Face of Love

By SusanLeigh

Tina felt his presence before she actually saw him.

She had been lucky enough to have the seats on the side of the airplane all to herself on the flight from Atlanta. But it seemed her luck had run out during this stopover in Lima. A man was putting his baggage in the overhead compartment preparing to sit down next to her.

Tina took off her earphones and prepared to move to her assigned seat not wanting to give up the view of the Andes that awaited her.

"Lo siento," she said. "I'm afraid I have your seat."

"Have you ever seen the Andes Mountains?" The voice still came from above her head.

"No, this is my first trip to Santiago," she replied.

"Then, by all means, keep the window seat. The view is spectacular," the deep voice said.

"Gracias", she mumbled and returned to looking out the window not wanting to encourage any talkativeness with this stranger. She was tired from the long flight and didn't feel like chitchat.

"My pleasure," he said softly as he sank into the seat beside her.

Maybe it was the deepness of his voice or the soft scent of soap but suddenly Tina was overwhelmed with the absolute maleness of whoever had just sat down. The sensation was so strong it took her breath away.

She finally stole a glimpse of him as he reached to put his briefcase under the seat. Black curly hair…plaid shirt with casual pants…not her type really at all. Tina always avoided dark-eyed, dark hair men-something about them always shouted trouble to her. So why was this man causing such a reaction in her?

He didn't speak again until much later. By then, Tina had regained her composure and closed her eyes listening to her Spanish tapes again.

"Excuse me," he said touching her arm to get her attention. "But the clouds have cleared and you can see the mountains now."

She jumped as if his touch had sent an electric current through her body.

Finally she turned to get a good look at him. Now that was a truly spectacular sight. He smiled shyly at her while running his fingers through his thick black hair-a gesture she found herself wanting to try.

She managed to take a deep breath and actually speak.

"Thanks, I would have hated to miss such beauty," she said hoping he didn't understand enough English to know she was talking about him not the mountains.

"You are studying Spanish, si?" he asked, pointing to her Walkman.

Damn, third finger, left hand, there was a big gold wedding band.

"Si, my father's family is from Cuba and I learned it as a child. But it's been a long time," she left the sentence trailing off as she turned her gaze back to the mountains. Oh, well, he was married. Just as well, she only had a few days in Santiago.

By the time the plane landed, Tina had learned very little about the man. He was engrossed in a book and didn't seem to be aware of the effect he had on her. She was actually glad to get away from him and the tension he caused throughout her body.

He stood next to her at the luggage retrieval carousel. A priest rushed up and greeted him. She reached for her bag and her hand collided with his. She recoiled as if bitten.

"Sorry," he said. "All these black bags look alike."

She stood speechless while he retrieved her bag from the carousel.

Why couldn't she think of anything cute or witty? Why was her mouth so dry that words wouldn't grow there?

"Please tell me if I am bothering you, but do you have a ride to your hotel?" He continued pointing at the priest. "My brother and I would be happy to take you. I assure you that you would be perfectly safe."

She turned toward the priest. Oh Lord! More dark eyes and curly hair. Safe? Did he say "Safe?" Safe from them maybe, but not safe from herself.

"No, thank you," she responded quickly. "I'm afraid it would be out of your way. I'll just take a taxi."

"As you wish," he ducked his head and looked up at her through his thick eyelashes. "Mucho gusto".

She crawled into the back of the taxi, weary from the trip. She handed the driver the address of the small family hotel where she was staying. Although her company paid for expensive hotels, Tina always preferred to stay in out of the way places to see how the people really lived.

That night she fell across her bed, too exhausted to undress.

All night, she had strange dreams of dark eyed men with black curly hair-her father, her cousins, the man on the plane, the priest. They were jumbled all together and chasing her.

***

The sunlight through the window woke her.

She quickly showered and went downstairs for breakfast. But it was so late that she had missed it. Hungry, she grabbed her camera bag and set off to find a nearby café.

Tina wondered why the streets were so quiet until she heard church bells and realized it was Sunday morning. The little church sat back off the street with a flower garden in front-too inviting to pass up. She quickly ducked into the church and sat in the back aware that her jeans and jacket were not proper attire.

The little church glowed with the light of the candles. She knelt and closed her eyes in prayer feeling the first peaceful moment she had had since the plane ride.

But when she opened her eyes, that peace was shattered. There he was, the man on the plane, across the aisle with his family.

Had he seen her? Could she get out before he did? She grabbed her camera bag ready to fly out of there but her movement caught his eye. He turned and their eyes met. His eyes widened with recognition. He nodded and smiled slightly.

