Spanish Surrender, page 31
“Me,” Loreto said. “I win most astonished.”
Simone shook her head, but her stomach growled again.
Loreto stepped back. “We need to eat before we take this conversation or this celebration any further. Let’s find some simple and complex carbs to offer sustenance.”
“You’re talking about churros, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Lead the way.”
Loreto took her hand, intertwined their fingers as if they’d done so a hundred times, and led her through the narrow, winding streets that would now be her neighborhood. The realization made her head spin. She was moving to Spain. Her knees wobbled, just as Loreto pulled out a chair for her.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“You’ve gone a little pale. Do you need food? Or, I don’t know . . . a psychiatrist?”
She grinned. “Start with the food, then you can talk me down.”
Loreto disappeared into a nearby restaurant, and Simone stared up at the palm fronds overhead. The sun was nearing its height, and the warmth of it caused her to strip off her suit jacket. Would she ever have to wear it again? Probably. There would still be meetings. There would still be formal events. There was still hard work ahead. She knew that for sure. What she didn’t know was what her daily life would look like. She hadn’t even begun to envision it yet by the time Loreto returned with a plate of hot churros and an oversized mug of molten chocolate.
For some reason, the sight of the purchase made Simone blurt, “I’m broke.”
“What?” Loreto pulled a chair right up beside her before sitting down.
“I just spent my life’s savings,” Simone gushed, “and it still won’t be enough to cover the bid. I’ll sell my condo in New York, and my studio in Chicago.”
“You have two houses?”
“I did,” Simone admitted. “That’s about to change. Everything’s about to change.”
“You’ll probably have to cut down the shopping trips to Larios,” Loreto said, not sounding bothered.
She nodded numbly. “I hope the clothes we bought last week will constitute our business attire for a while, but that’s not even the start of it. I’ll need a work visa, and an apartment, and a car.”
“You don’t need a car,” Loreto offered.
“Okay, no car,” Simone said. “Public transportation is good here?”
“So good.”
“What about insurance?”
“We’ve got socialized medicine. You’re set.”
“I do love this country.”
Loreto laughed. “It’ll be okay.”
“I don’t speak Spanish.” The panic surged in her again until her fingers began to shake. “Oh my God, Loreto. I just bought a Spanish publishing house, and I don’t speak Spanish!”
“Hey.” Loreto put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. “You’ll learn.”
“What am I going to do until then?”
“Hire a translator.”
“The company is stable. It’s turning a profit, but it’ll take time to handle the transfer. I don’t know if adding staff in the first few months is wise, but I don’t see how I cannot hire a translator—”
“Hey,” Loreto said again, “I know a good translator who works for churros, but she’d need the siesta off every day, because she’s, how did you put it? A little lackadaisical.”
Simone pursed her lips, but this time she was trying to hold back a smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t hire you to be my translator. It’s a serious business, and it’s not a good idea.”
“Oh.” Loreto swallowed a bit of churro with a little more force than usual. “Right. I get it. You’re new to Spain and the business, and I don’t have a work visa, so I’m probably not the best qualified for a job like that.”
Simone took her hand. “You’re not qualified for that job. You’re overqualified for it. Besides, it’s not smart to double dip with your most valued team member.”
“Double dip?”
“I can’t waste your talent sitting in a side room typing up translations when I need you in the boardroom beside me.”
Loreto raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak.
“I need a partner, Loreto. In every sense of the word. I won’t lie and say I didn’t look into the visa process, for both of us, because we’re both going to need them, but business owners are given priority over even skilled laborers. With the amount of money I just sank into the local economy, we should be able to pull some pretty big strings, but only if we’re equals in this endeavor.”
Loreto shook her head. “You just said it. You put down all the money. That’s not equality, that’s charity.”
“Stop,” Simone said sharply. “I know you came by that mind-set the hard way, but you have to fight against it now. I need you much more than you need me, much more than you need money or a visa. I bought a publishing catalog full of books I cannot read. I’m packing up my entire life to move to a city where I’ve spent three days. I’m going to try to run a business in a country whose laws and culture I’ve only skimmed the surface of. I’m in way over my head.”
