I have no idea what this is leading to and am not sure if I should be excited or hesitant. Normally he’s happily turned on by me, whereas tonight he’s seething. Another rap song with vulgar Spanish lyrics that I hate comes on.

Rafael sings along under his breath.

I sink to my knees on the plush, champagne-colored carpet. With defiant eyes, I stare at him.

“Crawl,” he commands.

I lean forward on my hands. Tilting my back to allow for a sensual curve, I seductively move toward him, my eyes framed by loose, wavy hair. I crawl only a few feet, but by the time I reach his legs, I’m breathing heavily from excitement and my knees burn from contact with the carpet.

There’s no warmth or affection in his eyes. My stomach twitches with anxiety.

I run my fingers up his shins and over the tops of his thighs. Rafa seems vaguely disgusted, and a bolt of fear goes through me. What am I doing wrong? What’s happening?

He repeats a few words in Spanish from the song. One in particular makes me wince: mentirosa. It translates loosely to “liar,” and I wonder why he’s fixating on this word.

I run my fingers along his tuxedo inseam.

“Is this how you talk to your women in Miami?”

“No. Only tonight and only with you.”

What the hell? We’ve been getting along beautifully until today. Why has he suddenly changed?

Running my hands to the junction of his thighs, I’m satisfied that at least one part of him is aroused and happy. I rub my palm up his erection. My fingers itch to undress him, and my hands go to his fly.

I’ve decided to ignore his mood and skip right to sex when he leans forward. In a flash, he gathers a fistful of hair at the back of my head and pulls enough so I feel a sting. I gasp and grin, because he knows I’m turned on by rough play.

But my surge of desire quickly evaporates when I see him sneer.

“Why do you not want to honor the details of our agreement?” He releases his hand from my head and sits back. I rest on my heels, stunned.

Furious, I stand, placing a bare knee on his thigh and my hands on the chair’s arms. I lean toward him, ready for confrontation. Our faces are only inches apart as we glare at each other. He’s never raised a hand to me or tried to touch me in anger, and I’m not about to be intimidated by him now.

My voice drips with fury. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought I asked you to decline invitations from other men during our month together.” Red tinges the tops of Rafael’s sharp cheekbones.

“I’ve had no invit—” I stop. “Oh. Shit. Mark from the café? Is that what this is about?” I sigh and roll my eyes. He can’t be serious. “Oh, Rafa. Come on. Mark?”

He snorts. “Oh. Are there others? Are you lining up dates for when I leave?”

“Dammit, Rafael, no. I stopped for tea while you were in Miami, and Mark asked me to dinner.”

“And? What did you say? He’s definitely counting the days until he can see you. That’s what he told me. And I didn’t realize you were so eager to go out with him. Please, don’t let me stop you.”

Through gritted teeth, I respond in a clipped tone. “I told him I was busy. I didn’t say yes or set a date. I’m not interested, I told you that. Don’t be jealous. It’s not attractive.”

Rafa’s eyes narrow into slits, and he squirms away from me, setting his glass on a nearby end table. His indifferent demeanor makes my nostrils flare. I notice that his eyes keep drifting back to my exposed nipples, which are tight and hard.

“Don’t you think I would have already gone out with him if I was interested? I’ve known him for two years.”

Rafa meets my gaze with a vengeful glare. “I don’t know what to think about you. Or whether I can trust you. But I’m sure Mark would love to see you in that expensive lingerie. It’s gorgeous on you. Don’t tell him what you had to do to get it.”

Without thinking, I raise my hand to crack him across the face with an open palm. He catches my wrist easily, my thin bones disappearing beneath his wide hand.

“I wish you never came back into my life,” I spit. Anger surges through me. How could I have considered having a future with this brutal, nasty man? After days of feeling so close to him, I suddenly don’t know the person sitting under me. I wriggle my arm, struggling to extricate myself from his grip.

“You brought all of this on yourself,” he says in a low tone.

