There is only one way to find out. I have toconfront her, immediately, before I make this bigger thanit actually is. My mind is always eager to make thingsworse. I shove the magazine in my suit jacket pocket andtake the excruciatingly slow elevator up to our floor. It’sfour in the afternoon and she should be home.
At the door, I pause, trying to go over how I’llapproach her. Vera can get very defensive over things,whether she’s guilty of them or not, and the last thing Ineed is a fight because she’s mad that I’m mad. Funnyhow it usually works out that way.
I suck in my breath and open the door. She is on thebalcony, stirring a large iced coffee from Starbucks,reading a hardcover book in the shade. For a moment Ithink I should leave her alone in peace, but then I know Iwon’t get any peace that way.
“Hey, handsome,” she says, pulling her oversizedsunglasses away from her eyes and glancing up at me asI stand in the doorway. “How was your first day?”
When I don’t come any closer, her eyes trail to themagazine poking out from my jacket. I can tell shehasn’t seen it before. She looks curious but not ashamed.
“It was fine,” I say. I try to smile, but from the wayher brows knit together, I can tell that it reads false.
“Are you doing some light reading?” she asks, eyesback to the magazine.
“Tell me again about Thursday night.”
She pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head.There is a smattering of new freckles across her nose.She must have gotten some sun during her lunch hour.It’s cute, but I push aside my affections for now.
“Thursday night?”
“Yes, Vera. You went out with Claudia. You cameback drunk. Where did you go? Who was there? Whatdid you do?”
She blinks and then rubs at her forehead. “I toldyou. I don’t know, it was the usual. We went to someplace near the university, I don’t remember the name.Something Spanish, obviously. We drank and dancedand did shots.”
“Who was there?”
She frowns. “Claudia. Ricardo. His friends.”
“Are his friends your friends?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Any of them stand out to you in particular?”
“Mateo . . . what are you talking about? What’sgoing on?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, Vera. I would like someanswers though.” I take the magazine and toss it on thetable. “Flip a few pages in and give them to me.”
She stares at me for a few moments, and now she’sworried. She bites her lip and turns the magazine over,flipping through it. The page is already worn andwrinkled from my hands and comes. She gasps, her hand shaking near her mouth. “Whatthe fuck?” she whispers as she stares down at it with thesame kind of horror that I had.
“Yes. What the fuck.”
She slowly looks at me. “Mateo, you can’t . . . thisis Paulo, one of Ricardo’s good friends. You’ve methim. I don’t . . . I was just dancing with him.”
I stay silent. It has the most power.
Her expression has turned from confused topleading. “Are you mad over this?”
My eyes burn into hers. “Am I mad? I’m a bit mad,Vera. A bit upset. A bit confused. And a lot embarrassed.Do you know how I found this out? Because my newboss, Pedro del Torro, owner of Atlético, showed it tome, telling me that my girlfriend was going after othermen, and it was making the news.”
She stands up, her face growing red, and throws herarms out to the side. “Well, what the hell am I supposedto do? Not go out, ever? Not dance, ever?”
“Why is he touching you like this? Why are youwith him like this?”
She shakes her head frantically. “No, no, no. Mateo,it’s not what you think.”
I wish my heart would stop beating so fast, so loud,like it’s teetering on the edge. “Then tell me what I thinkand tell me how I’m wrong. Please.”
She walks around to me and reaches out for myarm. Her grip is tight and desperate. I want so badly tobelieve whatever will come out of her mouth. “I was justdancing with Ricardo’s friend. He’s my friend too, Iguess. He’s touchy-feely, but then again, so are you.”
That was the wrong thing to say and she knows it.Her lips clamp shut for a moment and she lookspanicked.
“I am this touchy-feely with you because you aremine to touch,” I say, trying to keep my voice measuredand steady. “Not his. Not anyone else’s.”
Her eyes widen momentarily. “Mateo, you can’t getmad because someone touches me.”
I match her look. I’m not sure I can believe whatshe’s saying. “Of course I can get mad. I have the rightto.”
“Well, where I come from, things like that don’tmean anything.”
“Where you come from is very different from here,with people different from me. You made me look like afucking fool, Vera.”
The ferocity in my words catch both of us off-guard. “I didn’t know someone would take my picture,”she says.
“So the only problem,” I say, “is that you gotcaught?”
“I didn’t do anything!” she cries out, angry now, allcurled fists and blazing eyes. “It was just a fuckingdance. What the hell are you so bothered about then, is itthat everyone is reading this shit and believing it, or thatI go out and have fun without you, that other menhappen to find me attractive?”
I blink and raise my hands, stunned. “Whoa, whoa,what are you talking about? Why is this somethingyou’re angry about?”
“I’m angry,” she says, “because you treat me likeproperty sometimes.”
I am aghast. My heart lurches uncomfortably in mychest, and I only now realize we are having a very loudargument outside on the balcony.
“You are my property,” I tell her, completelygenuine. It’s not exactly what I mean to say – it’s herheart and soul I wish to own – but it’s the closest word intranslation to me. It doesn’t go over well with her.
“You’re a caveman.”
I smile coldly. “Cavemen fall in love, too.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” she sneers, folding her arms.
“And I don’t like that you don’t seem to have anyrespect for me,” I retort, then remember to lower myvoice. It doesn’t matter, it looks like I’ve slapped heracross the face.
“No respect?” she whispers raggedly.