Loreto stared at her, and Simone’s heart hammered in her throat. What if that little speech hadn’t worked? What if love and passion really weren’t enough? What if Loreto’s stubbornness actually outstripped her own? Or what if Loreto didn’t actually want to go into publishing? This was Simone’s dream.
The darkness began to close in once more until she whispered, “I meant what I said yesterday. You’re too valuable to give up, in so many ways. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Loreto leaned so close her forehead touched lightly to Simone’s temple. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“The idea of changing jobs?”
“No. The idea that someone needs me, that someone believes in me.”
Simone’s heart melted. “Well, that’s a reality now. What can I do to make it easier on you?”
Loreto kissed her cheek. “Give me lots of time to practice I suppose.”
“That can be arranged.” Simone turned her head so their mouths connected in a deep, soulful kiss before saying, “We could even start exploring my needs right now.”
“Oh? Is there something you need from me in this moment?”
“So many things, but let’s start with a hotel room.”
“Yours or mine?”
Simone grinned. “We can’t afford mine anymore.”
Loreto laughed. “Fair, but can we go get your suitcases at least?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been dying to see you in that skimpy little bit of silk you bought in Cordoba.”
Simone blushed at the memory of choosing the lingerie. How she’d wanted, even then, to have Loreto slip it from her shoulders. “I only bought it to drive you crazy.”
“Then come on.” Loreto pushed back from the table. “Start driving.”
Simone caught her hand and tried to pull her back, but with one tug, Loreto lifted her out of the chair and into her embrace. She kissed along Simone’s neck until she reached her earlobe and whispered, “Are you really going to make me beg?”
Simone laughed, “I surrender. I promise to put on whatever you want, as long as you promise to rip it off me.”
As her half-smile spread, Loreto’s deep brown eyes swirled with mischief, mirth, lust, and something Simone now suspected was love. “Rubia, that’s the best deal we’ve made all week.”
She did not disagree.
Epilogue
“Gracias.” Loreto shook the hand of some executive whose name she had forgotten. She’d gotten better at paying attention to the men in suits who flew in from all over the country, and occasionally other parts of the world, just like she’d gotten better at staying focused and polite during long days in dress clothes, but it was nearing midnight, and she’d been on her feet for seven hours solid. Her eyes had begun to blur, and all the publishing people had started to look alike. Mercifully, this man was the last of them, and he finally turned to offer some platitudes to Simone.
“Sí, por supuesto,” Simone said, her cheeks pink and her blue eyes sparkling. Funny, every other face in the room had melded together, but Loreto still saw hers in vivid detail. “Encantada de conocerto.”
“Lo,” Loreto whispered.
“Conocerlo,” Simone corrected quickly.
The businessman nodded appreciatively, then headed out. They stood side-by-side, mirrored smiles plastered on their faces until the door shut behind him, then with heavy exhales, they slumped against each other.
“You did well,” Loreto praised, slipping her arms around Simone’s waist and snuggling close, both for comfort and support, but what had started as sweet stirred something deeper in her as her palm settled against the flat plane of Simone’s stomach and her perfect ass pressed against her.
Simone shook her head, causing the scent of oranges to fill Loreto’s senses. “Have I mentioned how much I love your new shampoo?”
“I used the wrong article.”
“What?”
“I said ‘te’ when I meant ‘lo.’”
“A minor slip,” Loreto murmured, kissing the nape of her neck softly.
“But it was the last thing I said to a major bookstore rep. You never want to bumble the first impression, or the last one.”
She briefly considered mentioning that Simone never wanted to bumble anything, but she didn’t figure that would go over well, so instead she said, “You’ve only been taking Spanish lessons for four months.”
“She’s right,” Ren said. “Cut yourself some slack.”
Both of them jumped, then laughed.
