Nacho Figueras Presents (9 page)

T
he next two weeks passed in an idyll. Kat slept late every morning, rising after her mother left for work, and by noon the doorbell would ring. Sebastian would be on her doorstep, always with some small gift in his hand. A cup of iced coffee with cream, a paperback book he thought she'd like, a silver-plated pen, a bright red silk scarf because, he told her, he wanted to see it against her wild black curls.

They would eat, often picking their lunch straight from the garden. They would talk, making each other laugh. Sometimes they would take the hidden path down to the beach and walk along the edge of the sea together. When they returned home, Sebastian would translate and read Victoria's journals to Kat while she took notes—amazed at just how deep, sweet, and daring this woman's life had been—and then they would make love.

They were both insatiable. They spent hours poring over each other's bodies, licking and kissing and biting and losing themselves in each other, working themselves into a sweat-slicked haze of passion and pleasure. Kat had never felt so immersed, so splayed open, so greedy. There was so much heat between them. The smallest thing could set her off. The slightest brush of his hand, a quick glance across the table, the way the muscles in his wrist flexed as he handed her the salt, the sound of his laugh…

Afterward, spent and exhausted, Sebastian would doze on her bed while she worked at her desk, incorporating the day's notes into the ever-progressing story she was building. She liked the sound of his deep, even breathing filling the room, liked being able to turn in her chair and see him there, naked and sprawled, the late afternoon sun slanting over his bare chest and face, his dark hair glimmering in the light, his long, black lashes in repose against his high cheekbones, his full lips just slightly parted. She actually ached when she looked at him, he was that beautiful.

She often wondered what her teen self would have thought—seeing a man this mesmeric, this gorgeous, this masculine, in her own bed. Teenage Kat had always gone for the geeks and nerds. The shy boys who couldn't yet meet her eyes, the ones who aroused absolutely no real sexual interest or posed no threat whatsoever. It was so beyond her early imagination that someone this physically perfect could ever want her. Sebastian was like a mirage in her bed, a fever dream of physical perfection. Kat suddenly understood what it was to have a muse.

When it got late enough, Sebastian would rise from the bed, kiss her one last time, and exit before her mother got home. By unspoken agreement, they kept what was happening between themselves, a secret that only made their time together that much more intense, a flame they wanted to shield, not expose. They never talked about it, but there was never any question of Sebastian staying later, or any hint about leaving the bubble of their little world and going back out into the public eye.

After her mother arrived home, Kat would help her make dinner, and they would take it over to the rehab clinic to share with Kat's father. The three of them would eat, surrounded by people in various states of sickness and healing, content to be together as a family again. Her father made progress every day, and it seemed he would be released soon.

Kat and her mother would go home after, and sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea, chatting a little before Corinne went to bed. Kat had told her mother that she was working on a script about Victoria Del Campo, and that Sebastian was helping her translate the journals, but nothing more than that. Sometimes Kat, catching a glimpse of the rosy, satisfied glow of her own face in the mirror, couldn't quite believe that her mother hadn't put two and two together yet. But Corinne, distracted by the demands of her job and the ache of having her husband out of their home, never seemed to suspect anything.

After her mother went to bed, Kat would make herself a pot of coffee, turn on the little lamp on her desk, and write feverishly through the night. She sat in her small pool of buttery light until the gold and pink rays of dawn would creep through the windows, and the birds started to sing, and her back ached, and her eyes started to see double, and she had run out of words. Then she would crawl into her soft, warm bed, still redolent with the sea and musk scent of Sebastian's body, and sleep like the contented dead until she woke up in the early afternoon, and started her day all over again.

Victoria had taken hold of her, and the story of Sebastian's
abuelita
—her life and love—came pouring out onto the page in a torrent. Hearing Sebastian read Victoria's translated words every day left Kat feeling that she
knew
her somehow. That she had a direct line to Victoria's wants and fears, that she understood each loss, each love, her obsessions and passions. Victoria had loved her husband body, heart, and soul, and before he died, her life had been incredibly happy—filled with romance and riches. She had lived a beautiful, easy life with a man who had adored her.

