Millie knew Carlos was a gentleman the first time they met and she caught the scent of his cologne. A well manicured, well mannered man, Carlos hid behind dark shades, his cheeks browned like hearth bread, and dimpled too. His suit was especially tailored, he said, by his mother - a wonderful seamstress and a sensible woman whom he loved more than anyone. He ran a catering business out of his hometown in Juarez.
He listened to Julie London and Frank Sinatra, and he took Millie ballroom dancing after dinner and some wine; that's how she knew. She couldn't say what she wanted - it seemed he'd already given her everything, and none of the grief that the other men in her life had left her with. It was nice to forget about all of them, she thought, even if for a night.
Waiting on the lower balcony that evening, she recognized the lights of his Mercedes plowing through the gloom. She smiled and stood, playing with a ringlet of her hair.
"Millie?" her mother called. "When should I expect you back?"
"Later in the evening, Mama," she answered, "or tomorrow morning, possibly."
Carlos stole her breath when he got out of the car, passing through the gated fence and stopping in the courtyard, his hands in his pockets and his eyes smiling behind his glasses. Millie ran to meet him, pleasure sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. The scent of him was heady as he was handsome.
"Mi amor," he whispered, "He estado muerto en las horas que no te he visto."
"Y yo tambien. I've missed you."
"I'm sorry, Millie. I had business to attend."
She acknowledged the familiar words with a nod.
"I have a mind to take you out dancing again," he smiled. "Would you like that?"
"I would." she hesitated, "I've been thinking, though. I want to see where it is you work."
His brows raised in surprise, "This is your wish?"
"Claro."
At length he said nothing, but his hands around her softened, as a sculptor's on clay. He surprised her, coaxed her, and her mouth found his, as though she'd always intended to. When he kissed her she felt as though he were sharing something poignant, like a secret he'd kept from his childhood.
"Basta, Millie!" her mother yelled across the courtyard.
Carlos sucked on her lower lip, drawing it out as he pulled back, then nipping it lightly in parting, "Lo siento, Senora."
"Chao, Mama!"
Carlos led her to the passenger's seat, holding the door open and closing it for her, too. He went around the front and got behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition with a wry look at her.
"You say you would like to visit my place of work?"
She felt herself blushing, "Yes."
"Would it please you to meet a client of mine?" Carlos winked, "I assure you she is a lovely woman, a beautiful woman, and a client in whom I delight very much."
"Como se llama?"
"Analia," he breathed. "Analia Torres."
Plumes of dirt chased the Mercedes down a winding country road, the smells of manure and apple orchards mingling strangely in the light evening air. Millie stuck her head out the window, unbothered. She glanced at Carlos, a smile flitting over her face. "How long have you known Senora Torres?"
He pursed his lips, "For a time. She is a friend of my mother's."
Millie nodded, thinking. "Is she married?"
"Widowed," he replied heavily, "also for a time. I never met her husband, but I am told that he left her with his entire earthly fortune." He went on, "Last year Analia came to my mother to commission several gowns which might suit her fine taste."
"And that's how you met her?"
