Havana, September 2003

Boris stood at the rail of his balcony staring out into the hills. It amazed him the sight had become so familiar in such a short time. The humid air that had seemed so oppressive when he'd first arrived no longer bothered him. He supposed trading his wool suits for linen ones had helped, but it was more than that. Boris felt at home here. For the first time in his life he could walk down a street without a pair of guards at his side. He attracted no more attention than any other foreign tourist, at least once Marisa had convinced him to relax his sartorial standards.

They'd been meeting to review the specifics of Marisa's proposal and about mid-way through the exhaustive file, he lost consciousness. He'd woken up inside his home's walk-in freezer with the doctor bent over him. She'd explained, as she forced him to drink a glass of water, that she believed he was suffering from Heat Syncope. It was a fainting episode common during the initial days of a person's introduction to an unusually warm environment. The change in climate prevented adequate blood flow to his brain, causing a loss of consciousness.

While Marisa had taken his pulse he'd noticed the goose bumps rising on her arm. He'd offered her the jacket she pulled off of him. She'd accepted and once the doctor put it on, he saw her examining the garment. Mentally Boris had prepared himself for compliments on the item's quality and inquiries as to where he'd acquired it. He'd been taken aback when she asked him instead what kind of fool wore wool in 100 degree heat.

He tried to defend himself, saying that he'd expected the air conditioning in his home to have been fixed already. There had been problems getting the part the repairman said he'd needed. This explanation had caused Marisa to laugh in his face. When she stopped, she inquired if he understood he was on an embargoed island. That he couldn't expect things to move at the same pace they did in other parts of the world.

Once the fifteen minute period of monitoring was over she'd told Boris they were heading into town. Not asked him, told him. Marisa had used the same implacable tone that had convinced his guards to carry Boris' unconscious body into a room used to store dead meat. To his chagrin, he'd complied immediately. In retrospect he didn't feel too poorly about obeying a woman that possessed the ability to frighten ex-Mossad agents.

Sooner than he would have thought possible he'd been in a local shop, being shooed into a changing stall with a half dozen pairs of short sleeve shirts and light weight pants. She'd tried to add shorts to the pile, but there he'd drawn the line. He'd left that day with three outfits that cost less than one of his pairs of shoes. The most unusual part of the whole experience was that he hadn't made the purchase. Marisa had. He'd tried reaching for his wallet, but the doctor had held up a hand, explaining with a wry twist to her lips he'd already paid for quite enough.

Once they left the store they strolled a bit. Boris had asked her questions about growing up in Havana. She asked him some in return about his family. Marisa found it strange to have relatives scattered across multiple countries. For his part, he struggled to imagine what it would be like to have family members trapped on the same island together for all of their living days. He sometimes felt the only reason the Kuester, von Jurgens, and Ratenicz clans hadn't killed each other off was due to the hundreds of miles between them.

It was remarkable how easy conversation was with Marisa. As different as their lives were, he couldn't help but notice their similarities. Her drive, self-assurance, commanding presence, and inability to suffer fools reminded him very much of himself. They'd spent the better part of the month side by side discussing anything and everything he could think of concerning their joint venture. They spoke of contractors, suppliers and personnel. He'd offer input on the structure itself up to and including the tile they'd use in the corridors. And now he was out of ideas. The party that was winding down behind him was his last contribution. It was almost over.

Marisa had done well with the potential donors he'd invited. She'd put all his advice about wooing investors to good use. He'd been on the receiving end of pitches enough times to know which approaches worked and which didn't. Be confident, not arrogant. Respectful, not deferential. Knowledgeable, but not pedantic.

He'd been careful to maintain his distance, so he didn't know the exact content of the discussions, but from the body language he'd observed Boris suspected multiple checks would be forthcoming. Boris couldn't help sighing with discontent. Success usually felt better than this.

"You can stop hiding. They're gone." Boris turned to see Marisa walking toward him. She was a vision in a red sheath dress, her hair pinned in a professional looking updo. He had filled his party with models and aspiring starlets, and yet his gaze had been repeatedly drawn back to her.

"I wasn't hiding. I was strategically retreating." Watching Marisa had proven challenging to his equilibrium in more ways than one. It was painful wanting someone so much, and knowing you couldn't have them. It hadn't helped seeing other men hover around her like bees near a particularly vibrant flower.

"Poor Boris, driven from his own party by a horde of beautiful women." Boris blinked before recovering himself. She thought he'd left to avoid his own 'admirers.' There had been a flock of them twittering at him, but truthfully he'd barely noticed. Still, it wasn't as though he could say that to Marisa.

"You mock me, but some of them were quite determined." She rolled her eyes at him and approached the railing.

"If they bother you so much, then why did you invite them?" Boris shrugged, and wondered if the faint hint of jealousy he thought heard was the work of his hopeful imagination.

"It's expected. Besides, if I hadn't, those potential investors would have been even more forward than they already were." One of the wealthy men Marisa had been attempting to pitch had been a little too charmed by the lovely doctor. Fortunately Boris had anticipated this potential issue and set his contingency plan into motion.

"Yes. I must say the wine spill was well-timed. I'd thought I might have to break his finger. Some would consider that a breach of my medical ethics." Marisa smiled conspiratorially at him. Of course she knew what he'd done. Keeping secrets from the woman was nearly impossible. He could only pray the exception was how he felt about her.

"Ah yes, that pesky 'do no harm' clause. Businessmen are not so encumbered." Boris didn't consider himself a brawler, but he wouldn't have minded making an exception. His diversion had been prudent for their agenda, but he couldn't help feeling that a more forceful solution would have been more satisfying.