Why wouldn't her feet work? Funny, they worked well enough to get her in here. Too late now, the aisle was blocked with the procession of altar boys and priests.

"Okay, Tina, get a grip," she muttered. This was an incredible coincidence but a coincidence just the same.

She hurried to leave before the rest of the congregation. At the door, the priest was greeting the parishioners.

"Mierda, his brother!" She mentally crossed herself quickly for swearing in church. There was no other way out…she would have to speak to him.

The priest smiled at her warmly and took her hand.

"Thank you so much for coming," he greeted her in English.

"Uh, I'm staying nearby and heard the bells, and uh, had no idea", she stumbled through an explanation that sounded lame even to her. Why wouldn't he let go of her hand so she could get out of there?

"What a coincidence", again that soft deep voice. She felt him behind her.

Too embarrassed to even turn around, Tina again tried to explain.

"Yes, isn't it. I was walking from my room to find something to eat when I saw the church and couldn't resist coming in". Okay, that sounded plausible.

"I'm Father Jose Leal", the priest continued to hold her hand. "This is my brother, Francisco, but I believe you met on the plane."

"Well, not officially," Tina gathered her courage and glanced around at him.

He was surrounded by his wife and grown children who were looking at her with intense curiosity.

"I'm Valentina Guerrero de Luna". Goodness, did her real name just really pop out of her mouth? She used Tina Moon professionally. Most of her friends had no idea what her real name was. She put out her hand for him to shake.

"But you are American, verdad?" he asked, taking her hand gently.

"Yes, I'm in Chile for a short while on assignment," she added. In her nervousness, she rattled on, "I'm a journalist…here to interview one of your football stars for my magazine."

Francisco stiffened and dropped her hand. She felt like running away as fast as she could but years of Catholic school kept her from being so rude to a priest.

"We don't get many tourists in this part of Santiago. Please be careful about walking around alone," Father Leal broke the awkward pause. " But you said you were looking for something to eat. My mother is preparing Sunday dinner next door even as we speak. Please join me and my family for dinner -- we would be honored," Father Jose looked to his brother for help.

"Yes, please," Francisco quietly added.

Tina was engulfed by the whole family and swept toward the house. It was futile to protest. Why did they all have to be so, so plain nice?

At the door, she was greeted like royalty by their mother. As she was ushered in to the dining room, Tina felt like she was back in her grandmother's house in Miami -- all of those Cuban aunts and uncles and cousins. A wave of grief swept over her unexpectedly for that side of her family that had been taken from her.

As they sat down, Father Jose introduced her to the rest of the family -- his mother, his sister in law, his nephews, and his niece. Francisco helped his mother serve dinner then sat down directly across from her. She tried to focus her attention on the conversation, which had now switched to rapid Spanish. She could feel him staring at her. His silence and stare totally unsettled her.

Why hadn't she taken the time to put on some make up or at least tame her long curly hair into something resembling a hairdo? Why was she even having these thoughts about a man whose wife was sitting next to her asking her questions about America?

She willed herself to focus on the questions about herself. Yes, she's American. No, she lives in Atlanta, not New York. No, she had never been to Hollywood. Yes, she could speak Spanish but it had been a long time since she spoke it regularly. No, she would only be in Santiago for a few days interviewing the football player then it was back home to Atlanta.

Except Atlanta wasn't really home. Miami was…at least until she was twelve and her mother remarried. Then she had been uprooted to Atlanta and adopted by her stepfather. He was the one who had shortened her name from Valentina to Tina. The Cuban side of her family was cut off. A clean break, they said, would make it easier on both her and her mother.

After dinner, she thanked them all profusely and tried to make her escape. But as she was saying goodbye, Francisco approached.

"It really is not safe for a woman alone in this neighborhood," he said. "Let me walk you back to your hotel." He took her arm and his firm grasp made any argument useless.

She pointed in the right direction and started back toward her room.

Francisco walked in silence for what seemed like forever. Finally he glanced up shyly at her from underneath long black eyelashes and spoke, "how long have you been a journalist?"

"Ever since I got out of college. At first I worked as an editorial assistant at a fashion magazine but then I worked my way up to feature writer at a news magazine," she rattled on, " and I love it. I get to travel…meet new people…" Did he have any idea what effect those eyes had on a woman?

"And your family?' he asked.

"I only have my mother left -- my stepfather died last year and well, my father, he died long ago when I was a child."

"I'm sorry," it was almost a whisper.