But it was after he died, thrown from a horse that she had warned him he'd never break, that her truest self seemed to emerge. It was as if she had been tempered by the fire of her tragedy. She was left with her two-year-old son, a pack of in-laws who'd never wanted her in the family to begin with, and no idea what was next. But she believed in destiny. And she felt strongly that her destiny did not include spending the rest of her life as the obedient, widowed daughter-in-law to a bunch of people who had only barely tolerated her while her husband was still alive.

After her husband died, Victoria's in-laws made it very clear that they saw her and her child as nothing more than mistakes her late husband had made. So she took the money she had inherited from him—thank God he had left her more than well provided for—and left town. Only bothering to return when it was time for her son to claim the estate as the sole heir after her disagreeable in-laws had passed on.

Kat only wished that she'd had the chance to meet her—to actually know a woman as brave, smart, and fierce as this woman had been—but she was comforted by the fact that she saw her coming back to life on the page, that she could already envision the magnificent movie that was going to arise from a couple dozen pressed roses and the pages of some dusty diaries.

Still, there was only so much that Kat could gather from Victoria's words and Sebastian's stories, and so one day, as she lay naked and entwined with Sebastian on her small bed, feeling the breeze cool the heat of their skin, listening to the sound of his heart beat in his chest, watching the dappled sunlight dance across her bedroom wall, she looked up at him and sighed.

“It's time for me to actually see it,” she said. “I need you to take me to a game.”

T
he day of the match, Sebastian sat on the terrace of the
hacienda
with his mother, having cocktails and discussing La Victoria's chances against the other team. It was an exhibition game and charity dinner, played to raise money for Alejandro's foundation for inner-city youth.

Pilar was already dressed for the event in a long, acid green tunic and jeweled sandals. Alejandro and Georgia had gone ahead to prepare the ponies.

“
Ay
,” said Pilar, squinting at some dark clouds rolling in over the horizon, “do you think it might storm?”

Sebastian took a sip of his martini. “I have found that one of the benefits of this”—he held up his cast—“is that I do not have to follow the weather report any longer.”

“It's still your team,
pibe
. Even if you're not playing.”

He shrugged. “They seem to be doing just fine without me.”

His mother lifted an eyebrow. “
¿Celoso?
”

He snorted. “No, I'm not jealous. I'm rather enjoying the break, actually.”

She turned her sharp green eyes upon him. “La Victoria suffers when you're not on the pitch,
hijo
.”

He shrugged. “I'm sure they don't even know I'm gone.”

“You're the best player they have, Sebastian, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He looked away, not comfortable with the line of conversation. “Now you sound like
Papá
. Besides, I've been keeping myself busy with other projects.”

“
Sí
,” she said meaningfully. “I've scarcely seen you these past few weeks.”

He smiled and took another drink. “Apparently there is a whole world out there that is not polo,
Mamá
.”

She pursed her lips. “So which car should we take to the match,
hijo
? Mine or yours or should we call the driver?”

His heart beat a bit faster. He was surprised by the sudden urge to tell her, to come clean, to share how he was feeling. He wanted his mother to know about Kat. “
Lo siento, Mamá.
I'm afraid we'll have to go separately. I must pick up a friend.”

She arched an eyebrow. “A friend?”

“The filmmaker I told you about. Corinne's daughter.”

She grimaced. “Corinne's daughter? Oh no, Sebastian. What are you thinking?”

“What do you mean?”

“I absolutely forbid you to date that girl. It's out of the question.”

He felt himself go cold and still. “I am a grown man,
Mamá
. I hardly think you can tell me who I can or cannot date.”

She shook her head. “Sebastian, Corinne has worked for us for almost five years now. I would not like to lose her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am saying I do not want our housekeeper to quit because my son has toyed with her daughter's heart.”

“And who says that I'm doing that?”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “When have you not done that?”

He shook his head. “It's not that way,
Mamá
.”

“Oh? What way is it then?”

He felt himself flush. Leave it to his mother to make him feel ten years old all over again. “It's…different,” he said.

“You like her.” It was not a question.

“
Sí.
She's smart. And funny.”

