Chapter 19

I could have danced all night. I laugh as the words from My Fair Lady involuntarily erupt from me while I’m getting ready for bed. It’s true, though. I enjoy dancing, which I didn’t expect, certainly not as much as I do. The lessons have been great, but tonight was something else, and I can see why, regardless of country or culture, dancing is a worldwide language. There’s something about moving your body to a rhythm that speaks at a soul level. I pull my T-shirt over my head.

I sing the second line, the words dying on my lips as I come to a halt in front of the mirror. Am I spreading my wings? Doing things I’ve never done before? Since coming to Spain, I’ve stood up to my agent, I’m learning Spanish, and how to dance—with a guy.

With. A. Guy.

The words spring to the front of my mind. I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I like it... a lot. Is that weird? It doesn't feel weird to me. Florencio made a joke about kissing tonight. It has to be a joke, right? Like the joke he made the first time I met him about fucking him. I know Florencio is flirty and likes his fun, and doesn’t take life too seriously, so it was most certainly a joke.

But . . . would I kiss him?

I wonder what it would feel like to have his lips on mine. Would they be soft? Would they be warm and wet, or cold and dry? I’ve certainly not thought about kissing anyone in as much detail before.

I laugh at the thought of it. I know it’s not likely to happen. A small voice pipes up in my head. I wish it would .

A warmth spreads through me, along with a tingling sensation.

Yes, I would kiss him!

It certainly fits in with the things I’ve never done before.

I look at myself in the mirror, wondering whether I look any different now I’ve had this realisation. I can’t see anything different. Good. Then maybe he won’t notice tomorrow when I see him. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep my cool, at least on the outside. Inside I might be a wreck, as my stomach is already starting to churn.

I keep to myself for most of the morning, primarily working on my Spanish.

I definitely wasn’t working out how to say, “I know you were joking, but yes, I would like to kiss you . ” Well, maybe I was, but there’s actually no way I’d say it, in English or Spanish.

I’ve also been working on my idea. After checking my notes on my laptop, it’s time to put my plan to Estrella. I’m really excited at the prospect of doing this—okay, a large part of the excitement is the research, but I think it would be really popular. I just hope she agrees. I get my opportunity on the terrace after lunch. Florencio and Constantin are there. I haven’t told them of my plans either, as I want it to be a surprise.

“Estrella, has anyone ever written your biography?”

She turns her head and regards me.

“Why would anyone want to do that?”

“You’ve led an interesting life, have so many stories to tell, and met every star imaginable. People would love to know more about that.”

“My dear, you are sweet, but no one cares enough anymore. Who would care about me? In this modern world, no one cares enough about anyone anymore, do they? No one cares enough to come to see me now I’m dying.”

“But—” Florencio starts to speak but Estrella cuts in.

“Hush, child. Did you come because you wanted to? No, you came because you were sent. Your father didn’t care enough to come himself. He only sent you to make sure I haven’t spent his inheritance or left it to a dogs’ home.”

She pauses and Florencio frowns.

“Don’t look so glum, child. I’m not blaming you. I pity you. You’re young and who cares enough about you? After all, you were the one they could spare.”

Florencio drops his eyes as she turns her attention to me.

“What about you? Who cares enough about you?”

I stutter under her scrutiny. “My agent?” Though, after our last few conversations, I’m not sure about that.

“Pfft, someone who makes money from you. Who else?”

“My family, I guess.” That sounds lame, even to my ears.

“That tells me everything. Where is your passion, your drive? It is passion and love that make us care enough. ”

I wither under her gaze. She turns to Constantin.

“Only Constantin had the right idea, yet that, too, is an illusion. Valery was the lucky one. He had you who cared enough about him. Sadly, you don’t care enough about yourself.”

“What do you mean?” His face darkens.

“You’ve been working every day for the last ten years, living someone else’s dream. Was it worth it? Was it worth giving up your own dream for someone else’s?”

Constantin looks hurt, almost like he’d been punched. “How can you say that?”

“Oh, it’s noble. You get full marks for being noble, but that in itself is tragic. By living someone else’s dream, you’re forgetting to live your own. It’s a waste.”

He looks like he’s about to say something.

“Don’t look so angry. You only feel that way because you know it’s true. You’re just afraid to do anything about it. You’ve forgotten what living is.”

We all sit in stunned silence. I was not expecting that outburst, and of course, it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”

“Why are you apologising?”

I don’t really know. Probably for causing her reaction, which has affected the others. Of course I don’t say all that. My natural shyness springs forward to take over, and I stumble over my words.

“I . . . I’m sorry?—”

“Do you apologise just for existing?” she says, her voice softer than it had been during her tirade.

I close my mouth, lost for words. She has a point, a very big one.

I need to say something to defend myself. Though for a moment I can’t think how. I begin to speak but she starts again .

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’m sorry,’ then I’m seriously going to reconsider allowing you to stay here anymore.”

What? My stomach plummets. Does she really mean it? I think everyone could hear my jaw hit the floor. But when I look at her again, she’s smiling. She said it precisely to stop me from apologising, which I absolutely was going to do. I don’t even notice it. It’s like a verbal tic. Relief washes through me that I’m not going to be thrown out . . . Well, not today, anyway.

I take a deep breath and try to manifest some inner Estrella. “You haven’t answered my question? Has anyone written your biography?”

She nods an acknowledgement that feels like approval and answers.

“No, they haven’t. At least, not that I’m aware of or have authorised.”

I knew this. Or, well, from my research, I was pretty certain that one hadn’t been published so far. But I don’t know whether there was a project that had been started, or if rights had already been given.

“Can I write one please?”

“Why?” Her answer is simple, but for some reason, I don’t think she means it as a simple question.

“Biographies are hugely popular. Everyone likes to snoop into someone else’s life. Not only will people get to hear about your incredible life, but they’ll get an insight into the lives of all the stars you’ve met as well.”

“Yes, you’ve told me that. Now tell me why you want to write it.”

I blink at her. I feel excited about writing it, but she wants to know why. Can I put it into words? I chuckle inwardly, that I’ll probably be all right as long as I don’t apologise. I get off the lounger, finding it easier if I’m moving .

“Since I started listening to the stories you tell us, I’ve been fascinated by the life you’ve led. Your career has spanned many decades and you’ve met so many people. I’ve always had an interest in the stars, and to hear about them from your perspective would be really special for me. When I discovered your room of photographs...” I pause, catching myself about to apologise for being in a room I might not have been allowed to be in. Then I remembered that this was all an assumption, and I hadn’t been told that. I swallow and start again, remembering how it made me feel instead.

“When I was in the room surrounded by all those pictures, I was transported to another time, another age. I could almost hear them talking, their conversations, a whispered snippet of gossip, the laughter, the good times as well as the bad. I wanted to stay in there for a while ... with those stars, with you. I’d like to bring that to the readers.” I stop, panting slightly with the need to draw breath. My heart beats fast as I await her verdict.

“I knew there was some passion in there somewhere,” she says, and I relax a little, still unsure what she thinks. But then she smiles.

“If you can create that, then I say yes, you can.”

“Thank you so much.” My knees go weak with relief, and I lean against the balustrade for support.

“Good. I’ll have my lawyer draw up a contract,” she says, and I remember the legal side needs to be dealt with. Heaven knows what Helen will think, but I don’t care.

“It will be amazing!” Florencio jumps off his lounger and I’m drawn into a big hug, which takes me by surprise. I enjoy being enveloped in his arms after the emotions of the last few minutes and lean into it, hugging him back.