The Love of a Latino (23 page)

She heard him groan more in
frustration than in anger. Slowly, she began to increase her rhythm and felt
pure satisfaction when his head fell back against the sofa in pleasure, his
passion filled eyes scorching her skin. Lowering her head to his ear, she
whispered “Do you want me, Raphael? Do you need me?”

“
Dios, sí
, I need you
Dahlia!” He growled into her hair.

Satisfied, she stilled above
him. Climbing off, she reached for her top next to him and put in on while he
sat there, a totally confused look on his face.

“Good, Raphael.” She stated.
Removing her wedding ring she tossed it at him and said, “Because you will
never have me again.”

He still didn’t move, just
continued to stare at her as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. If she
wasn’t so angry, she would have actually smiled at the look on his face.

“You think you can have an
affair, then just kiss me and everything will be alright? Well, think again,
Raphael. I am not the same naïve girl I was ten months ago. You coming here
saved me a trip to New York. I want a divorce.”  Speech concluded she turned to
leave but turned around again. For good measure she added, “While you are
thinking about that, you should also think about where I learned the things I
just did, or better yet…from whom!”

Without hanging around to
witness his reaction she rushed to the door, yanked it open and stopped dead in
her tracks when she saw the woman standing on the other side with the little
girl tucked on her hips. Dahlia’s heart did a double take when she realized
just who the woman was. Constance Martinez.

****

Some people believed that it
was not possible for a man to love as strong as woman. Some people believed
that it was not possible for a man to hurt as easily as a woman. Some people
were dead wrong. Dahlia’s last words were scorching a painful trail through his
heart. Had she really been with someone else? Did she allow another man the
pleasures of her body? The way she practically had him begging was something
his
Dahlia
did not know how to do. His wife had actually taken on the role of
seductress.

He erupted from the chair,
all hint of passion gone. Hurt over spilled into anger and like a raging
tornado he flew toward her, prepared to get answers. She would tell him the
name of this man and when Rafe found him he would break every bone in his body.
He would gladly kill the bastard that dared touch Dahlia. She belonged to him, she
was his wife. Why would she let
another
man touch her body?
Hell,
did she enjoy it? Had he pleasured her?

Paying no heed to Constance
and Genevieve at the door, he snatched Dahlia’s hand roughly, spinning her to
do battle. “Who is he, Dahlia?” Fury made his already thick accent even more
difficult to understand.

Confusion at his sudden
ambush, she asked, “What?”

Shaking her a little, he
demanded, “Your lover, what is his name?” Raphael couldn’t
believe
his
wife had a lover! The news was killing him inside.

“Leave me alone, Raphael. You
are not my boss. I don’t have to tell you
anything.”
  She bellowed at
him, trying to steal her hand from his iron like grip.

Her refusal to identify her
lover intensified his already burning rage. Oh, he was going to do some damage.
“Dahlia, you
do not
want to play with me right now. You will tell me his
name! Are you scared that I will
kill
him and he cannot pleasure you any
longer? Did you enjoy yourself
that much
while you were in his arms?
What is his name?” He raged, applying a little pressure to the hand he was
holding.

“Rafe, stop it!” Constance
shouted from across the room where she had settled herself after she entered.

“Stay out of this, Constance.
This is between me and my wife.” Rafe warned, oblivious of the emotions
flashing across the woman’s face.

“Rafe, listen to me,
por
favor.
You are angry, but you do not want to do something you will regret.
Let her go.”  Rafe was shaken by the fear that sounded in her voice. Snapping
around to look at her, he noticed that same fear plaguing her features.
¡Dios!
What was the matter with him?  He should know better than to let his temper get
the better of him, especially in front of Constance. She had already been
through enough.

Dahlia grabbing at his
momentary lack of concentration, yanked at her arm in an effort to free
herself. Unprepared for that, Rafe reacted by tightening his hold to keep her
from falling. Two things happened then. Dahlia cried out in agony with the
force of his grip and Constance rushed him from behind, her fist pummeling into
his broad back. “Let her go. Let her go.
¡Eres un demonio!”
The older
woman cried with panicked rage.

Releasing Dahlia, he circled
and grabbed at Constance’s flaying arm, which had been abusing his back just a
few seconds before. Trying to get them under control, he glimpsed at her face.
It was only then he saw the look in her eyes. Her body was here, but her mind
was back in Spain. She wasn’t seeing him, she was seeing Felipé.

“Constance, todo está bien.
Soy yo, Rafe. No voy a hacerle daño, lo prometo. Por favor, cálmate."
He said firmly, while lightly shaking her, hoping to
bring her back from that painful place.

Still, she continued to
struggle in his arms, her battle with her inner demons stronger than her will
to fight. Unable to subdue her, he dragged her against his chest as he
continued to whisper to her in his native tongue. Words of comfort filtered
out. Promises to protect her, he offered, hoping to sooth her troubled soul.
Gradually, even though she still trembled in his arms, her sobs subsided, her
breathing returning to normal.

Constance had never reacted
this way before, but Raphael was aware of her past. He knew why she reacted
this way to his anger. Bone chilling hatred mounted inside him. If ever saw
that man come near her again, Rafe would kill him. No one should have to live
like this. To be consumed by fear constantly was a living nightmare. Completely
engrossed in comforting Constance, Rafe had almost forgotten Dahlia standing
behind him. At the sound of another broken sob, this time from her direction,
he turned to face his wife, with Constance still wrapped in his embrace.

