A Wedding in the Sun

Chapter 6

Jo silently added ‘flirting’ to the list of the infuriating habits of Adrián Rivera Morales. They passed the statue of the crowned virgin on a plinth near the entrance to the sanctuary grounds with their lit candles, moving as part of the crowd.

She felt frustratingly unbalanced. She tried to give herself a break, tell herself she was facing a lot of crap and only time – and wine – would help, and focused instead on her slow progress across the enormous forecourt.

Up ahead were the two basilicas: the upper church with its imposing white spires, the sun setting in the background in a jumble of puffy clouds, and the lower church with its gold embellishments and marble detailing. It all seemed so strange and earnest to Jo, who understood little of the theology, but underneath the images of robed virgins and the dying Christ, the commitment of such a large group of people to hope and blessings – for themselves, but mostly for others – spoke a deeply human message into her scattered thoughts.

Even if all she could do was hold her candle in its cardboard protector, there was something striking about being one of hundreds – possibly even thousands – of little flames. She wished Liss and Dec could have been there.

The candles didn’t glow as strongly when it was still light, but only God could make night fall before nine on a June evening. He’d apparently chosen not to, meaning the procession began in full evening light, with the tolling of the bells. Flanked by priests, nuns and monks and accompanied by the strains of a men’s choir, an illuminated statue of Mary was carried on a litter past the gold-leaf representations of biblical stories and down the steps.

As they shuffled along, Adrián warbled the ‘Ave Maria’ quietly with the crowd. He was pretty much in tune, but that was all she could say about his voice. He might play the guitar, but he was no singer.

They passed the grotto and the singing grew more enthusiastic. Adrián stopped suddenly and then darted between a pair of nuns.

‘Signor Bonetti!’ she heard him say as he shook hands with their acquaintance from that morning as though they were long-lost friends. The old man was sitting in a different chair, an old-fashioned one with a wheel and a pole at the front for pulling. ‘Here, shall I push you?’

Adrián waved to Jo with an urgent flick of his hand and gave her his candle before grasping the handles on the back of the wheelchair, helping the tiny nun who was pulling from the front. Signor Bonetti was singing in his unsteady voice and Adrián joined in with more enthusiasm – or at least more volume.

‘You have to lift up the candles when they sing “Ave Maria”,’ he told Jo with a sharp look.

‘Okay, keep your shirt on,’ she muttered in reply, obediently raising both candles the next time the heavy voices sang that part.

‘Singing along wouldn’t hurt you either,’ he murmured during the next verse.

‘Why would I know the song?’

‘Because we’ve repeated it about a thousand times since the start of this procession,’ he replied in a stage whisper. ‘And the words are on the candle!’

Exaggeration, sarcasm, flirting, speaking uncomfortable truths – she had so many reasons to detest Adrián right now. But in a place where the souvenir shops were called Pax Mundi – ‘World Peace’ in Latin – she could show him a little charity. With a final gulp, she opened her mouth to sing for the first time in… years, maybe?

It turned out she hadn’t forgotten how to do it. Sound came out, smooth and in tune. With a sense of detachment, she modulated her voice out of habit until the resonance swelled. Wow, she’d been good at this.

Her voice dropped away again when she noticed Adrián staring at her with his jaw around his collarbone. ‘Don’t stop!’ he rasped urgently.

‘You stopped,’ she accused.

He pulled himself together and started singing again when the next ‘Ave Maria’ sounded and she joined him, amused at his attempts not to look at her.

‘I had singing lessons as a teenager,’ she explained as an aside during the next verse.

‘I can tell,’ he said, still wide-eyed. There was something in his expression that reminded her of him saying he’d fallen a little bit in love with her and she wrenched her gaze away, staring instead at the basilicas as the crowd returned to the forecourt behind the brightly lit Mary.

She noticed with a start that the sky had dimmed and soft lights now illuminated the gold on the fa?ade and bathed the square in a warm glow. The little flames of a thousand candles created a luminous carpet, holding back the shadows.

Jo clutched her two candles tightly, feeling both a part of something and desperately alone. She couldn’t wait to get back to Liss and Dec, but if it weren’t for the kids, she would have been quite happy to be waylaid in Lourdes, to spend a few days exploring the rocks in the hills above the sanctuary and the narrow streets of the town. Even having Adrián in the picture wasn’t the misfortune she’d feared – when she managed to forget he was Mónica’s ex-husband.

