Seduction Beneath the Barcelona Moonlight

I approach X's luxurious black Porsche 918 Spyder, which is parked near the passenger door. He takes a step to the side and then opens the door for me to get in. X looks me up and down without hiding his admiration and then says:



“Wow, you look marvelous. If I had known, I would have dressed up better.”

“Says the man in a suit and tie, holding the door for me,” I comment before brushing my face against his.



I get into the vehicle and wait for X to do the same, avoiding looking toward my building. I smile at him, and even though he's driving, he can't help but steal glances at my legs.



“I have to admit, I was going to complain about the lack of transparency in your dress, but you compensated very well with the length,” X remarks, sliding his hand along my thigh and daring to venture under my dress.

“It's a dinner between friends,” I reminded him, holding his hand, which was beginning to stray towards the lace of my underwear.

“Friends with benefits?” X suggests it with a mischievous tone. His fingers remain persistent, pushing aside my pants and lightly touching my vulva. “You seem quite tense, Doce. I could help you relax…”

“Thank you,” I say, moving his hand away and guiding it back to the car's steering wheel. “I'm fine this way.”

“Always so fragrant,” X says, smelling his fingers.

“You're incorrigible,” I remark with a slight smile.

“They say we become like this around the woman we love,” X states, turning serious, and then focuses on driving again.



I looked at him, surprised. Did I hear that right? X just said he loves me?



***

X parks the car in front of Botafumeiro, one of the most traditional and elegant restaurants in Barcelona. He walks towards my door, helping me out and naturally finding a way to brush his body against mine. X turns to the valet and hands over the keys to his car. The young man's eyes widen as they fixate on the Porsche. Understandably so, that model was rare and of high value anywhere in the world, sought after by millionaire collectors, just like X. The other cars that completed his garage were similarly rare and expensive. This trend extended to many of the decorations he chose for his home, in addition to those he brought with him. X is a collector, a fact demonstrated not just by his cars but by his lifestyle. My question was whether he saw me as a rare and expensive item too, someone he was doing everything to conquer. And once I was in his collection, how long until he looked for a new acquisition? These thoughts swirled in my mind as he led me, his hand interlaced with mine, to our table. X pulls out my chair, and, after I sit, he adjusts my seat, not without a lingering touch on my back. Finally, he takes his seat, drawing the attention of the sommelier who approaches the wine list.



“Would you like a Château Petrus for myself,” X begins, analyzing the list. He smiles at me, then hands the menu to the sommelier, saying, “And an Obikwa Pinotage Cabernet Sauvignon for my companion.”

“An excellent choice, sir,” the sommelier replies before leaving.

“Companion?” I ask, resting my chin on my interlaced hands to better study X.

“What?” X feigns innocence, adjusting his napkin on his lap. “Would you prefer I call you my girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” I repeat, surprised. Then I pick up the available menu and pretend to be engrossed in it. “When did we reach that level?”

“We haven't reached it yet, but I'm hoping that will change by the end of the evening,” X declares, catching my attention.

“X, you said it was just a dinner between friends. I believe you even promised...” I remember placing the menu back in its place. “And as you once told me, you always keep your promises.”

“Touché,” X says, gesturing with his index finger as if it were a sword and then pretending to plunge it into his left chest.

“Dália?” a familiar female voice calls from beside our table.



I lift my gaze toward that long-familiar voice, and X does the same, until we both come face-to-face with Filomena. I turn pale automatically as our eyes meet. Furthermore, I hadn't seen her in a long time, and now it felt as if we were back at the opening of MAMA AFRICA. It was like we'd frozen at that tragic moment. My friend hadn't changed at all, except for her now curlier, blond hair. She was wearing a red, low-cut dress with a daring slit on her right leg—her signature style.



“What a surprise to see you here... together,” Filomena continues, smiling but with acid in her words. “How are you?”

“We're fine,” X responds, with the fakest smile I've ever seen on his face. “And how are you?”

“I'm fine,” Filomena replies curtly. She turns toward me. “How's Carlos, your husband?”

“He's fine,” I reply, my voice almost a whisper due to nervousness.

“Ex-husband,” X corrects, making a point of holding my hand—a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by her eyes, which were now locked on me. He continues, his tone now more serious, “And how's your husband?”

“Dead,” Filomena states, shocking me. “Brain tumor.”

“I'm sorry…” I say, saddened. “I tried to reach out to you…”

“Let's arrange a lunch or something,” Filomena says. She clears her throat and continues, rummaging through her golden bag. “Here's my new card, by the way. I changed my number, as you might have noticed.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking the card and tucking it into my bag. I hand her mine, and she accepts it. “Please, keep mine too. I had to change my cell number recently, but the landline is still the same.”

“Wow, it seems we have a lot to catch up on,” Filomena exclaims, reading my card. She gazes at us and says, “Well, once again, I'm glad to see you both and enjoy your dinner. By the way, the grilled lobster is divine.”



She walks away from our table, leaving a tense atmosphere lingering between us for the rest of the dinner. I couldn't stop thinking that this dinner was a mistake, and I just wanted to go home. X undoubtedly noticed my discomfort and expedited the meal by shortening the menu, so we could leave as soon as possible. We get into the car, and X starts driving through the Barcelona night, a view I used to adore, but now it feels suffocating. I notice the landscape changing to X's neighborhood of mansions, and I look at him seriously.



“X, I want to go to my house; is that okay?”

“I don't think it's the best idea for you to be alone tonight,” X responds, not meeting my eyes.

“I'd prefer it.”

“Dália, if you go home, you'll be thinking about your kids, what your husband is doing, what Filomena is thinking...” X argues, raising his fingers for emphasis with each point. “It's not healthy for you.”

“Do I have another option?” I question.

“Of course you do. You could spend the night awake, stewing over things that are beyond your control, or you could spend the night awake in my arms, making love. Believe me, the latter is much more pleasurable.”

“But it's not the right thing to do.”

“Why isn't it the right thing to do? You don't owe anyone anything anymore, and you're not doing anything different from what your husband is probably doing right now,” X concludes, parking his Porsche in a garage spot. He gets out of the car and walks to my door, opening it and then extending his hand towards me. “Dália, you deserve more, much more. Let me provide that for you.”