In the car ride back, I told Mateo that I had been terribly wrong about his family.

“I told you so,” he chided me. “They are good people and they trust me.”

“I wish everyone was good like they are,” I said.

“Yes, the world would be better,” he said. “But frankly, I am grateful for them and the way things are. Sometimes you don’t need everyone on your side, you only need a few.”

I smiled and prayed someday I would take that to heart.

A few beats of silence passed, that kind of comfortable air that happens when you’re riding in a car at night, only the sound of wheels on the dark highway and the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

“You know what we should do?” he eventually asked.

“What?”

“When we get back from Barcelona, we should have a party. Let’s invite everyone from Las Palabras, all the ones who live here or nearby.”

My smile nearly broke my face. “That is a fantastic idea!”

“I thought you would like it,” he said. He put his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “We deserve some fun and friends, no?”

That night we got home and tore each other’s clothes off, barely making it in through the door. I hoped I was able to show Mateo just how beautiful he made me feel.

Barcelona ended up being an absolute gem. First of all, I loved road trips, so the fact that Mateo and I were jetting through the Spanish countryside, stopping at wineries and olive farms and drinking and stuffing ourselves silly on everything that was overripe and decadent was amazing. Then the city of Barcelona itself managed to knock my boots off. The city was a maze of beauty, a mix of the quaint and the avante garde. Dali and Gaudi-esque architecture made me snap a million pictures, the narrow and unassuming side streets led us to hidden tapas bars and used bookstores, the busy street of Las Ramblas made me spend too many euros giving change to all the living statues that were lined up and down it.

Mateo’s apartment was as fantastic as I had imagined it back at Las Palabras. It was in a modern-looking high-rise overlooking a wide expanse of golden sand beach. With the balcony doors open, you could hear the aqua waves crashing at night and feel the ocean breezes during the day. The apartment was only a studio and it was furnished sparsely, looking more like a hotel room than anything. But it was absolutely exquisite nonetheless.

The day before we left, we packed up a picnic lunch—rose wine, meats and cheeses—and headed to the beach just in front of the apartment. It was a Monday and less crowded than the weekend, with only a few bronzed bodies lying about. I decided to do what I had been too scared to do all weekend long and that was to sunbathe topless.

I sat up on my beach towel and untied the back of my string bikini, my breasts coming free. I could see a bit of movement in Mateo’s board shorts, the ever-present erection.

“I approve of this,” he said, eying my breasts lustfully. They were so white in the glaring sunlight I was surprised he didn’t need shades. He could go blind staring at them for too long.

“I figured if you can’t beat them, join them,” I said, lying back down.

“Now this must be an American or Canadian phrase because no one should beat your breasts. Bite and lick them, yes, but only me.”

I shielded my eyes from the sun, looking up at him. “It is an expression. Meaning, everyone else on this beach is topless so I might as well be too.”

“Yes, might as well,” he said. “Too bad I don’t like it when men stare at you.”

I frowned. “I would think most men on this beach are used to seeing breasts.”

“Yes, but not your breasts. Your breasts are pale, Canadian breasts. They are special, beautiful, and very large.”

I let out a laugh. “Wow, you really are putting on the charm, aren’t you?”

He shrugged and ran his fingers over the shooting star on my chest. “The other girls on the beach aren’t marked the way you are. They are just topless women, but you are something amazing that no one but me should get to see.”

“I’m keeping my top off,” I told him. “And if we’re lucky, I won’t burn them to a crisp.”

He immediately picked up a tube of sunblock. “Then may I volunteer for the job?”

“Will you try and not have sex with me in public?”

“I promise nada.”

He smoothed the sunblock on my breasts and I did what I could to not be turned on. While we could go back to the apartment for another roll in the hay, I also wanted to soak up the sun’s rays while still possible—this was pretty much the last week or two of good weather. I was only a light golden color while Mateo was this rich bronze that bordered on mahogany. The Spaniards got dark over the summer.

When he started paying too much attention to my nipples, I swatted his hand away. Eventually he got the hint and rolled over onto his stomach, perhaps to keep his hard-on hidden from passerby. While women did go topless on the beaches here, it wasn’t seen as a sexual thing.

Eventually I got tired of lying around and getting sweaty, so we went into the surf, playing in the waves. I was still topless and finding the whole thing absolutely liberating. Yes, I got some looks because of my tattoos and such, but overall, no one really cared. The only time people really looked was when Mateo picked me up over his shoulder, strode out into the waves and unceremoniously dumped me into the water. I landed into the end-of-summer chill of the Mediterranean and flailed for a few shocking moments, shrieking, before he pulled me up, grinning. I tried to take him down too but I just wasn’t strong enough and fell into the water again.

Jerk.

We came out of the waves and he pulled me to him, kissing me hard, tasting like salt. Then he slapped me lightly on the ass and laughed. Barcelona Mateo was a bit of a deviant—I liked that.

The next day we pretty much did the same thing, except we headed out into the city to have our lunch at one of the small bars we had stumbled upon the other day in a pretty yellow courtyard. It was so fresh and new in Barcelona that I was oddly sad that we had to return to Madrid. I guess the sea air and mild breezes reminded me of home, plus there was the fact that the two of us could just be ourselves and wander around the city without a care.

That said, there was plenty to look forward to upon our return. When we arrived back in Madrid on Wednesday, the weather now cooler by a few degrees, I had the party that Friday night to plan for the Las Palabras folks. I had gotten in touch with Jerry, whom I didn’t realize actually lived in Madrid, and reached out to about twelve Spaniards on the list, telling them to bring their significant others or a friend. It felt good to have a mini reunion, and I started entertaining the idea that maybe I could get a job working for the Las Palabras office in Madrid. I know that Mateo had said he’d take care of me and everything, but since I wasn’t going to school, I would eventually need to do something. And while I had planned to immerse myself in Spanish, I wasn’t going to be fluent for a really long time. I needed something to occupy my days and make me feel like I was contributing to the relationship and our way of life, even if in such a small way.

It was Thursday night when I was settling down on the couch with Mateo, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around us, glasses of red wine in our hands, when I got a call from Claudia. I eyed the time and thought that ten o’clock was unusually late for a call from her; then again the party was tomorrow and perhaps she wanted to know what to bring.

“Hello?” I asked.

“Vera?” she said, her voice sounding odd, kind of panicked. It made my heart skip forward in time.

“Yes? Claudia, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said with a note of unease. A pregnant pause followed. “Have you seen the latest issue of Diez Minutos? It just came out today.”