"That's okay, it was long ago."

They arrived at the steps of her hotel.

"Thanks again for everything. Your family was so nice to invite me to dinner," she said.

He fumbled in his wallet and took out a business card.

"Please, if you need anything while you are in Santiago, please call me. I would be happy to show you the city," he stumbled through the words as if he wasn't sure he should be saying them.

She took the card and ran up the steps as he added, "It was nice to meet you, Valentina."

Tina closed the door and leaned against it for support. Tears sprang to her eyes. No one had called her Valentina since she was twelve years old.

She looked down at his card. Dr. Francisco Leal, psychologist. Right…she would need her head examined if she called him. He is married…a married man…don't mess with a married man…all this rang through her head as she found her way to her room. Just throw the card away and go ahead with the business you came for. But instead she tucked the card inside her camera case smiling at the thought of those dark eyes and curly hair.

***

The phone rang awakening her early the next morning.

Tina groggily rolled over and fumbled for the phone not yet wanting to wake up. Why in the world would her office be calling her instead of emailing her on her laptop?

"Hello?"

"Valentina, this is Francisco Leal,"

Okay, Tina, breathe. "Yes, I mean, si?"

"If you have no other plans, would you like to join me for lunch this afternoon?" he rushed through the words.

Tina's mind shouted "no, no" but her mouth said, "Yes, I mean, si."

"Can you meet me at the Café Oriente on the Plaza Mayor at two?"

"Si".

Tina arrived at the café a few minutes late. She had debated with herself all morning on the wisdom of meeting him but she couldn't deny that he was the most attractive man she had ever met. She really didn't know what to expect but she had to figure out why he had such an impact on her,

He was sitting outside at a table and rose when he saw her coming toward him.

"I am glad you could come," he said as he held out the chair for her. "I don't usually do this, but…"

"I know I don't usually do this either," she said. She rushed through her words nervously. "I have a very strict policy about married men."

"Married men?" he sounded puzzled.

"Oh, come on. I met your wife and children. They were lovely to me."

His laugh started slowly in his eyes and took its time breaking out from those lips.

"Wife? You thought she was my wife?"

"Oh, please, don't lie to me, Francisco. You don't appear to be that kind of man."

"No, no," he continued to chuckle from behind his hand. "You misunderstood. She is the widow of my other brother, Xavier. Since he died many years ago, I have looked on his children as my own."

"But your wedding ring?" Tina asked.

The dark eyes stopped laughing and turned darker. He seemed to struggle to answer.

"My wife died almost two years ago."

"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry," Tina whispered.

In the silence, Francisco seemed to make up his mind about something.

He looked at Tina and smiled. "Well, I am glad we got that misunderstanding out of the way. I wouldn't want to make you do anything that you would have to confess afterward, especially if you were confessing to my brother."

The small joke broke the ice and they spent almost two hours at lunch talking that small talk that men and women do when they first meet.

When Tina looked at her watch, she was horrified that so much time had passed so quickly. She was almost late for her interview. As she jumped up from the table, Francisco grabbed her wrist.

"I would like to see you again, Valentina," he said. "When can I see you again?"

Tina had trouble answering due to her heart being in her throat.

"Tonight. I'll be free tonight."

"Good, I'll pick you up at eight."

***

The interview with the football player went well considering Tina's mind was not on what she was doing. Inside of her head, she was arguing with herself about the wisdom of going out with Francisco.

One half of her brain chanted, "Trouble, trouble, trouble" while the other half answered, "Go for it, go for it, go for it." The only thing her brain could agree on was that she had not brought a thing feminine to wear.

She wanted something frilly -- not exactly what she had packed for this business trip. She ducked into ladies' shop and found the perfect outfit-a long flowing skirt and lace peasant blouse.

At eight o'clock precisely, the phone in her room rang announcing her visitor.

As Tina walked down the stairs to the lobby, Francisco looked up and his eyes widened.

Tina knew that the outfit had had the desired effect.

He ushered her to his car outside.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have made dinner for you at my home," he said. "Have you ever had homemade gazpacho and paella?"

"My grandmother used to make gazpacho and I loved it," she answered. Oh, Lord help me, the man can cook, too.

"My home is outside of the city. I love it there. It's peaceful and has a view of the ocean," he added.

"Gazpacho and paella don't sound like Chilean dishes to me," Tina commented.

"No, my family is from Spain. My father fled to Chile to escape Franco." He paused, then added, "and we, uh, I lived there myself until five years ago."