His mother's eyes slightly widened. “I do not think I have ever heard you describe a woman in quite that way before.”

He buried his face into his martini glass. “I think you'll like her, too.”

Pilar slowly nodded, and then took sip of her gin and tonic. “Well, we will see. But if I lose my housekeeper, it will be you who will be making the beds,
hijo
.”

K
at had been to a lot of Hollywood events—parties, dinners, award shows, fund-raisers—and thought that she had pretty much seen the apex of glam and luxury. She was used to gift bags and haute couture, she'd seen life-sized polar bears carved out of ice (Endangered Wildlife Fund) and A-list movie stars arguing over who would take home the floral centerpieces at the end of the night (apparently, Julia and Reese both really liked orchids), but this, she thought, as she and Sebastian zoomed up the long, sun-dappled roadway towards the polo match, might just eclipse them all.

“This is a private estate?” she said as a perfectly manicured polo field and the huge white tent abutting it loomed into view. “These people actually have their own playing field?”

Sebastian shrugged. “A polo field is just ten acres. They have plenty of room.”

“
Just
ten acres?” spluttered Kat. “Do they even play?”

“The husband is an enthusiast.”

“So buy a commemorative T-shirt, then. Who needs an entire polo field?”

Sebastian smiled at her. “Everyone is allowed their hobbies, Katarina.”

“Some hobby,” muttered Kat as Sebastian pulled up onto the circular driveway and tossed the keys to the valet who magically appeared at his car door.

Kat smoothed her dress as she and Sebastian walked toward a line of model-handsome men, all clad in the same uniform of head-to-toe white. They stood at attention, bearing silver trays with flutes of pink champagne. Seb expertly scooped up two glasses and handed one to Kat without breaking stride.

Kat had agonized a bit over what to wear, but finally decided on an ankle-length white cotton sundress and flat sandals. Sebastian had warned her that it would be a rookie mistake to wear a fancy hat—that was horse racing, not polo—and so she just piled up her curls on top of her head and slipped on an enormous pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Looking around at what the rest of the women were wearing, she felt like she'd made a fairly solid choice. All the women drifted around in a sea of pale, billowing, expertly draped fabric, their long, blown-out hair streaming behind them. The younger girls were mainly in short, loose tunics and wedge heels, showing off their tanned and toned legs. And the more mature women tended toward pastel kaftans and floor-length, shoulder-baring sundresses. They all looked cool and casual and nonchalant, even as they were surrounded by the most unimaginable luxury.

Kat glanced over at Sebastian and felt a little thrill of appreciation. The men in attendance looked sharp in their brightly colored pants, striped button-down shirts, and white belts and shoes. But Sebastian was wearing a simple, untucked pale blue linen shirt—open just deeply enough to see a fair-sized triangle of his muscular golden chest—and loose white jeans with light brown loafers. He looked as if he had just wandered off the beach, stumbled upon the party, and decided to stay on a casual whim.

He looked better than any man there, Kat thought, feeling her cheeks flush.

Sebastian took her by the hand and led her into the tent. They weaved through dozens of round white-linen–draped tables set with gleaming china, crystal, and flatware. In the center of every table were silver vases overflowing with soft pink roses and peonies. Glittering chandeliers hung from the roof of the tent, and at the front, in a place of honor, was a life-sized statue of a horse made entirely out of red roses.

There were signs of the various sponsors of the event—the Veuve Clicquot was flowing, a black Bugatti Veyron was parked on the grass in front of the bar (Sebastian whistled when he saw it. “Fastest car in the world,” he said, trailing his finger admiringly over the hood), a display of museum-quality Piaget jewelry was arranged on pedestals up front, as young models—tall, thin, beautiful waifs all wearing white goddess gowns—drifted among the guests, sporting some of the more intricate and costly pieces around their long necks and seemingly only allowed to say, “Price upon request,” in answer to any questions.

Kat goggled at the casual opulence as Sebastian led her through the tent. Heading for the field, they passed a clutch of children, giggling and wielding miniature wooden polo mallets. They were wearing shrunken versions of their parents' outfits—tiny seersucker blazers and flowy sundresses—and they made a beeline for the kids' tent, where there were pony rides, a magician, and multiple crafts set up to entertain them.