"I'll bear that in mind for the future." The future. Two words destined to send Boris' mood plummeting. There were many reasons that pursuing a deeper relationship with Marisa was a mistake. He was funding her research, and it was unethical to romance a woman who might feel obliged to him. He also lived a nomadic existence, his work never allowing him to remain in any one place for very long. The biggest obstacle, however, was that he likely wouldn't survive the decade.

Boris had always been careful about the women he became involved with. He had his rules to protect him. First, he never pursued. The first move had to be theirs. Second, they had no long term expectations of him. Third, there was no deep emotional entanglement on either end. This was for the benefit of both parties. How unfair would it be for him to woo some innocent woman and then force her to watch him waste away? How much more terrible would it be for him when his end came to know he was leaving someone precious behind?

Throughout his whole life it had been laughably simple meeting these requirements. Boris' position in the world made transactional relationships the norm. The universe putting him on a collision course with Marisa at this stage of his life was a bittersweet twist of fate.

Initially he'd been able to lie to himself, telling himself there was no harm in spending time with her. They were business associates, of a sort. So what if they sometimes shared meals while they worked? Did it truly matter if, from time to time, their conversation drifted onto unrelated subjects? But of course it did, at least for him. As for Marisa, he wasn't certain.

Boris knew Marisa was fond of him. She always seemed interested in his opinion, even when it disagreed with hers. There were moments, like this one, when Marisa would look at him like they were sharing a joke that the rest of the world didn't get. Of course that could be wishful thinking on his part, imagining a closeness that was, in truth, one-sided. In the end it didn't matter. However much Marisa regarded him, he owed it to her to ensure it went no further.

"After tonight you won't have to worry about securing more benefactors for some time."

"You think they'll invest?" Boris resisted the urge to snort. She couldn't possibly be unaware of how well she'd snared her quarry. Then again maybe she could. Marisa's confidence in her skills as a scientist was unshakable, but she'd once confessed to him how much she hated drumming up financial backing. She said it made her feel like prostitute or worse a politician. Boris couldn't help but be amused by her ranking of the two professions.

"I think by week's end my donation will be joined in your account by a half dozen others, which means my work here is done. I'll be flying out tomorrow. Actually…today." Boris made a show of checking his watch, while surreptitiously peering at Marisa out of the corner of his eye. She couldn't have looked more shocked if he'd told her he was planning a day trip to the moon.

"But construction hasn't even begun. Issues could still arise…" Her voice trailed off as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"I'll check in routinely to monitor progress, but I know I'm leaving the project in good hands. If unforeseen costs come up you should of course feel free to contact Dieter. He's been authorized to forward whatever additional funds you require." At the word 'costs' Marisa's face underwent such a rapid transition he became worried about her blood pressure.

"This isn't about money, Boris. We were supposed to be in this together. Now you're leaving and you didn't even bother to tell me." Boris drew himself up to his full height, intent on not allowing Marisa to know her words had found their mark. She was right. He had been a coward not telling her. He just hadn't wanted to spoil their final few days together.

"I have other commitments which I have been neglecting in favor of this enterprise." As he spoke he buttoned his jacket, as if the closed garment would somehow create a barrier between the two of them. He waited, stoned-face for Marisa's response.

She was silent for a long moment, as though she were waiting for something, though he had no idea what. At last a new expression overtook her face. Actually it wasn't new at all, but old. He recognized it from the first day they'd met. It was the icy smile of a distrustful stranger.

"In that case I thank you for your help and I wish you a pleasant flight. I am sorry to have taken up so much of your valuable time." Without another word she spun away from him and strolled back into the house. A sense of Deja vu passed through him. She was going. Precisely what he'd intended. Exactly the absolute opposite of what he'd wanted. His chest constricted so tightly he almost thought he was having a heart attack. His gut was no better, feeling as though someone had practiced their lace tying with his intestines. His entire body seemed to be fighting his decision. Boris experienced a profound moment of mental clarity. He couldn't do it. It was selfish and bound to end in disaster, but he didn't possess the fortitude to allow her to slip away.

He raced into the house, ailments forgotten, and spotted Marisa at the top of the staircase.

"Marisa, wait." She began her descent, heedless of his words. Her pursed lips were the only sign she gave that she heard him at all. He jogged to the top of the landing. "Espera, por favor."

She stalled at the bottom step, seemingly torn between turning toward him and heading straight out the front door. He rushed on, "I have to go. I don't have any more reasons to stay. Do I?"

"Que?!" He took a steadying breath and pushed on before he lost his nerve.

"Te estoy pidiendo…if I have a reason to stay." One heartbeat passed, then two, then three. It felt like time itself had frozen while he waited for Marisa's answer. Instead of speaking however she rotated 180 degrees and started climbing the steps, one agonizingly slow footfall at a time. He held his breath until she was directly in front of him, her expression unreadable. Another full five seconds ticked by with him too terrified to move.

"Eres un estúpido!" Her exclamation that he was a stupid man surprised him. That was nothing, however, to the shock he received directly following that pronouncement. She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him to her for a kiss unlike any he'd ever received in his life. She kissed him as if it was essential to her survival. As if pressing her lips to his was the only way either would be able to continue to breathe.

When she was done, she immediately set to work on his jacket buttons. He realized the time for talking was, by Marisa's unspoken decree, over. It was just as well. Given his inexperience with heartfelt declarations, he would have undoubtedly bungled it. Instead Boris scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bedroom, hoping to show her things there he knew himself incapable of expressing with words.