“Are you still here?” Loreto joked.
“Both of us,” Lina confirmed as she collected a few stray cups from a nearby table.
“We can clean up,” Simone said. Stifling a yawn, she added, “You’ve already done too much.”
“It’s exciting,” Ren said, accepting the cups from her wife and placing them in a recycling bin. “I’d never been to a publishing party before.”
“I have,” Simone admitted. “This one was tame by comparison, and we probably need to up our wine budget next time. But the food was better here. The food is always better here.”
Loreto smiled. “Even though we had to serve it at ten o’clock?”
Simone yawned again. “I’m getting better on that front, too.”
Lina tossed a few remaining paper plates in the trash and crossed the room. “You are, and on so many other fronts as well. Ren is right, you need to cut yourself some slack. You’ve been here less than half a year, and already it feels like you’re a local.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Simone said.
“The neighbors love you,” Ren said.
“They love Loreto,” Simone said, tossing her a grin. “That’s why I keep her around.”
“They love you, too,” Ren said. “You fit here in Málaga. You’re passionate and dedicated. Your Spanish is beyond passable. You’ve signed a new, local author and translated ten books from others. Now you’re working on a movie deal.”
“A possible movie deal,” Simone corrected, turning back to Loreto. “Which reminds me, can you make sure I call Levy and Levy tomorrow, or maybe it’s not too late tonight?”
“It’s too late,” the other three said in unison.
“No, if it’s one a.m. here, it’s only”—she ticked off the math on her fingers—“eight in New York. Mimi almost never leaves her office before then.”
“Simone,” Loreto pleaded in a soft, intimate tone.
She looked up at her, electric eyes flashing, and whatever Loreto had planned to say died on her lips. She’d yet to build any immunity to that gaze, and when it landed on her, the thrill of excitement coursed through her. Dropping her hands to her side, she merely shrugged and smiled back at the woman who’d come to encompass so much of her world. Then she turned to Ren and Lina. “It looks like we’ve got more work to do tonight, but thank you so much for helping with the party.”
“But,” Ren started, only to be cut off by Lina’s hand on her arm.
“We understand,” Lina said in her usual, knowing tone. “If anyone gets what it’s like to build a business on a foundation of passion and sheer will, it’s us.”
Ren chuckled. “Yeah, I remember now. You two just take care of each other, okay?”
Loreto nodded. “That’s the plan.”
They shared hugs all around and said goodbyes laced with promises to have dinner next time Lina and Ren were back in town between tours.
“I’m so glad they were here tonight,” Simone said, after they’d left.
“No kidding. I know we’re trying not to take on new staff yet, but having friends who’re willing to act as servers, greeters, and conversation starters made a huge difference. This place was packed.”
“Indeed. We made good contacts.” Simone hooked a finger in a belt loop of Loreto’s slacks, pulling her close again. “And you were amazing.”
“You think?”
Simone rocked her hips forward so they brushed against Loreto’s. “I do. When I saw you talking to the reps for Egales, with your hair falling down across your forehead and your shirt sleeves rolled up like some sexy, rakish, publishing conquistador, I almost told everyone to get out so I could have my way with you.”
Loreto laughed, but her heartbeat picked up speed with the hope that the playfulness of the comment didn’t undercut its main focus. “Me as a conquistador? That’s ironic, but shouldn’t I be the one doing the ravaging?”
Simone pursed her lips, and Loreto fought the urge to kiss them. She didn’t want to rush this part. Or any part with Simone.
“I think,” Simone said coyly, “conquest requires some sort of pushback, and ‘ravishing’ implies a bit of resistance.”
“Thankfully, you’re adept at both.”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“I know several printers, translators, and paperback distributors who’d argue otherwise.”
“And none of them are here right now.” Simone smiled ruefully. “It’s just you and me, ’Reto.”
Her heartbeat revved again, both at the name Simone had more than earned the right to use, and at the intimate way in which it had been delivered. Her fingers twitched with the impulse to push Simone’s silk shell up and off the perfect body she craved, but still she waited, pressing for the cue she’d learned to seek. “And?”
