Heathen

Luna

Luna's POV

I look at the handsome man at the far side of the terrace. He always sits alone, looking out at the ocean, watching the waves crush on the shore. In the afternoons he takes long walks on the beach until the sun sets on the horizon.

Mi nombre es Luna. Mi abuela y yo tenemos un pequeño hôtel en la costa oeste.

(A/N: Spanish in the text. 'My name is Luna. My grandmother and I run a small hotel on the west coast.')

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It was the end of the season. A few customers were still enjoying the remaining threads of summer. As I was taking care of the daily chores at the front desk, a tall dark haired man walked in. I felt the air change. It was like his presence completely shifted the mood. He was wearing a simple blue black suit and his raven black hair was styled according to the current trend. He took off his sunglasses to reveal a pair of dark blue eyes. His expression was soft but indifferent. As he approached the desk, all the women stole glances at him while the their men huffed annoyed.

My abuela smiled at him politely. "Good morning sir." "Goodmorning. I would like a room." He was speaking Spanish with a slight foreign accent. "Of course sir. Will you be staying alone?" My abuela asked nonchalantly. "Yes." He was a man of few words, never more than necessary. He made the necessary transactions and I called for the bell boy. The stranger had only a small suitcase with him. He went up to his room and did not come back down until late in the afternoon. I assumed he was waiting for a woman. Our hotel was remote and discreet, ideal for extramarital affairs. I smiled to myself and went on with my business.

Days passed and nobody came to join him. He always sat at the same table on the terrace overlooking the beach. When it rained, he occupied the table at the far side of the lobby, the one with the best ocean view. He would leave for a couple of nights every now and then but he would come back and keep the same routine, for days and weeks. My abuela caught me one day staring at him a little longer than I should. "Ten cuidado niña." My abuela scolded me. "Este hombre no es de este mundo" "¿De qué estás hablando abuela?" "Su aura es oscura." I look at her confused. Maybe she is getting old. I brush off her strange comment and go to him.

(A/N: Spanish in the text. 'Be careful girl.' 'This man is not from this world' 'What are you talking about grandma?' 'His aura about him is dark.')

"Good evening, sir." I smile politely. He takes his eyes of his book. I feel his searching intense gaze on me. "How is everything?" I ask desperate to make conversation. "Everything is fine, thank you." His voice is soft and deep. He smiles and returns to his reading. My first attempt was not very successful. But I didn't give up. As he always looked north-west like a broken compass, I ventured to ask him one day: "Why there?" "There's someone there. I hope...." He turned his gaze to me and smiled wistfully. Did my heart flutter under his dark blue eyes? Yes, yes it did.

"Nina, if your husband catches you ogling that young man you will be in trouble. You know he is hot tempered." My abuela always scolds me. "Well, he is not here and I am not his property." I replied irked. "And I am not 'ogling'! " I add even more annoyed. "Ay! Be careful! I don't want to see you get hurt." She continued, eyeing the stranger. "By neither of them!" I shook my head. It's not like the stranger is paying attention to me anyway. But my wretched husband indeed threw a fit of rage. Jealousy mixed with self-loathing is an explosive mix. He knew he was worthless and couldn't forgive me for being able to take care of myself, for running a business on my own.