Romance: The Art of my Love: a story of betrayal, desire, love, and marriage Read Online Free Page B

freshly baked bread, something sweet and spicy, and fish. The scents were emanating from the kitchen, where John’s wife, Rachel, was running the show. She moved gracefully between the oven, the fridge and the sink, not rushing too much, and simultaneously she issued orders to John. “Offer our guests something to drink! Show them the house! Let these two have a seat! Why are they standing there, poor things?”
    Seeing the house was a simple matter. The whole first floor was an enormous living room with windows looking out over the ocean, plus the kitchen and dining room. There were no walls dividing them, so the whole space was visible from anywhere, and we could gaze out over the ocean, sip the wine that John quickly suggested we try, and watch how easily and confidently Rachel moved about the kitchen.
    As I watched her, it occurred to me that she was the kind of woman I wanted to be when I grew up. I was seized by admiration – the pure kind, without any jealousy mixed in. Rachel was tall, almost as tall as John, with a nice figure, thin waist and endless legs. Her long, thick, auburn hair was drawn back in a tight bun at the back of her neck. Rachel’s face was dazzling. Enormous brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a heart-shaped mouth. I didn’t know whether the shape of her lips was the work of some unknown virtuoso plastic surgeon or if they were an inheritance left to Rachel by her parents, but in any case, those lips, a little puffy as if they had just been kissed, immediately drew the gaze, and made her face unusually sensuous.
    Rachel made us paella. I had never eaten anything like it before. I really don’t care much about food. I eat when I have to, and sometimes I even forget to eat, when I’m working. And I can’t really cook. I can boil noodles, I guess, or warm up a pizza in the microwave. Paul is no gourmet, either. But when we found ourselves in that house, in that kitchen, it was as if we had both grown some kind of new, sixth sense, or maybe a seventh sense. I have no idea what Rachel put in her food, but I had never eaten anything so delicious. It wasn’t just dinner, it was a sensuous feast. Everything on my plate was so unbelievably beautiful that it was hard to tear my eyes away. The colors seemed brighter. The interplay between light and shadows – Rachel had lit some candles – gave off more contrast. The music – John plugged in an iPod for some jazz – was sweeter on the ears.  
    At first we talked about tennis. Paul and John told funny stories about their matches together. I added that the match I had seen at the club had been unforgettable.
    “Do you play tennis, Emmy?” Rachel asked.
    “No, I don’t play anything. But I really like watching tennis. What about you?” I asked in turn.
    “I do yoga, and I love it. It’s good for your body, and also for your head. It helps me clean out my brain.”
    “Really? How so?”
    “Well, when you’re bent into a pretzel and standing on one leg, it’s hard to keep your balance unless you can focus on just what is happening in that very moment, and banish all other thoughts from your brain. Believe me, banishing unnecessary thoughts from your brain is a wonderful, wonderful thing,” Rachel smiles.
    “Oh, I believe you! I’d love to try it.”
    “Then why not? Shall we go together Monday evening? Seven o’clock?”
    I feel like I’ve been given the best gift ever. Rachel has invited me to go to yoga with her! Yes, yes, of course I’d go to yoga. I would follow this woman to the ends of the earth if she asked me. Wow. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. She definitely had put something in the food.
    “Where did you learn to cook this dish?” I ask. “It’s really delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”
    “In Spain. I learned from the mother of my boyfriend at the time.”
    Rachel tells us how she spent several years in Europe, studying European art and doing all sorts of odd jobs.
    “There’s nothing