Simone leaned close, so close her breath brushed warm against Loreto’s skin as she whispered, “I surrender.”
Acknowledgements
As I mentioned in my author notes, a large part of this book was inspired by the time my family and I spent in Spain in 2018. I have loved that country fiercely since a formative trip as a teenager, but this was the first time I’d been back as a full-fledged adult, with a family in tow. Part of me worried as we left England after the happiest six months of our lives together that I was headed for an inevitable disappointment. Is anything ever really as good as it seemed when you were seventeen? Had that trip only been a single, shining moment? What if my memories of the place and the lessons learned there said more about me and my own developmental needs than the country itself? However, as our plane banked low over the Costa Del Sol and my son’s eyes filled with wonder, those fears began to ebb. By the time we stepped onto the palm tree-lined tarmac, with mountains in the distance, and I felt the air on my skin, excitement took over. As we strolled Larios and wandered the markets, woke to the sounds of cathedral bells and the smell of fresh churros, my worries seemed a more distant memory than even my teenage self. Our family spent the next few weeks eating candied hibiscus flowers while roving from one ancient treasure to the next. The places in this book became our playgrounds. We roamed vast gardens of La Alhambra, rowed boats in Numpty Cove, wound our way through the Jewish quarter in Cordoba, and played with monkeys atop the Rock of Gibraltar. And we ate, we danced, we ate some more, we jumped into pick-up futbol games, chased bubbles, wielded swords, and ate some more.
I think what I am trying to say in the rambling paragraph above is “thank you.” Thank you to Spain, and its people for proving themselves to be every bit as open and wonderful and magical as my young self believed you to be. Thank you for showing my wife and son the legendary hospitality you are known for. Thank you for the inspiration and the education you continue to provide in our lives. Thank you for the contrast you offer to the lives and walls and priorities we as Americans are told we must pursue. I want to especially thank Carmen for welcoming us into her home, answering all our questions, and feeding both our bodies and our souls. I owe another great debt of gratitude to the Worldschoolers of Andalucía, especially Elin Morgan for welcoming us warmly into her wonderful circle. This wide and varied group provided a lot of insight to Spain immigration rules and how they differ widely from America’s.
And on the subject of immigration, I want to thank every immigrant, no matter what their status, who spoke to me, who wrote about their own experience, or shared the experience of loved ones in person, on social media, and via email. I won’t name names or even specific stories due to the precarious nature of so many wonderfully brave people, but I thank you for that bravery and trust. There is no way to capture all those experiences, as there is no single immigrant experience. They are as wide and varied as humanity itself. However, I hope many of you can see parts of your essence in Loreto’s heart and strength and defiance and perseverance.
And while no story can be told without inspiration, I also need to acknowledge that no book of mine is ever published without a team of dedicated artists and professionals. Thank you first to my beta readers, Toni and Barb, who continue to be consistent voices of both reason and enthusiasm in my writing process. Thank you to Lynda Sandoval, my kick-ass editor, who understood not only this story, but also how important it was for me to get it right. Thank you to my friend and fellow Redbird, Jon Crawley, for putting your talent for details toward my copy edits. Thank you to Kelly Smith, who was not only my typesetter even in her retirement, but who also played an essential role in getting us to Europe in the first place. Thank you, Ann McMan, whom I continue to push, and who continues to answer every challenge with brilliant and evocative covers, hopefully without hating me. Thank you to every single proofreader (Cara, Diane, Ann, and Susan) who served as final stop-gap between typeset and typos getting to print. And thank you, last but not least, to Susan and Carolyn of Brisk Press, whose generosity to me seems to know no bounds. When I approached them and said, “I have another book I’d like to get out this summer, but it’s kind of erotic and political. Would you be willing to look at it?” They replied by saying, “We trust you, we want to help, and the hotter the better.” I adore you two!
