She caught his arm. “Are you missing what I said about the fancy car? I don’t want to walk through museums or cathedrals. I wanna ride. Besides, I think I could get a better feel for the city if we drove.”
“Barcelona is beautiful.” He sucked in a breath. “Actually, a drive might be a good idea.”
They climbed into the little red sports car again. Within seconds Antonio eased them into traffic. Cool air and scenery—a mix of old buildings and new, leafy green trees standing beside palms, and a sea of pedestrians—whipped by as he shifted gears to go faster and faster and swung in and out of lanes.
Air ruffled her hair. The sun warmed her. But it was the power of the Jag that put a knot in her chest. For all her intentions to stop lusting after the wonderful toys and lives of her rich friends, she loved this car.
Longing rose up in her, teasing her, tempting her. Her fingers itched to wrap around the white leather steering wheel. Her toes longed to punch the gas to the floor. For twenty minutes, she constrained it. Then suddenly she couldn’t take it anymore.
She leaned toward Antonio. Shouting so he could hear her above the wind and the noise of the city, she said, “Would you mind if I drove?”
He cast her a puzzled frown, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
She smiled hopefully. “Please? Let me drive?”
“Oh!” His voice vibrated in the wind swirling around them. “Can you drive in a city you don’t know?”
She nodded eagerly. “I’ve driven in New York.”
He frowned. “Can you drive a stick?”
“Are you kidding? I was driving my granddad’s old farm pickup when I was thirteen.”
He eased the car over to a space on a side street between two tall stucco buildings with black wrought-iron balconies that looked to belong to apartments. “Thirteen was a long time ago for you. Are you sure you remember how to use a clutch?”
She playfully punched his arm.
“Okay, I get it.” He shoved open his car door. “Let’s see what you can do.”
It took a minute for them to switch seats. When she got settled, she caressed the soft leather steering wheel before she turned the key in the ignition, depressed the clutch and punched the gas.
They jolted forward and he grabbed the dash for support. “Careful, now.”
She laughed, hit the clutch and shifted to a better gear. “This car is like heaven.” When the engine growled for release, she hit the clutch, shifting again. “Holy bananas. It’s like driving the wind.”
He laughed, but he still clung to the dash. “You’re going to kill someone!”
She depressed the clutch and shifted a final time, reaching the speed she wanted, barreling through yellow lights, weaving in and out of traffic.
“I never knew you were a daredevil.”
His eyes weren’t exactly wide with fear. But they were close. Still, she was good. She knew she was good. Driving was in her blood. “I’m not. I just like a good car.”
“Really? I’d have never guessed.”
“What? You think women can’t appreciate a powerful engine?”
“No, you just seem a little more tame than this.”
She shook her head. Yet another person who thought she was dull Laura Beth. “Right. I guess we all have our secrets.” She spared him a glance. “Our passions.”
He tilted his head.
She shrugged. “You like to express yourself through art. I want to be free.” She took her eyes off the road to catch his gaze. “And maybe a little wild.”
He laughed. “You? Wild?”
“Thank you for underestimating me.”
“I don’t underestimate you.”
“Right. That’s why you refuse to paint me. You all but said you don’t think I can handle it.”
“I said I can’t handle it.”
“Oh, sure you could. I can see in your eyes that you could. You just don’t want it to happen.”
“Sitting for a portrait can be long and boring.”
She shrugged. “So?”
Antonio shook his head, but didn’t reply. Laura Beth suddenly didn’t care. With the wind in her hair, the sun pouring down on her and the engine in her control, for once in her life she experienced the joy of total power. She soaked it up. Swam in it. She was so sick of everybody underestimating her, thinking they knew her, when all they knew was the shadow of the person she could be with no money, no opportunities.
She suddenly wondered if that’s what Antonio saw when he thought of painting her. The longing to be something more. The hidden passion.
Hope spiked through her, then quickly disappeared. He might see it, but he didn’t want it.
Saddened, she slowed the car. Palm trees and four-lane streets nestled into Old World architecture gave the city a timeless air but she barely noticed it. Something inside her ached for release. She didn’t want people to pity her or dismiss her. She wanted to be herself. She wanted to be the woman Antonio saw when he looked at her.
And she honest to God didn’t know how to make that happen.
* * *
The more she slowed down, the more Antonio relaxed in the passenger’s seat. He forgot all about her little tantrum about him underestimating her when he realized how much she truly loved driving. A passenger on Laura Beth’s journey of joy, he saw everything in squares and ovals of light that highlighted aspects of her face or body. The desire to paint her didn’t swell inside him. Longing didn’t torment him. Instead, his painter’s mind clicked in, judging light and measuring shapes, as he watched the pure, unadulterated happiness that glowed from her eyes as she drove.
But something had happened as she slowed the car. Her expression had changed. Not softened, but shifted as if she were thinking. Pondering something she couldn’t quite figure out.
He tapped her arm. “Maybe it’s time to head back?”
She quietly said, “Yeah.”
Curiosity rose in him. She was the second person that day to do a total one-hundred-eighty-degree turn on him. Happy one minute, unhappy the next. Still, he’d made a vow to himself not to get involved with her, and he intended to keep it.
He pointed at his watch. “We have a gallery opening tonight.”
She nodded, and at the first chance, she turned the car around. He thought she’d stop and they’d switch places, but she kept driving, and he leaned back. Surreptitiously watching