Furious, I roll my eyes. “Stop with the damned theatrics. You don’t give a shit what I do after this month. You don’t have any feelings for me at all. When you were in Miami, I could hear a woman in the background when you called. I’m sure you had a great time that night with her.”

Now grasping both my wrists, Rafa pulls me roughly toward him and I fall into his lap against his chest.

“You think I don’t care?” he says, his voice breaking with emotion. “After everything I’ve told you these past weeks? What are you? Deaf?”

I try to squirm away, but he wraps his strong arms around me, pinning my legs in between his and trapping me in his lap. He speaks in a low tone into my ear. “The thought of you with any other man drives me insane. I still think of you as mine.”

I shut my eyes. “I told you. I told you we would destroy each other this month.”

“And I told you that I was already destroyed.”

I struggle more against his strong arms, and my voice explodes.

“I know you came here from Cuba on a boat and you were practically an orphan, but you don’t corner the market on tragedy. I’ve had a pretty shitty life, too. But you don’t see me complaining, do you? You don’t see me trying to hurt you because of my anger.”

I writhe more. He continues to hold me tight, and I struggle against his arms.

“I don’t want Mark. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. When are you going to understand that?” I know I sound pathetic, but Rafa knows exactly how to extract the things he wants to hear, while saying none of the words I desire. I stop moving but not talking.

“You’ve treated me like a whore. I don’t even know why I agreed to this. I was so desperate to be comforted, to be loved, while I was trying to save my paper, and you’re the only one who could ever…”

I start to cry and crumple into his chest. His heart is beating so fast I can feel it through his tuxedo shirt. His hands go into my hair.

“Justi, I wasn’t with anyone in Miami. I went home alone. I couldn’t stop thinking of you when I was gone.” He presses his lips to the top of my head.

Chest heaving, I think about my jealousy when I heard the woman in the background of the phone call. How brokenhearted I’d been when I saw him on the Miami street all those years ago with the actress. How the tabloid photos of him with models destroyed me a little more each year.

I know he still feels something deep and intense for me. But he’s not capable of telling me what’s in his heart, and I need that. Deserve that. He doesn’t seem to have the emotional capacity to put our past behind us.

It’s too late for us.

I melt into him, and I feel boneless, soft. Fighting with him is painful, like ripping my heart out of my chest.

“I want to go home,” I whisper in between sobs.

He cradles my jaw with his hands and pulls my face toward his.

As the rap music that I so despise plays in the background, he kisses me deep and angry. I’m used to his urgent kisses, but this one has a different edge to it. At first I try to resist, but he grips me harder, his fingers digging into my ass. I straighten and straddle him in the chair, grabbing his shoulder muscles with my hands. He grinds me on his erection, and now this is all I want. Him, feral and raw. I shut my eyes, consumed with anger and passion, acutely aware the ache between my legs is growing. His hands tangle in my hair, and I dig my nails into the back of his neck while he groans and lets out a low roar. We kiss and claw at each other until we’re both breathless and I realize tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes. I’m a complete mess, but I don’t care.

“I need you so fucking bad,” I whisper, fumbling for the button and zipper on his tuxedo pants.

“Wait.” His voice is soft and he lets go of my hair. His hands scrub at his face.

I stop groping at his crotch and stare at him. “What?”

He wipes his cheeks with his hands and shakes his head. Takes a deep breath, as if he’s steeling himself to do something difficult.

“Justine, no. Not tonight.”

I look at him, incredulous. A sheen of perspiration forms on my forehead. “What has gotten into you?”

He strokes my hair, and now he’s acting like I’m breakable, when he was practically bruising me with his grip moments before. “It hit me all of a sudden. If we want to try to make a go of this together, we need to stop relying on sex to solve our problems. We need to talk more. Because we’re older now. There’s more to my feelings now. We can’t just fight and fuck.”

We sit, motionless, staring at each other, for a few moments. He’s right, of course. I respect him more for stopping us from having sex, even if I am edgy and nearly blind with need.

