CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KATY
Back in Antigua, Katy got out of the van and was surprised to see Marcus following her out.
“I can hike back to my hotel,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“I almost invited Greg to join us for dinner,” Katy said, her legs aching but in a good way.
“Thank goodness you didn’t.” Marcus massaged his temple.
“I thought you might not appreciate it.”
“Mostly because I want to be able to eat dinner without twenty questions.”
Katy shook her head. “I don’t think he’s that interested in what you do.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid I tell him I’m a billionaire. He’ll probably glom on and ask me to star in his mockumentary.”
“You’d make a great actor,” she said.
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Is that a compliment?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Most actors in Hollywood are scuzzy.”
“I just meant that you look…” She glanced away, embarrassed. “Oh dear, it’s time for dinner.”
He snatched her arm playfully. “What were you going to say?”
You look gorgeous, but she didn’t say it out loud.
Mama Muni saved her. Sort of. She came barreling in with a pile of laundry and asked them in her halting English how the overnighter went. After Katy gave her a play-by-play in Spanglish, Mama Muni shoved a flier in her hand.
“Salsa lessons,” Katy read.
Marcus smirked. “How to make salsa, the dip?”
“Yup. Tomatoes by the gallons. You get to learn how to do it with Guatemalan peppers.”
He took the flier from her. “Salsa dancing, huh?” He caught her glance. “No. I don’’t dance.”
“Neither do I.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She gaped at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re graceful. I can dance in a ballroom, but salsa is a fast Latin number.” He shuffled his feet to demonstrate.
“I’m sure they won’t grade you or anything.”
Marcus grimaced. “I’m sure they do.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
“Call them?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“No, silly. We should just go.”
Marcus blinked. “After all that hiking, you want to go dancing?”
“This isn’t just dancing.” She turned him at the shoulders and pushed him out the door. “Go change into something salsa-ish.”
“What exactly qualifies for that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A satin polo shirt with puffy sleeves unbuttoned to your solar plexus so that your chest hairs can be seen?” Katy grinned.
He laughed. “I have one of those in every color.”
“Perfect.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I can even spell it.”
***
MARCUS
Katy, Katy, Katy.
She sure knew how to rope Marcus into things. First this blasted trip to Guatemala. He’d been there for days on end and still no sign of that poor village that needed his funding. That hike to a volcanic crater with an obnoxious know-it-all, and now, he was about to embark on salsa lessons.
Shimmy your hips, wasn’t that all there was to it?
He shimmied in front of his mirror with his tush sticking out. In his black polo shirt and slacks, he looked like an ant with hemorrhoids.
Thank goodness he hadn’t agreed to a year in Guatemala, or he’d probably have to do a bunch of strange things around this country’s holidays. He couldn’t even imagine Easter, considering Lent was a religious holiday that lasted a long, long time.
A firework exploded outside his window, making him jump.
These Guatemalans sure loved their fireworks.
He came out of his room, startling his landlady who, as usual, gave him a covert glance, as if she was going to call the KGB and report his whereabouts at any moment. She did have that black phone on her counter.
Outside, Marcus inhaled that crisp, clean scent of Guatemalan December air…and someone peeing on the wall nearby.
Alrighty.
He hurried and crossed the street, making it to Katy’s house in ten minutes. Mama Muni opened the door with flourish, a rose between her teeth.
“I was practicing how salsa is dance,” she said, leaning her ample figure against the doorway.
“Me and the señora,” her husband said, “we won salsa contest when we had fewer years.”
Marcus coughed. “That is great.”
“We come with you, you see,” Mama Muni said.
Marcus felt like a deflated balloon. He didn’t realize they were going to be chaperoned. He wanted Katy all to himself.
Wait. To do what with?
To fall in love with her?
To kiss her?
On second thought, going on a double date was probably best.
“Wonderful,” Marcus said.
Katy made her entrance then. She came out in a lovely dark-pink dress, her long hair brushed to one side with a flower tucked behind her ear. Her face glowed.
He hadn’t allowed himself to feel the past five years—unless you counted his embarrassing breakdown in his room while he was sick over the strawberries. It was probably time to be thinking of someone else after Amanda, though the prospect overwhelmed him. Even as something warm and strange stirred in his chest.
Mama Muni made a fuss of her in Spanish, distracting Katy and freeing Marcus to gawk.
“Hi,” Katy said shyly, approaching him.
“Hola.” Apparently, he had forgotten how to speak English too.
Her eyes gleamed. “I’m excited, are you?”
“Oddly enough, I am now,” he murmured.
