Spanish-influenced tune, the sound of drums and a guitar filling the air.
“Dad,” I said, tearing away from Richard’s arms. “This is Jenna’s husband, Richard. Richard, this is my father, Francis.”
Richard tentatively held his hand out to my father, studying him, lingering on the scars on the left side of his face. He probably had questions about what happened to him, and whether it had something to do with me lying about his existence. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice and motions guarded as he cautiously took my father’s hand in his.
“You, as well, Richard,” my father responded, returning his curious gaze, as if he had seen him somewhere before and was trying to place him. I knew exactly where he had seen him… Richard’s face was practically everywhere due to the success of his hotels. That was why he liked living in South Padre so much. No one there made a big deal about who he was. Most of the tourists were too drunk to focus on his face, and none of the locals cared.
“Well, you two enjoy your dance,” Richard said, pulling his hand away from my father’s. “Congratulations, Mackenzie.” He placed a soft kiss on my temple. “And congratulations to you, as well, sir.” He took my father’s hand once more and whispered something in his ear. A brilliant smile crossed my father’s face as he slapped Richard jovially on the back, his laughter echoing in the crisp night air. Then Richard walked toward Jenna, slinking his arm around her waist and kissing her affectionately. It helped settle my unease about his faithfulness toward her.
“Promise to take it easy on your old man?” my father asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I countered, giving him a playful grin. “If I remember Mom’s stories correctly, she said you couldn’t dance the Flamenco to save your life.”
“And she was right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to dance with you.”
“Okay,” I said, placing my hand in his. “You asked for it. It’s a good thing I’m pregnant and ready to pop, or I’m pretty sure I’d be wiping the dance floor with you.”
“I have no doubt about that.” He led me a few steps toward the center of the now empty dance floor, the eyes of my friends and family on us. I hadn’t done this exact dance in years, but I settled back into it as if no time had passed at all, as if it were permanently ingrained in my muscle memory.
Glancing at my father, I noticed him almost in a trance, his eyes focused straight ahead.
“You’re not that bad,” I joked, trying to bring his attention back to me.
Slowly returning his gaze to mine, a small smile crossed his face as he continued to go through the intricate steps with a slight limp, forgoing his cane for the first time I could recall.
“Ah, mi bichito. Your mother was the picture of grace when she danced, much like you. I’m just an Irish bloke lucky enough to stumble across her one day and she changed my life for the better. Much like Tyler did for you.”
“You think he changed my life for the better?” I asked as the rhythm of the drums grew more intense and frenzied.
“I think you both changed each other’s lives for the better,” he said warmly. “And that’s something worth holding on to.”
“Mind if I cut in?” Tyler’s voice sounded and I stopped my motions to see his hand held out.
“Not at all,” my father said, releasing his hold on me.
“You know how to dance the Flamenco?” I asked in surprise.
“A wise woman once said that any man who learned to dance the Flamenco for her was a man worth marrying.”
My eyes went to my dad, a look of nostalgia on his face as he recalled my mother saying those words to him.
“So I figured it was only fitting that I learned this dance to prove to you that I was a man worth marrying.”
“You’ve already proven that, and then some,” my father said, placing his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “You take care of my little girl, okay?”
“Of course, sir.”
A satisfied smile crossing his face, my dad leaned down and softly kissed me on my temple. “Goodbye, mi bichito,” he whispered. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“Wait!” I shouted as he turned to walk away from me. “You’re leaving?”
He nodded. “You enjoy your night. We’ll see each other again.”
“When?” I asked.
“At this point, I do believe