I shrugged and got out of my seat. “It doesn’t matter. Somewhere quiet. And with access to water. Or a toilet in case I vomit.”

Smooth, Vera, real smooth.

“You don’t feel so well also?” he asked. He put his hand on my lower back and gently guided me out of the room. It was crazy, the heat I felt from that, imagined or not. I never wanted him to take his hand away.

He took me back outside and pointed to two wicker chairs in the shade of the building. “How about here?”

We weren’t the only ones outside. Lauren and Sara were on the other side of the patio, trying to have a conversation. I smiled at Sara—she also looked worse for wear—but avoided Lauren’s eyes. I knew they wouldn’t be friendly.

I collapsed into a chair, nestling in the cushions and trying to get in a comfortable position without the wicker imprinting lines on my face. Mateo did the opposite. He sat down, legs splayed, arms resting on the sides, the picture of total elegance. He stared at me, eyes lazy and subdued, like he was panther sizing up his prey.

I hadn’t been anyone’s prey in a long time. And, despite how my body felt about it, it wouldn’t be a good time to start.

I cleared my throat. “So.”

“So,” he said right back, still staring. “Did you have fun last night?”

I nodded, wondering how much he knew. “Too much fun, maybe.”

“I didn’t see you leave,” he said.

Good.

“Though, I heard you did,” he added.

Shit.

I didn’t bother looking at him. Instead I brought out my sunglasses from my bag and slipped them on. Ah, much better. The world was less bright and headache-inducing and Mateo couldn’t see my eyes.

When I didn’t say anything he said, “You should have come say goodbye.”

“You looked busy,” I said, a little too quickly. “Dancing.”

“That was nothing. You should have seen me dancing like Justin Timberlake.”

I gave him a look he couldn’t see.

He gave me a shit-eating grin. “That’s what I assume I look like when I dance. I could be wrong.”

“I had too much grappa,” I managed to say. “What about you?”

“Even a little bit is too much but perhaps that is why we drink it. Perhaps this is why I think I dance like Justin Timberlake.”

This Mateo was like all Mateos—unflappable, calm and smooth. In charge of the ride. But for a moment I remembered the Mateo on the phone yesterday, the business man who freaked out because he didn’t know what he was doing—in either language. That Mateo intrigued me more than most.

I wondered how to start pulling on the threads.

“So, what shall we discuss,” I said.

He smiled. “We’re already discussing. There is no script here. Let us just talk.”

“Okay,” I said. He was right, of course. When you were with someone you liked during your one-on-ones, it was different. You were just hanging out. It was kind of genius when you think of it. I wondered if that’s why Jerry had the drunken party on the first night, so that people would break down the language barriers and get comfortable with each other.

“Vera,” Mateo said. “Tell me, hour by the hour, what you did Tuesday last week.”

I straightened up slightly in surprise. “Last Tuesday? Why?”

“It is one of my twenty questions.”

“I was in London…”

“How long were you in London for?”

“I think that’s more than one question.”

“Do not be so literal,” he chided me. “Tell me about the last Tuesday when you were at home, in Vancouver. Tell me about that day.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I want to know what the average day of Vera Miles is like.”

“Well, it won’t be that average because I wasn’t in school.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He was persistent, I’ll give him that.

I wracked my brain, trying to think back. I left on the Thursday, so what was I doing on Tuesday?

“I got up,” I said. Good start.

“Where did you get up?”

“In my bed?”

“Who do you live with?”

I raised a brow. I was getting good at that. “Is this question an excuse to ask other questions?”

He only smiled. “Go on.”

I sighed and tried to get comfortable again. I closed my eyes and ran through that day. “I live with my brother and my mom. I woke up, around my usual time when I’m not at school. Like, ten am.”

“That is quiet late, no?”

“I like to sleep in.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I got up at ten and then I made myself breakfast…and then I did some research online about London, last minute shit.”

“You took a last minute shit?”

I burst out laughing. “No!” I yelled at him. “Sorry. I should stop swearing and using slang, it’s getting confusing.”

“I like it when you swear.”

“Well, it doesn’t do me any favors when you get it confused with the literal sense.”

He stroked his chin in mock contemplation. I could hear the roughness of his beard on his fingers. “So, when you say things like ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck you’, you aren’t really wanted to be fucked or to fuck another?”

My god, the word fuck sounded so beautifully dirty coming from his mouth, especially when he pronounced with such soft emphasis.

I breathed in deeply, trying to quell my raging hormones. “Do you mean it in that sense when you swear?”

Mateo smiled carefully. “I don’t take fucking lightly.”

Okay, so what the hell were we really talking about here? I stared at him, hoping my face was blank.

“So then what did you do after you…looked up shit?” he abruptly continued on with the conversation, as if that weird moment had never happened.

“Uh,” I fumbled for words. “I, uh, went on the drive for lunch.”

“The drive?”

“Commercial Drive,” I explained. “It’s a popular street near my house. Lots of artsy types, hipsters, hippies, bums. Good places to eat, and there’s an Italian section too.”

“You met someone there?”

I shook my head and looked down at my chipped fingernails. “No. I went to eat by myself. My brother was working.”

I could feel his eyes on me but I avoided looking up at him. “Hmmm,” he said. “No friends to meet? No boyfriend?”

I sucked in my breath, the questions grating me raw. “I have friends,” I said, quietly defensive. “I just don’t see them often. School is over. And my best friend, she’s in another province.”

“And the boyfriend?”

Finally, I had to look at him. “Obviously I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He frowned, wearing a face of genuine puzzlement. “Why is that obvious?”

I bit my lip for a moment. “I don’t know. I just thought it was. I don’t think I’d be here if I had one. I don’t think I’d be…me…acting the way I do.”

What the hell was I saying? This hangover was making me talk way too much.

“Very honest,” he said after a beat. “Do you like to be alone?”

I shrugged. “I think so. It’s easy.”

“Easy to be you?”

“No. Easy to only worry about yourself.”

He nodded and I could see his dark eyes churning with my words. “You are close with your brother, yes?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s pretty lame but I think he’s the closest person to me. Do you have any siblings?” I asked him, hoping to turn this onto him.

“A sister,” he said simply. “Lucia.” He pulled the chair closer to me and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, the Rolex glinting in the weak sun. “Is it just your brother?”

Back to me again. I exhaled noisily, to let him know that this wasn’t a fun subject. “No, I have an older sister.”

“But you don’t get along.”

“No, we don’t,” I said. “I mean, I’m nice to her and I make an effort. She’s just a bitch.”

His forehead wrinkled. “That doesn’t sound like a nice thing to say about your family.” He seemed genuinely shocked by that.

“Well, she is,” I said. “She’s always been that way but it got worse after…it’s a long story. My family is fucked up, that’s all you need to know, and I don’t care how that sounds. Every family needs a black sheep to call them out on their bullshit.”