¡Dios!
Two tearful women!
Papá
had never prepared him
for this. But it was the way Dahlia was looking at him… at them, that alarmed
him. He told her once that she wore her emotions on her face and right now he
could see what she was thinking. She was assuming the worst.

****

This could not be happening.
Her husband was not standing there, comforting his lover while she looked on.
The way in which he held the woman spoke volumes.
He loved her.
Her
husband was in love with another woman. If she thought she was suffering
before, she was badly mistaken. This new revelation was eating away at her
inside. It was almost too much to absorb.

His eyes clashed with hers
when the first dry sob escaped. At first, he looked unsure but when the second
sob broke free, he released the woman and came toward her.

When his arms stole out to
touch her, she shrunk away from him. “Don’t touch me!” She hissed, jealousy
hammering at her already fragile heart.

Eyes brimming with unshed
tears she accused in a deadly controlled voice. “You brought her here? How
could you, Raphael? How could you bring her
here?
You demand to know who
my lover is, yet you bring yours here!
”
At the mention of her lover
something flashed in his eyes, but she didn’t care. Now she knew that it was
that Cavos pride that got him to act so out of character, it was not because he
cared for her.

“Amor,
allow me to explain…” But she couldn’t listen to
this. She wouldn’t listen to him telling her how much he loved this woman. He
had brought this woman here, to the place where their story had begun. That was
enough to crush her.

For a moment, down on the
beach she had almost believed that he had come for her. That he had come to
take her back home because he was missing her as much as she missed him. How
stupid could she possibly be? Why would her husband miss her when he had a
woman like Constance in his life, in his bed? 

He attempted once again to
embrace her, but this time she violently slapped his hand away before she
exploded, “I hate you, Raphael. Do you hear me? I hate you. The sooner I get a
divorce, the better!”

A shaken voice from across
the room finally interrupted the mounting confrontation. “No, No.
Please,
do not speak of divorce. None of this is what it seems.”

Squaring her shoulders,
Dahlia confronted her rival. If she was going down, she would go down fighting.
“It seems as if
my
husband has brought his lover and her child on
vacation. Isn’t that what it is?”

 It was the first time she
looked at Constance. Immediately, a sense of self-doubt consumed her. This
woman wasn’t just beautiful.  She was magnificent. Even in her disheveled
state, there was nothing to complain about. The body hugging jeans kissed her
curvaceous figure, her long thick, straight black hair hung loose down her
back. Perfectly shaped lips were emphasized by a straight nose. Hazel blue
eyes, shaded by thick black lashes stared back at her. How could she possibly
compare to this woman? This was the type of woman she always envisioned Raphael
Cavos with. She didn’t belong with a man like him.

Unable to hold the woman’s
gaze, Dahlia’s eyes travelled the length of the room looking for the little
girl, but she wasn’t there. Where did she go? She had totally forgotten about
the little girl that Constance was carrying. She prayed that she didn’t scare
her; that was the last thing she wanted.

Once again Constance spoke,
this time her voice a little more controlled, “Genevieve knows what needs to be
done when adults are conversing. She has gone into the other room. To answer
your earlier question, the answer is no.”

Dahlia stood her ground. If
this was the end of her marriage then she would say all that she had to say or
in this case ask. “Is she Raphael’s daughter?”

Constance, despite her
earlier hysterics, chuckled lightly. “No, Genevieve belongs to my husband.”

Her husband? This woman was
married? Oh God! How worse was this going to get.

“I can tell you are confused.
If you will allow me, Dahlia, I will explain.” Constance requested of her.

Dahlia wanted answers, but
she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for what this woman would say. “You have
ten minutes. After that I am out of that door. Then you and Raphael can walk
off into the sunset together.” She cracked despite the pain in her chest.

“Thank you, but I will not be
walking off into the sunset with anyone.”

Addressing Raphael, Constance
said. “You did not lie to me, Rafe, she is very beautiful.” Looking at Dahlia
she continued. “Rafe has advised me that you have been made aware of our living
situation.”

Dahlia stiffened, but she was
not going to back down. It was Constance Rafe had called earlier. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, let me be the first to
assure you. Rafe and I are not lovers, have never been, and never will be.”

“So why are you living with
him?” She dared the woman to deny it.

“I was not living
with
him, I was living
by
him. Simply put, I was staying at Rafe’s house, but
we slept in different rooms.” Did she actually expect Dahlia to believe such a
ridiculous explanation?

“
Right, I see
and you
are not standing here. I am imagining all this; just as I imagined the pictures
of the pair of you all over the internet.” Her response dripped with sarcasm as
she waved her hand to emphasize her point.

Constance drew nearer to her.
Her swollen eyes reflected a deep inner pain. “As I said, I will explain, but
first I wish to show you something.”

When Constance began to undo
her blouse a feeling of uncertainty surrounded Dahlia, but at the first glimpse
of the exposed skin she gasped. Beginning at the upper left corner of
Constance’s shoulder blade a large, gruesome scar made its way across one bra
covered breast straight down to end just above her navel.

 “My husband did this with a
razor blade the first time I tried to leave him.” Constance released what
seemed like familiar words in an attempt to explain her mangled skin. She
turned and this time Dahlia brought a hand to her mouth as she cried out in
dismay.

“This one he did when I tried
to leave the second time.” Constance explained as she revealed the huge burn on
her back. “He tied me to the bed, stuffed my mouth, and put the iron to my skin
while Genevieve looked on.” Constance paused to accept the glass of water Rafe
presented to her. Sipping gingerly of the cold liquid, she addressed Dahlia
once again.

“The press may have portrayed
Rafe as my lover, but it isn’t true.
Your
husband is my
savior.”