A bevy of waiters and cooks darted around, offering canapés and expertly preparing a traditional Argentine barbecue for the post-match dinner. In the corner, a sculpted young blonde with a mohawk spun records at her DJ station.

“So this is for your brother's charity? How much do tickets cost anyway?”

Sebastian whistled for a moment, acting as if he was not going to answer.

“Sebastian?” pressed Kat.

“Ten thousand dollars,” Sebastian said quickly. “
Mira
, isn't that Donna Karan?”

“Ten thousand dollars?” yelped Kat. “Did you actually pay that?”

“It's for charity,” said Sebastian. “And anyway, you said you needed to see a game.”

Kat shook her head. “You could have just taken me to a practice.”

Sebastian tugged at his ear for a moment.

He's nervous
, Kat realized.

“I want you to meet my mother,” he said.

Kat stopped and dropped her hand out of his. “Your mother is here?” she gasped.

“Well, of course,” said Sebastian. “She comes to every game.”

“Sebastian—”

“Don't worry,” said Sebastian, cutting her off. “She only knows that we're working on the script together, that we're friends, but nothing more. It won't be a big deal at all. And just think, you can ask her questions about Victoria. They were very close.”

Kat frowned. “I don't know…”

Sebastian took her hand again and raised it to his mouth. One quick, warm kiss pressed upon her skin, and Kat suddenly felt giddy.

“Don't worry,
linda
,” he said. “She'll love you.”

Together they looked for the reserved seats marked “Del Campo” alongside the field. Pushing through the crowd, Kat couldn't help noticing the way that almost every woman's eyes widened and then intently tracked Sebastian as they passed. As one tanned and toned socialite after another shot him hungry looks, Kat moved just a bit closer, taking his arm.

“Ah,
Mamá
. Good,” said Sebastian as they reached front row center, just a few yards behind the blue sideboards lining the field. Kat quickly dropped her hand away from Sebastian's arm.

An elegant older woman with eyes the same color as Sebastian's, wearing a long green kaftan and a rope of sparkling dark blue sapphires, stood up to greet them.

Kat smiled and felt vaguely discombobulated because she recognized the necklace as being a piece she had touched while cleaning.

“Hello,
hijo
,” Pilar said as she kissed Sebastian.

The woman swept Kat with a curious, but not exactly unfriendly, look. Kat felt a little shock of worry. Even if Sebastian's mother didn't
know
there was something going on between Kat and her son, she obviously suspected it.

“This is Katarina Parker,
Mamá
,” he said. “Katarina, this is
mi mamá
. Pilar Del Campo.”

“Please, just call me Kat, Mrs. Del Campo. So nice to meet you.”

Sebastian's mother took Kat's hand between her own and smiled. “And you must call me Pilar. Your mother has helped us out for many years now. She is very proud of you. Tell me,” she said, patting Kat's hand before releasing it, “will your father be home soon?”

“Yes, he's doing much better. It should any time now.”

“Shall we sit?” said Sebastian. “I believe the match is about to start.”

As they settled into their seats, a short, pretty, sandy-haired woman wearing medical scrubs and carrying a fat little baby wearing a tiny polo jersey hurried over and flopped down next to Pilar.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “the nanny got a migraine right after we got here. I've been trying to check horses and keep Tomás busy at the same time. I finally had to give up and let the other vet take over.”

“This is my sister-in-law, Georgia,” said Sebastian. “Georgia, this is my friend Katarina.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Kat.

Georgia looked a little surprised, but smiled warmly. She and the baby had the same wide hazel eyes and sprinkle of freckles across their noses. “Nice to meet you, too,” she said.

Kat couldn't help noticing the quick questioning look Georgia shot at Pilar, who answered with a slight shrug.

“
Dame el bebé
,” said Pilar as she pulled her curly-haired grandson into her lap. He immediately grabbed her sapphires and began to happily suck on the rope of jewels.

“I didn't have time to change,” said Georgia, attempting to smooth down her hair. “I'm going to have to wear the scrubs for the whole game.”

