His voice sounds different, too.
He pushes out of the car and holds the door for me, signaling to the driver to stay put.
Later, the housekeeper greets us and leads us to the terrace, a large space sprawled out around the pool. The night is superb with its soft breeze and balmy temperature, and I notice it for the first time.
Our hands are no longer locked. And I no longer ask for his proximity.
We haven’t planned to do it that way, but it just makes sense.
He slides his hands into his pockets while I hold onto my bag, my internal alert system blaring.
What if this is how it’s going to be from now on?
Playing hard. Pulling away from each other even harder.
I adjust quickly, focusing on strutting on my heels, swaying my hips, keeping my back arched and my bottom out, and flicking my head from time to time, so the curtain of hair falls down my back.
Soon I’ll see where I stand with them.
The beautiful decor in front of us makes my thoughts collapse into oblivion. Tables sit by the pool, the lights glimmering, spellbinding, our hotel rising not far from us across the water.
“Follow me, please,” the woman says, cutting her way through several tables packed with guests.
Delicious food sits in front of them while the people nurse their drinks.
Kai’s eyes find me first. They feel like snow on my face, although his gaze is far from carrying icicles.
He wants my eyes trained on him so he can read them and seemingly gets my story quickly. His blue-gray stare glints with a smile.
He likes what he sees, although I can’t say what it is exactly that he grasps.
My reservations about this thing? Or is it my conundrum? The emotional abyss between Francisco and me?
That may be good news. For them? For him? For me?
I can’t say.
It can’t be for me. It doesn’t feel good at all. But I can’t be heartbroken over what happened, either.
That would signal the presence of feelings. Isn’t that what he has said? That we would recognize those feelings.
How?
For one, things won’t work.
The player catching feelings will quit or be removed. They won’t participate anymore.
The fun will end. The pain will begin.
Whoever reaches that point will give up. Will be jealous and tormented.
Kai was right. He is always right.
Sitting at the table, suspecting that Francisco and I have broken every piece of furniture in my hotel room while banging each other savagely, is his way of telegraphing that his feelings are under control.
Alejandro is no different, tossing me a glance, not smiling, yet harboring a secret light in his eyes.
What am I saying?