Valentine's Day

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I once read somewhere that falling in love with the same person a second time is both confusing and exciting, because you realize you're smitten with a completely different person.

Every day is like this for me with Rafa, and I suspect it's similar for him, as well.

Our second-to-last weekend together falls on Valentine's Day, and I'm eager to soak in every moment. It's Friday, and he'd hurried me out of the office this afternoon, acting all mysterious and adorable.

"Rafa, tell me what we're doing and where we're going." I'm laughing so hard I'm almost peeing my pants, mostly because he's tickling my knee and talking in a funny, accented, growly voice, the one we used to call his Cuban bear  voice. It was always hilarious to us for some reason, probably because there are no bears in Cuba. Clearly, it makes sense only to us.

"Close your eyes, little red riding hood."

I giggle and do, and the Tesla glides along. "Where are we going?"

"Shhh. Put one hand over your eyes. Like that, yes. Don't peek." He squeezes my thigh possessively.

The Tesla rolls to a stop. I clap both hands over my eyes.

"Don't move," Rafa says. After a few moments, I hear the passenger door open and feel him reach for my hand and arm. I allow him to ease me out of the car.

"Get out...slow. Good. Now walk. I won't let you fall."

We gingerly take several steps, and Rafa squeezes my arm.

"Stop. Okay. You can look."

We're standing at the bottom of a staircase leading to a sleek, small jet.

"Rafecito? Where are we going?"

He kisses my temple and slings an arm around my shoulder. "That's the second part of the surprise. Let's go."

Grinning, I bound up the stairs. Once inside the jet's cabin, Rafa points to a camel-colored leather sofa along one wall of the plane.

We settle in, and I throw my arms around him.

"What...? Why?"

It's Valentine's Day. Did you forget?" Rafa asks.

"Silly. I know that." I ruffle his short hair. I'd bought him a book of Pablo Neruda poems and have it wrapped and tucked in my purse. I'm not sure what I expected from him for Valentine's Day—nothing, actually—but a trip away from St. Augustine in a private jet definitely hadn't crossed my mind.

Excited by the thought, I giggle as the plane takes off, and a cabin steward serves champagne and chocolate-covered cherries. Even though I grew up well off, it was nothing like the wealth that Rafa has at his disposal. I've come to the conclusion it's the kind of lifestyle that could corrupt a woman forever.

We're only in the air for a couple of hours when we land.

"It looks like an island." I tap on his leg with my palm. I turn and peer out the window with big eyes. We're obviously somewhere in the Caribbean, judging by the impossibly turquoise water that isn't far from the airstrip.

It's been years since I've taken a proper vacation. Usually my scarce time off is scheduled a few days before or after journalism conventions.

We disembark onto the tarmac where a waiting employee points us to a building.

"I still don't know where we are," I whisper to Rafa, who can't stop grinning.

When the automatic door to the terminal opens, I see the sign: PROVIDENCIALES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.

"Rafa, we're in the Turks and Caicos!" I squeal. Normally I never squeal.

"I know, babe. I know."

The next hour is a blur. Immigration, customs, the caress of humid air on my skin. A limousine and a half-hour drive. As the limo pulls through a resort gate, I whisper the name of the place: Amanyara.

We pull up to an unusual-looking building with a round roof and an impeccably Zen-landscaped exterior with lush hedges and rock formations. I worry for a moment that I haven't anything appropriate to wear, but I remember that Rafa had packed a bag for me before whisking me out of the office at midday.

"Have you been here before?" I ask as we walk inside the lobby, which is decorated in shades of white and tan, with a thatched roof and minimalist furniture.

He shakes his head. "Never."

I don't pay attention as Rafa handles the details of check-in. Instead, I wander around the reception pavilion, looking out the open windows at the vast blue ocean afar.

Rafa waves me over. "Justi. Let's go to our villa."

An efficient-looking man in a crisp white polo shirt and tan pants walks us through the common areas: a stunning infinity pool, an open-air bar in an elegant thatched hut, the beach club, a library... I'm overwhelmed by the simple luxury of it all.

When we arrive at our accommodation, I actually gasp at the graceful, airy beauty of the decor.

The pavilion is perched above a reflecting pool, with a view of the ocean only about twenty feet away. The interior is styled in teak, taupe, and cream hues. But the most stunning thing are the windows—floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides that slide open to allow for oneness with nature. It's at once a private wilderness escape and open to the entire world. The only sound I can hear is the ocean and a few distant birds.

It's the most romantic thing I've ever seen.

I stand on the deck, marveling at the sky and the water while Rafa tips the hotel employee. Rafa walks up and presses his chest to my back, wrapping me in his arms.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he murmurs.

"Look at the water, Rafa. And the sky." I motion toward the horizon with my finger. "The way they reflect each other. They're each a different hue. One blends into the other, and you don't know where the sky ends and the water begins. They're one."

"Like us," he says, taking my hand and gently pulling me to the platform bed in the middle of the room.

With a maddening slowness, Rafa removes my shoes, kisses up my legs, and slides off my lacy black panties. I kneel on the bed, and he moves behind me to unzip my black sheath dress and undo my bra.

The humid air washes over my naked body and makes me feel loose, supple. I undress Rafa, and for several long moments, we kneel next to each other, kissing and caressing.

"This is incredible. Thank you."

He presses me into the bed. "I have another gift."

He rises and opens his suitcase.

"Close your eyes again," he says. I do, then feel his nearness. Something heavy and cool circles my neck.

My hand flutters to the necklace, and I open my eyes.

