Chapter 32

The piercing peal of the doorbell woke Sebastian after midnight. Something terrible must have happened. He stumbled out of bed, barefoot, and hopped downstairs with his pajama shirt slightly opened. In the darkness, he bumped one of his toes into the metal table where the demon-angel stood.

“Maldición!”

The doorbell chimed again.

“I’m coming,” he mumbled, feeling the light switch by the door. Nothing could have prepared him for the face at the other side of the door.

Claudia stood in front of him, trembling under her brown coat and pillbox hat, her nose pink and her hands clutching a small leather purse.

“What happened?”

“May I come in?” she asked.

He pulled her in and closed the door behind her.

“What’s wrong, Claudia?”

She entered the dusky living room and sat on one of his mother’s hideous chairs.

“I’m sorry to come here so late. I know these aren’t visiting hours, but I needed to talk to you.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No. It’s very important.” She looked around. “Your mother?”

“Upstairs. Sleeping.” He sat on the arm of the couch. “So, what is it?”

“Well, I don’t want us to wait any longer for our wedding. I spoke to the seamstress and she can have my dress ready in a week.”

A week? Why did the mention of his wedding irritate him?

“But the invitations?” he said.

“You can print out new ones at the newspaper.”

He scratched his head. “I suppose. But why?”

“I just don’t want to wait any longer. I want to be your wife and …” She looked at the paintings around them, almost in despair. Standing up, she removed her wool coat and took his hand. “I want to … be with you.” She pressed his hand against one of her breasts.

Sebastian’s mouth fell open. Had he understood correctly? Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Claudia behaving like this. Up until now, she had always cut off his advances. This only confirmed what little he knew of women. He might as well give up any attempts to figure them out.

“I thought you wanted to wait until we were married.”

“Yes, I did. But …” She sighed. “What difference does it make?”

Maybe he was dreaming and didn’t know it. It would be the only explanation for this strange turn of events. Either that, or Claudia had lost her sanity. But her cold hand squeezing his own felt too real for a dream. She brought her other hand to his nape and stood on her tiptoes to initiate a kiss, just like she had done in the plaza during New Year’s Eve.

He closed his eyes, from instinct more than anything, because as soon as he felt her lips, another face flashed through his mind. Opening his eyes, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back.

“What is this really about, Claudia? Is it about the tango incident? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She undid the top button of her blouse. “Don’t you find me attractive? Don’t you want to be with me?”

Her fingers fumbled with her buttons, one by one, until he could see her white cotton brassiere. She searched for his mouth again and he kissed her obediently, dutifully—as if kissing her were a chore expected of a responsible fiancé—but his mind was elsewhere, entangled in some complex tango steps with a woman he hadn’t been able to get off his mind for days.