Katy chuckled.
Papa Lando pulled up in his tuk-tuk. Riding shotgun was a male neighbor who kept shooting flirtatious looks at Katy, which irritated Marcus. Katy got in the back first, followed by Mama Muni. With the older woman’s bulk in the middle, Marcus half sat, half hung out of the vehicle.
The salsa joint was a cantina on the outskirts of town. Several couples loitered outside, looking like they were waiting to audition for So you can Salsa. The women were decked out with skirts slit to the hip and giant flowers in their hair; the men in polo shirts unbuttoned to navels, their hair slicked-back.
What had he gotten himself into?
Mama Muni ribbed him. “You going be good salsa partner to Katy.”
“That’s the hope,” Marcus said faintly.
As soon as the tuk-tuk slowed, Marcus jumped out and helped the ladies out.
The neighbor channeling Casanova or a Latin Barry Manilow butted in and offered Katy his arm.
“My name is Jorge,” the neighbor said, emphasizing the first syllable like he had a horse’s cough. The last syllable, he pronounced with an “h” sound.
“My name is Katy.”
“Ah, Katerina,” Jorge said, kissing her hand.
Marcus seethed. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and joined the group as they lined up to get in. Salsa music blared from scratchy speakers, and he was sure the fire marshal could close the place down. Overhead lights lit the place starkly, illuminating a sea of heads and frenetic dancing.
Salsa lessons indeed. Everyone was already showing off their dancing skills like they’d graduated PhD from Salsa U. Marcus wanted to sue someone for false advertising, until a woman came out in a red dress, announcing to all that she was that night’s instructor.
Suddenly, all these men who were twirling their women expertly lined up to partner with her.
It was really pathetic.
Marcus lined up about halfway. He knew Katy was watching, but she was too busy with that Jorge to pay Marcus any mind. Besides, if he was going to pay for salsa lessons, he was going to get his money’s worth.
The woman’s name was Mercedes, with a th-sound in the end. Which meant that all night, she called him Marcuth.
“Marcuth,” she lisped. “Put your hand on my wai-th, mi caro, and let the mu-thic take you th-omewhere.”
Marcus tried to concentrate, but he kept seeing Jorge twirling Katy, and that was distracting.
“Attencion, por favor.” Mercedes appeared vexed, saying something in Spanish that Marcus didn’t understand.
“Would you excuse me, please,” he said, leaving her open-mouthed.
At least Marcus now had the basics down. He marched over to Jorge and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. May I have this dance with Katy?”
Jorge ignored him.
“I said—”
“Buzz off, señor,” Jorge said. Not only that, but he was manhandling Katy by the waist.
Why, the jerk.
Katy’s eyes grew wide as Marcus pulled his arm back to punch Jorge. She stepped between them.
“Marcus James,” she hissed.
To Jorge, she said, “Gracias,” and then she dragged Marcus off by the arm. Several feet away, she stopped and confronted him.
“I assume you want to dance still?” She arched an eyebrow. Her disdain hit him like the blast of cold air from an open freezer door.
“Yes,” Marcus muttered.
She stepped into his arms, and he calmed enough to sway her in a stiff circle.
“Were you really going to give him a black eye?” Katy asked.
“Sorry, he was being disrespectful toward you.”
Her eyes registered surprise.
He expelled a deep breath. “Okay, here goes.” He thought back to Mercedes’s lesson and started counting but he was too keyed up. He kept messing up, stepping too soon or stepping on her foot.
“Marcus,” she said, her voice bubbling with laughter. Her face was inches from his. “Relax. Let the music move you.”
“That’s what Mercedes told me.”
Katy pursed her lips. “That’s what Jorge told me.”
Soon, they were getting the hang of salsa. He was even having fun. Katy tossed her lovely hair away from her shoulders and laughed. “You dance well, Marcus.”
“Thanks. I’ve danced at enough fundraisers, so I can dance passably in a pinch.”
Mama Muni and her husband glided past.
“They’re so cute together,” Katy said. “Wouldn’’t it be awesome to have a great marriage like that?”
Marcus froze, her words hitting him like a splash of cold water.
Amanda’s face floated in his consciousness, as well as the little things she used to do in their marriage—a love note on the mirror, drawing funny faces on hard-boiled eggs, massaging his shoulders when he first got home. And it wasn’’t all Amanda. Marcus liked to surprise her with fresh flowers. To come home for lunch unexpectedly.
Katy quailed as she glimpsed Marcus’s face.
His lip curled as he let her go. “I did.”
He backed away and left her on the dance floor.