"I need to look at this." I scoot off the bed and go to the full-length bathroom mirror.

I gape when I see the necklace. It's all diamonds, set and arranged like flowers. Huge diamonds, everywhere, sparkling like a thousand stars.

"Rafa. This is too much." I run my fingers over the diamond flowers.

He stands behind me and cups my breasts. "It's actually a gift for me because I get to look at you being so beautiful, wearing only that."

Rafael leads me back to the bed. We're both sweating from the warm air and from the nearness of each other. Skin slips against skin as if covered in fine oil. Rafa enters me, slowly and with a long exhale.

"I want..." my voice trails off because he feels so amazing inside of me.

"You want?" he murmurs, dipping in and out of me with agonizing slowness.

I'm ablaze all over, and I can only say one word: "You."

He stills while inside of me, looking focused and intense. "All these years, I've never stopped wanting you. And I never will stop," he says, beginning to thrust again as I moan and writhe underneath his body. "Never. I'll want you when I'm old and blind and probably when I'm dead, too."

Rafa nudges my head to one side so he can bite my neck as he picks up the pace. When I gaze out at the blue sea and hear the crashing of waves, I experience a near sensory overload and am reeling from my orgasm.

It's too much. The pleasure is too intense.

"I love looking at your face while I'm inside of you. I feel connected to you and everything when we're together like this," he whispers.

I wrap myself tight around Rafa until he comes, his voice rasping my name over and over.


The next day, we laze in bed, then in the pool. For a couple of hours, I float in the pale blue Caribbean water until I feel my skin scorch and turn pink. I retreat under an umbrella and snag Rafael's book on Cuban politics to read for a while, then snooze. The hours are like a dream, in part because it's so quiet. There are no steel drum tunes, no raucous and drunk vacationers, no jet skis buzzing in the distance.

As far as I can tell, it's me and Rafa and the blue of sky and sea. From my lounge chair, in my dreamy, half-asleep sun haze, I watch him swim and body surf in the ocean and enjoy looking at him as he slices through the soft-looking water with rippling muscles. I love how he moves, the way he dives underwater and pokes his head up and searches for me on shore. When he does this, I grin like a fool and wave at him.

That night, we change out of our bathing suits to eat dinner at the resort's five-star restaurant—except that it isn't inside. The meal is served at a table perched on an ocean cove. Tiki torches flicker and dance as the sun sets in a fiery ball over the ocean.

We're drinking a four-hundred-dollar bottle of Italian Pinot Grigio when Rafa kisses my fingers.

"I've been thinking a lot about the newspaper."

I clear my throat. "Maybe we shouldn't talk business here?"

"This is more than business, though, Justine," he says in a serious voice.

My muscles instinctively tense up. Where is he going with this conversation? I'm not sure I like this.

"Okay."

"After looking at all of the financials of the paper, my recommendation would be to close it. There are...other options, of course. None of the options are ideal, though. I'm sorry. I've turned it around in my head and on paper a million times. I know it's not what you want to hear."

I frown and stare at the white tablecloth in front of me. It feels like the wind's been knocked out of me.

"What are the other options?"

"We could lay people off and sell the building and move into a smaller space."

I make a strangled noise of protest.

"Or we could try to go digital six days a week and deliver the print product on weekends. If we did that, we would still have to sell the building."

I shake my head emphatically. "No. We're a newspaper. Emphasis on paper. We print the news."

The muscles in Rafa's jaw twitch.

"Amor. Justi. I've been analyzing this for weeks now. It's easiest to close. Otherwise, you, we, the newspaper, have to change. We have to attract younger readers. The Times runs cartoons drawn by dead people. It runs TV listings. Who needs TV listings? The Times runs 'Dear Abby.' Who do you know our age who reads Dear Abby?"

I take a long, sullen gulp of my wine. What am I going to do if the paper closes? It can't close. I pick up my water goblet and inspect the contents as if I've never before seen liquid. What about the pensions? The reporting projects? Diana? I'm in panic mode now.

"Hear me out, Justine. Newspapers are doing nothing to go after younger readers as the older readers die off. If the Times is going to survive, it's going to have to change dramatically. I'm sorry. This is why I've been so stressed this week. I've dreaded telling you this news."

"Was this why you brought me here? To soften the blow?"

"No." He sighs and jiggles his leg. "I brought you here to ask if you would consider closing the paper and moving to Miami to live with me."

My mouth drops open.

"What?" I wasn't sure if I heard correctly. I squeeze his hand tight.

"Ow. Um, can you let up on your grip a bit?" He smiles.

"Sorry," I murmur.

"Justi, I want us to be together. I thought it would be easier to close the paper outright and start fresh. Cut all ties with the Times. It could probably turn a profit if we went all-digital or Sunday print only, but wouldn't it be easier for you to not have to worry about it?"

I gulp in a few breaths. This isn't part of the plan. I don't exactly have a plan, other than saving the newspaper. Of all the scenarios I'd worried about during all my sleepless nights, spending forever with Rafa and closing the paper had never entered my mind.

"You don't have to say yes tonight. Think about it for a week. We've got a charity fundraiser in Miami. I want you to go with me. After that, I have a long business trip. I want us to be...resolved...before I leave."

I swallow hard, and there's a squeeze in my stomach.

Kissing my hand, Rafa's voice is gentle. I know he's trying to be kind about the paper's dismal future.

"I also want to show you the condo in Miami. If you don't like it, we can buy something else. Maybe Coral Gables. A house. Whatever you desire in South Florida, I'll make it happen."

I look at the ocean and blink back tears. This is what I've wanted.

Isn't it?

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