Tina caught the pain in his voice and wondered what she was getting herself into.

Francisco's house reflected the man…quiet…understated...magnificent.

There was definitely a woman's touch apparent so this must be the house he had shared with his wife.

Although the dinner was wonderful, the conversation had been forced. Tina sensed a distance in Francisco that had not been there before. She rattled on trying to cover up the large gaps in the conversation. Or maybe she rattled on due to the large amounts of sangria she had consumed to calm her nerves.

After dinner, they retired to the living room for coffee and brandy.

Tina sank into one end of the oversize sofa and sipped her brandy while Francisco busied himself building a fire in the fireplace. The night had turned cold both inside and out.

He turned and sat opposite on the couch.

"Tell me about the Cuban side of your family."

Well, wasn't that just like a psychologist, Tina thought. Get a girl on a couch and they want to talk about your family. But the wine and the brandy had brought her defenses down and she somehow knew she could trust him.

"They had to flee from Castro, like your family did from Franco. My grandfather was a law professor at the University of Havana and my father was in college when they had to get out. It wasn't a good idea to be middle class back then," she said.

"How did your mother and father meet?"

"When my grandparents settled in Miami, the only work my grandfather could find was as an assistant professor teaching Spanish at the University of Miami," Tina was getting sleepier by the second.

"Go on," he said softly.

Tina stifled a yawn. The room was too warm or maybe it was his closeness that was too warm. She was battling sleep and sleep was winning.

"My mother was a bit of a rebel back then. She refused to go to the stuffy all female college in Atlanta that all of her family had attended. She wanted to get far away from Grandmamá and as close to the beach as possible, so she chose the University of Miami."

"I see," he prompted her to go on.

Tina had to admit this man was good at his job. She was doing all the talking and his voice, the wine and the fire were having a hypnotic effect on her. She stretched her legs out on the ottoman and leaned back.

"Well, my grandfather was my mother's Spanish professor. One day, my father came to class. They met and it was love at first sight," Tina's words drifted off as sleep overtook her.

She felt strong hands tucking a blanket around her…hands that brushed the hair from her forehead and lingered on her cheek.

A soft voice said, "Valentina, do you want to wake up and go home?"

"No, Papa, estoy bien," she mumbled in Spanish.

The dreams of dark-eyed men returned but this time it was pleasant dreams of playing with her father on the beach. Dreams of running and playing with her cousins. Dreams of her Uncle Caesar playing guitar at family gatherings.

***

Sometime during the early hours of the morning, Tina awoke startled at the strange surroundings. The embers of the fire provided just enough light for her to see. He was dozing in the chair across from her. Tina felt comforted by his presence. He had been watching over her. She drifted back to sleep.

Later, the feeling of someone stroking her hair awakened her. She opened her eyes and found him sitting on the couch next to her. For a moment, their eyes locked. Tina had the strange sensation that he was seeing all the way down into her soul. The moment grew uncomfortable and she sat up.

"I can't believe I fell asleep like that…way too much sangria. Please excuse me," she said. "What must you think of me?" She tried to straighten her hair and clothes.

"Who is Caesar?" he asked.

"Caesar?"

"Yes, one time during the night, you cried out something like 'no, Caesar, no'. Did he hurt you?"

"No, not me," she responded irritated that this man wanted to know so much about her. "Hey, can't you stop being a psychologist even for a moment?'

"You're right, I'm sorry," he answered. "Come, I have made breakfast for you."

He pulled her up off the couch and led her to the dining room.

"I have made what you Americans call a Spanish omelet even though I have never seen one in Spain," he smiled at her.

Tina was still groggy but tried to keep the conversation light and impersonal. She was definitely not a morning person. She felt grubby after her night on the couch. He had obviously showered, shaved and changed into jeans and a chambray shirt.

"Would you like to go riding with me," Francisco asked unexpectedly. "I often ride on the beach in the mornings. It's so peaceful."

Tina looked down at her clothes.

"Well, I'm not exactly dressed for it," she answered.

He hesitated.

"I believe I can find something for you that is appropriate. Come."

He led her to the master bedroom and pointed to the adjoining bath.

"Shower if you like. Then look in the far right closet," he said. "I'm sure you'll find something there to fit."

Tina showered quickly leaving her hair to dry naturally. She opened the closet and quickly stepped back. His wife's clothes…there they were…probably just like she had left them on the day she died.

At first, she couldn't bring herself to touch them. She grabbed a pair of jeans and boots then closed the door quickly as if she had disturbed a sacred site. From his closet, she took a flannel shirt.

