a silver-blue classic Oldsmobile and drive down the seawall to an open salsa club on the beach. They would not return until the sun had risen, tipsy from alcohol and head still throbbing with salsa music.

On their last night in Havana, they spent most of the time on the beach, basking in the every last bit of the Cuban sun. Tomoyo had never seen the color of the ocean like it was in Cuba, too blue for words.

Finally, they made their way to their favorite salsa club again. Eriol made an extravagant speech for the happy couple over dinner. It was past midnight, yet the night was still young. Syaoran and Sakura had been dancing for hours and have now gone back to the hotel together.

Eriol could not keep his eyes off Tomoyo the entire week, although he solemnly ever spoke to her directly. Although he was often surrounded by lovely Cuban ladies, he always kept an eye on Tomoyo. On this night in particular, she was wearing a stunning iridescent gown of sunset orange. It flowed like the wind around her knees.

"Hola, belleza."

Tomoyo looked up from her Daiquiri. "Hola," she said with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I see you have finally peeled yourself away from your escorts."

Eriol laughed. "I have to admit all this attention had been a little exhausting."

She took another sip from the champagne glass. She reached up and tipped his chin with her index finger. "I have to admit you are quite a dashing boy. I don't blame them."

Eriol sat down beside her. "Alcohol has strange effects on people."

"I'll miss these Cuban cocktails," she laughed.

"I'm sure," he smiled. His eyes entertained her. He picked off an orange tiger lily from the centerpiece of the little table and pushed it behind her ear. "Have I ever told you that you are beautiful?"

"I think you are drunk."

Eriol let out a wry chuckle. "Then what I say is true."

Tomoyo inhaled sharply. She was so very close to him. She was suddenly gripped by the sudden sense of time slipping away. His carefully sculpted face had aged a little from the last time she saw him, a little, but still noticeable. She remembered the boy she knew from Japan, the young man she saw in London, and the lost soul she found in Venice. Above all else, she remembered that look in his eyes, she did not know if it was pity, pain, wonder or veneration. But like everything else, time had a way of leaking between the spaces; slowly eroding away the cracks until there was a great abyss between them, like ancient rivers that carved steep canyons by the hand of time.

Tomoyo wanted to be his ocean. She wanted to his redemption, his reason. She had realized a long ago that she did not love him and she could never love him. But what they had was true; their affinity was true and that was enough.

"Eriol-kun," the words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

"Are you very bored, Tomoyo-chan?" his Japanese was fluid and yielding.

"Out of my mind," a whisper.

"¿Quieres bailar, mi amor?" he asked, his voice soft again, his eyes dark.

Eriol took her hand and led her to the center of the dance floor. Tomoyo was sure it was nearing dawn yet the band of still playing. The female vocalist was still at her microphone, singing her sultry tones to the Latin music. They danced the salsa and rumba—swaying and shifting to the beat of the Conga drums. Her body pressed against his, moving together to the thick rhythm.

But there was only the music and nothing else. They were lost in the music, lost in the vertigo of Havana. She was completely under his spell and his eyes glowing like midnight fireflies. Their arms raised and intertwined in the air. She leaned into him, feeling him. His hands slipped to her hips, pulling her closer, swaying her to the beat of the drums. Eriol pressed his cheek to her ear; his breathing was heavy.

"Do you know what she is singing about?" his voice was deep and rasping.

Tomoyo closed her eyes and shook her head.

"El mar," he was whispering, translating the lyrics into English it was sung. "I left my soul down...down by the sea. Lost control to you…lost control to you."

Tomoyo suddenly regretted having one too many Daiquiris. She was slowly surrendering to the music, to his hands as he pressed against her. She was defenseless. He buried his face into her hair, taking in the scent of her sweat and perfume. As the music deepened, they deepened their embrace. He was suddenly kissing the niche between her neck and shoulder. She shuddered. Every movement was electricity. Dancing with him was like making love to him.

She wrapped her arms around him. Still dancing, still stirring, the music moved them to frenzy. She kissed him. His tongue slipped past her lips and made a mess of her mouth. Her hands were lost in his hair, his fingers dug into her hip bone. She melted into him, mouth to mouth, lust to lust.

"Te quiero," he said when he pulled away; his chest still heaving slightly. It wasn't a statement, it was plea. He laid kisses into the curve of her shoulder, pushing off the right strap of her dress to her arm. "Stay with me, won't you, Tomoyo?"

She was entranced by the ambiance of salsa and rumba. It was Havana and she could not refuse.

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Eriol would never forget that day. Her brilliant orange dress, the tiger lily in her hair, her skin, her scent—all etched into his memory, an indelible mark. It was the seduction of the tropical ocean, the seduction of the sensual music. They never knew how bad it got. He was adrift at sea of time and place, living life like a tragedy. And he was running, always running away from himself. In his darkest hours, it was Tomoyo—in that exquisite gown—who rescued him. She was his grace coming out of the void that consumed him. It was her love—or whatever it was she held that saved him. He needed her more than he could ever admit to himself.

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Author's Notes: I love Cuba—never mind the political turmoil and all that international drama—especially Havana. Only one word comes to mind: decadence. Everything about Havana is decadent and full of faded old-world grandeur. There's charisma to it, a mixture of Spanish and Latin and turn of the century glory. I want to set that atmosphere of sultry dancing and faded glamour.

Syaoran went to Beijing University, better known as Beida in China. It is one of the two creams of the crop universities in China. You can probably compare it as the Harvard or Princeton of China. Tomoyo lives in Manhattan's the Upper East Side. That's a very elite and wealthy neighborhood around the Central Park area. It's full of Prada and Chanel and fabulous wealth.

Habana Viejo is Spanish for Old Havana. It refers to the most historical parts of Havana and all its Spanish Colonial architecture is quite breathtaking. Most of the area is under restoration today. Malecón is the avenue that runs along the seawall in Northern Havana. Many of the pictures you see of Havana where the waves are crashing into the seawall are taken here.

Daiquiri is a specialty Cuban cocktail, made famous when Ernest Hemingway (the Ernest Hemingway, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954) stayed in Havana during the 40s. Fun fact: Hemingway was inspired to write his masterpiece The Old Man and the Sea (coincidentally I also wrote a twenty page essay on the Hemingway hero based on that book) about an aged Cuban fisherman's heroic battle with a swordfish while living in Havana. The Daiquiri is pretty much just sugar, ice and dry rum; rather refreshing.

The salsa and rumba are both famous Latin dances that originated from Cuban. The rumba is a take off of African dances when the slaves were brought onto the sugar plantations in Cuba. The dances had been viewed as risqué for many years in the early Twentieth century because they were very sensual in nature. Today they are very fun party dances. Havana is not complete without salsa.

Finally, five years of torture in Honors Spanish had finally paid off. And this is about the full extent of my Spanish abilities.

Hola, belleza; hello, beautiful.
Quieres bailar, mi amor; would you like to dance, my love?
El mar; the sea.
Te quiero; literally translates to "I like you" but it is actually the Spanish idiom for "I want you."

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