I’m feeling everything at once: elated, confused, scared. With his thumbs, he gently wipes away the streaks of tears and mascara on my cheeks.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be angry with each other,” he whispers.

“Do you mean that?” I shudder in a breath.

He nods and tucks my hair behind my ears.

“I do.” He pauses. “Can we go in the bedroom?”

I smile a little. “I thought you didn’t want to—”

He interrupts. “I don’t. I’m just really spent and want to lie down and talk.”

Nodding, I stand. I feel exhausted, too, like I’ve been run over by a truck. I toe-heel my shoes off, and the carpet feels similar to a hug for my feet. I strip off my bodysuit and flop into bed. The mattress is a cloud of comfort. I groan and cover myself with the white duvet.

“God, everything feels so good all of a sudden. This was the best idea.”

Rafael undresses and lies on his side next to me under the covers. His hand rests on my stomach. “I’m sorry about the whole Mark thing. I was overcome with anger. I shouldn’t be so jealous. I shouldn’t be an asshole. I’m sorry I pulled your hair. I need to get a grip and stop feeling so out of control when I’m around you. It’s not appropriate and not fair, and I never want to make you afraid of me.”

I turn to face him and trace a finger up and down his arm, impressed that he’s being so introspective. “I wasn’t afraid. Just pissed. I’m sorry I tried to slap you. That was really out of line.”

Rafa shakes his head. “I probably deserved that after what I said.”

I chastely kiss his mouth and then press my breasts on his bare chest. He puts his finger on my lips.

“No. Justine. I really don’t want to have sex tonight.”

“Okay,” I say quietly. “What do you want? Sleep?”

He nods three times, slowly. “I think I want to end our arrangement.”

My jaw drops, and my bottom lip quivers involuntarily. Oh God. I thought I knew how horrible I’d feel once he finally broke it off, but I realize that it’s worse than I imagined. I don’t say anything for a full minute, and my face quickly becomes grubby with tears.

“Why? Are you going back to Miami early? Are you done with me? Are we over?”

He shakes his head. “Jesus, no. Stop crying. Please? I’ve decided to stay in St. Augustine until the end of the month. Then I have to go to Spain.”

“And when you get back?” My thumbnail goes in my mouth. He takes my hand away and kisses the palm.

“I want you. I want us. Together. But I can’t make you sleep with me for the next two weeks because of my stupid proposition. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can go home.”

“What if I want to stay with you until you leave?”

He strokes my hair. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

I throw my arms around him and say nothing. Maybe there is hope for us. Maybe we can make this work.

“But Justine, first I want to listen, really listen, to why you left me. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we ended and why we’ve both held grudges. I need to hear you and your feelings.”

“Now?” My voice shakes. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, not after our fight. Not while I’m strung tight with emotion. “Do you promise not to be angry?”

“Yes. I won’t talk until you’re finished. Promise.”

I take a deep breath and flip on my back. The room suddenly seems too bright from the bedside lamp, but I don’t have the energy to move and turn it off. “The real reason I left was because you were so cold to me after the miscarriage. I didn’t think you loved me anymore. I left because I thought you didn’t want me. That somehow you thought I was tainted. Or defective. Those three months in between the miscarriage and when I left for Nicaragua were the worst of my life. I felt like you abandoned me. You retreated, and I didn’t understand why.”

I curl up and face him. Rafa takes my entire, balled-up body in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry that I left and I’m sorry that I never explained it to you properly. My dad offered me the money to travel, and I thought it was the best decision. I was young.”

“I was young, too, Justine,” he says quietly.

His eyes have a faraway look.

“Your turn,” I say. “Why didn’t you come to look for me? Why didn’t you answer any of my letters or calls?”

“Perhaps I couldn’t see past my own pain and anger back then.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Perhaps?”

His eyes lose their light, and all of a sudden he looks tired, older. I take him in my arms as he buries his face into the hollow of my neck. We hold each other until he falls asleep, and then I shut out the light and try to make sense of the confusion in my brain.