Tina wandered out the door looking for Francisco. He was in the stables saddling the horses.

"How good a rider are you?' he asked as he turned toward her. His eyes looked her up and down but his gaze was unfathomable.

"Not very," she answered. "Better give me the gentlest one you've got."

He led a white horse to her.

"Valentina, meet Tranquilla. She's belongs to my niece," he said.

They led their horses down the embankment to the deserted beach. He helped her up and gave her the reins.

Tranquilla lived up to her name and slowly followed Francisco's horse down the beach. The salt air, the sound of the waves was delightful. But the breeze off the ocean was cold. They meandered down the beach until they came to a small cove. Francisco climbed down off his horse and turned to Tina and helped her down.

"I brought coffee in case you got cold."

By this time, Tina was freezing and her teeth were chattering.

She took the thermos from him and held it to warm her hands. She tried to take off the top but her cold hands clumsily dropped it into the sand.

He turned back to her from tethering the horses and took her hands into his own-rubbing them to bring the warmth back. His touch enflamed more than her hands and Tina could stand it no longer. She took a chance standing up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

The kiss startled him and she heard him quickly take in a breath. His eyes darkened as he looked at her intently for what seemed an eternity. Tina was afraid that she had made a dreadful mistake. Then he leaned toward her and kissed her again. The kiss was tentative at first like it was something new to him. Then he groaned, put his hands on both sides of her head and attacked her mouth with such intensity that her knees buckled.

He stopped just as abruptly. He peered into her eyes still holding her head.

"No, I cannot," he whirled and walked away.

Stunned, Tina's brain had ceased to function. She bent down, picked up the thermos lid and walked over to the edge of the water next to him to rinse it off.

"I'm sorry," he said in a choked voice. "That was a mistake."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. He paused.

"Now who is the psychologist here, you or me?" He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. "Let's head back to the house."

Did Tina imagine it or did he really run his hand down her leg after he boosted her into the saddle. Thankfully the ride back to the house was in silence.

As they led the horses back to the stable, Tina saw that a black car had arrived. Father Jose came out of the house. The surprise of seeing Tina was evident on his face.

"Francisco, I couldn't reach you by phone so I came over. Mario has had a heart attack," he said. "They've taken him to the hospital."

"How bad is he?" Francisco handed Jose the reins.

"It's pretty bad…he's been asking for you," Jose added.

"Please, Jose, take Valentina back to her hotel." Francisco turned to her and said, "I'm sorry" softly before rushing to his car.

After he sped off, Jose helped Tina unsaddle the horses.

He cleared his throat a couple of times before he spoke.

"You know you look amazingly like her," he stated.

"Her?" Tina choked on the word knowing exactly who "her" was.

"Irene, Francisco's wife," he said. "When I saw you with her horse, it was though I was looking at a ghost."

Her horse, her clothes, her house-all of a sudden Tina thought of a thousand reasons that she had to get out of there and quick. Because his eyes looked into her soul, his voice made her weak and his touch burned her skin. Because she mistakenly felt safe with him. Because all this time, she thought he had been looking at her and he had been seeing his dead wife.

She ran back into the house, grabbed her purse and clothes.

Struggling not to cry, she said, "Please take me back now."

The ride back to town passed in awkward silence. Tina struggled with her emotions and the priest was sensitive enough to leave her alone.

"Is Mario another brother of yours?" she asked not really caring about the answer.

"He is one of Francisco's oldest and dearest friends," said the priest. "They worked together during the bad times in the Seventies."

When he pulled up in front of her hotel, Father Jose turned to Tina.

"Forgive me…I see that I have upset you," he said. "I just assumed that you knew about Irene."

Tina shook her head.

"My brother is a very serious man," he continued. "He feels things very deeply but he doesn't often show his feelings."

"You are good for him," he continued. "You are the first woman he has shown an interest in since Irene died. He seems to want to finally rejoin the living."

"I am not Irene." Tina could no longer hold back the tears. She jumped out of the car and ran into the hotel. Finally safe in her room, she threw herself across the bed and the sobs came pouring out.

Later, the phone rang.

Tina rolled over on the bed and stared at it. It continued to ring…five, six, seven, eight times. Now angry, she snatched it out of the cradle.

"Si?"

"Valentina?" That voice.

"No, Francisco, please!", tears choked her and she gently hung up the phone. I cannot, I will not be hurt again, she thought as she jumped up to wash her face. She slammed the bathroom door to protect herself from the phone that had started to ring again and again and again.