Pilar patted her daughter-in-law's hand. “You're working,
niña
. You're just as you should be.”

As the announcer began calling the crowd to their seats, Kat looked over at the next row and then did a double take when she saw a shockingly familiar woman wearing a lilac-colored dress. “Whoa. Is that Liberty Smith?” she asked Sebastian.

Sebastian craned his neck to see. “Ah,
sí
, look at that. What do you know? I guess America's Sweetheart is a polo fan.”

“
Que linda
,” murmured Pilar.

“Oh,” said Georgia, “I loved her in that movie where she met that man on the train, and then chased him through Tiffany's.”

“Do you know her?” Sebastian asked Kat.

She shook her head. “No. I mean, I've been to a few events where she showed up, but I've never talked to her or anything. She's always got a bodyguard the size of a Buick keeping the little people away.”

Sebastian laughed. “I don't know what's all that special about her. You're much more beautiful,
Katarina
.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “She's one of the biggest stars in the world. Get her attached to a project, and no problem getting it made.”

“
Sí
,” interjected Pilar, “that's because her husband over there is worth thirty-eight billion dollars. He finances anything she wants to do.”

Georgia turned to her mother-in-law, looking shocked. “Pilar, how in the world do you know that?”

Pilar shrugged. “My dentist has magazines.”

They gave their attention to the field and stood up for the National Anthem. After the last note sounded, the players burst onto the field, entering on their ponies as the announcer introduced them by name.

Sebastian's brother certainly was handsome, thought Kat, as she watched Alejandro gallop by, the shoes on his white pony sparking silver in the Florida sun. But he looked rather stern and humorless, she mused. From what she could see, his face lacked Sebastian's merry sweetness and mischief.

Two of the other teammates on La Victoria were almost equally impressive on their horses as Alejandro—a dapper older man with a mustache, who was introduced as Lord Henderson, and a younger man, broad-shouldered and auburn-haired, with a wide and easy grin, named Rory Weymouth. The fourth man, though—Mark Stone—seemed unsure of himself on his shining black pony. He was young, and awkwardly handsome, and obviously just happy to be on the field, but always a bit behind his teammates and tugging at his reins as if he couldn't quite make the horse do what he wanted.

“Oh, come on,” muttered Sebastian, watching Stone lurch around the field, “Stone is my replacement? What does he know about ponies? He's a computer nerd.”

“
Shhh
,” hissed Pilar. “He is the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company, and this is just an exhibition game.”

“He gave a very generous donation to the foundation,” whispered Georgia.

Sebastian snorted. “So he bought his way onto the field.”

Pilar rolled her eyes. “At least he has two working arms.”

“And he's going to use both of them to screw this up.”

Kat looked at him. She seemed amused. “You can't stand it, can you?”

He shook his head. “I am merely worried for the sake of the team,” he said primly.

She laughed. “Why, Sebastian Del Campo, I do believe you're jealous.”

He frowned. “You are the second person to accuse me of that today, Katarina.”

“I was the first,” murmured Pilar, not taking her eyes off the field.

Kat laughed again.

Seb waved his hand in the air, frustrated. “That
choto
is riding my favorite pony!”

Kat had been around polo all her life, in the sense that it was not to be escaped in Wellington. There were always ads and billboards announcing the next match, idle chatter about it in every line in every store, the kids of grooms and estate workers discussing it with awe and appreciation at school. She knew the basics of the game through sheer osmosis—in her mind, it was pretty much soccer on horseback with a smaller ball and no goalie.

But even though she had been surrounded by it, she had never felt part of it. Her mother had not been working for the Del Campos when she was growing up. The children of the families who came to play for the season didn't attend her public school. And if Kat thought about polo at all, it was only, quite literally, in passing. A trip to the mall, when she would walk by a group of Argentine girls her own age, as glossy and well groomed as the ponies they rode, or once or twice, a party with Camelia, who had an after-school job at a barn, and would occasionally get invited to some of the lower-key events. Kat trailed along to a couple of horsey parties and stood on the edge of the room, feeling underdressed and ignored. It was Us versus Them, Rich versus Poor, Townies versus Tourists.