“Let’s see: That you’re secretly a disgraced Spanish matador. That you’re the illegitimate son of Juan Perón. That your father was a Nazi general.” I realize as the words come out of my mouth that the last one, if it’s true, would be devastating and I’m sorry I said it. “But I’m guessing none of those are true.” I nearly throw in the story about the yacht, but I don’t want to betray Gemma.

He laughs and shrugs.

“You’re just the son of some perfectly nice rancheros,” I say.

“I am the son,” he says, downing the rest of his glass, “of ghosts. It’s late.” He gets to his feet. “Escucha, there’s a milonga we all go to the first Sunday of each month, it’s off the Caminito on Pinzón. It’s a little café—Calle Roja—and the owner likes to sing tango standards when he closes up in the evening. We get there around one a.m. The team will be there, of course, but if you tell any of the other students, I’ll have to kill you,” he says, smiling.

I put my hands up. “Not a word. It’s been fun getting to know everyone on the team.”

“They’re my family,” he says.

“Do you ever think of growing the team or . . .” I say, trying to sound casual.

He smiles. “Maybe. Why? Are you interested?”

I shrug, knowing how obvious I am. He nods, considering it.

“You could be good,” he says. “We could get your dancing up to speed. You’d need to lose some weight though.”

He says it so casually. Mortifyingly, I get tears in my eyes almost immediately. I nod, trying and failing to take this as I would have when I was an athlete. But I’m not an athlete anymore, I’m not anything anymore.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Hey, don’t take it personally. Listen, you’re gorgeous. There’s just a difference between what I think is sexy and what looks good onstage.”

The bitter with the sweet. My head is spinning.

“Yeah, of course. Listen, I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

Penny Is Going to Be Fine

IT WASN’T surprising that Penny started trying to get pregnant so fast—she’d always wanted to be a mom—but when it became her single-minded obsession immediately after the wedding, the past began to feel like prelude. The ghosts of the two little girls, shrouded in mystery, wouldn’t leave me. I couldn’t find a way to tell these fears to Luke or anyone else. I couldn’t say it aloud, but I was scared to death of her getting pregnant again.

“I just don’t think it’s healthy to be so focused on it,” was all I could manage to express to Luke and Blair.