But the day in Lourdes hadn’t been a pilgrimage, it had been a complication. Tomorrow she had to straighten her spine and deal with Ben and the upcoming celebration of how terrible his first marriage had been – or at least she had to try to stop making it all about her.

The blessing she needed was not these little tingles of something with Adrián. But maybe some peace about Ben’s marriage. Was that too much to hope for?

She regretted not getting the honeymoon suite later that evening when they returned to the grand stone hotel, now lit by streetlamps. The room was larger than the cheap chain hotel the airline had paid for, but there was barely a foot between the two single beds. She couldn’t help remembering the night before, the way he’d watched her from across the pillow. It would also be the third night in a row when she’d gone to sleep thinking about seeing Ben the next day, of the unpleasantness of being the ex-wife at the wedding.

‘Are you okay?’ Adrián asked after he’d emerged from the bathroom – thankfully a comfortably large one so he’d had plenty of space to get dressed after his shower instead of coming out in a towel.

Jo’s novel sat unopened in her lap and she realised she must have been staring into space – probably with a fierce frown. ‘Yes,’ she insisted.

‘I’m sorry we have to put up with each other for another night, but at least there won’t be any accidental hugging – not that I minded at all.’ He cut himself off with a choke. He swiped a hand across his mouth that left his slightly unkempt beard askew. ‘Just forget I said anything,’ he muttered, turning back the covers of his bed. He climbed in and clicked off the main light in the room, leaving only the weak glow of the bedside lamp on Jo’s side.

The window was open, but it was still uncomfortably warm and he kicked off the blanket as he rolled around, eventually settling on his side, facing away from her. His dark brown hair curled even more, slightly damp from the shower, and she wondered how often he cut it – and for a weak second, what it would feel like to bury her fingers in there. It was probably oily and coarse, but it didn’t look that way.

The jut of his shoulder was an unexpectedly intimate view and all their conversations and shared glances from the day replayed in her mind. It should have been unbearable to be stuck with him, this overconfident distant acquaintance who, on top of everything, had a child with the woman Ben was marrying.

But as she slid down the pillow and stretched out, her legs pleasantly sore from all the walking and her mind chasing after new horizons, she admitted to herself that she was glad he was there.

‘Did you seriously wish for happiness for Ben and Mónica at the grotto today?’ she asked because she couldn’t hold it in.

He stilled, obviously deciding whether to turn around and make this a real heart-to-heart. Jo should have taken the time to do the same.

‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But my heart wasn’t really in it.’

Jo’s breath whooshed out as his answer curled around her. ‘Are you okay? With all the wedding stuff starting tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘How long have you two been divorced?’

‘It’s two years since we separated,’ he answered. ‘You know how long divorces take. What about you and Ben? You were already divorced that year in the PTA, right?’

‘Yeah,’ she said softly. ‘We’ve been separated nearly five years.’ But five years seemed to pass in the blink of an eye these days. ‘Wonderful small talk, huh? It’s not, “When’s your birthday? What’s your favourite colour?” Instead we have to talk about what went wrong in our marriages.’

‘I think we’re over small talk now that we’ve got stuck on the wrong side of the Pyrenees together, have shared a hotel room for two nights and accidentally went on a pilgrimage to the Grotto of the Apparitions.’ He rolled over and she was almost scared to look at him, in case he was giving her one of those bottomless looks. But he wasn’t. His gaze was on his hand, where a small indentation on the ring finger was still visible in the slanting shadows cast by Jo’s bedside lamp.

Glancing at her own hand, she noticed dispassionately that all evidence of the wedding and engagement rings she’d worn for thirteen years had disappeared. Taking off a ring was all too easy.

‘Do you know all of Mónica’s family who’ll be at this party?’ she asked.

He nodded, his mouth twisting and making a caricature face with his beard. ‘I tried to convince her I shouldn’t come. I’m not expecting her family to treat me well. They didn’t exactly bless our marriage and the divorce confirmed all their suspicions about me.’

‘What’s supposed to be wrong with you?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I’m from the big city, my work situation is unstable, I would put my own musical career before hers. “Adrián will cheat on you, querida,”’ he parroted, his thick brow deeply furrowed. ‘Plus we got a quick registry office marriage because we were moving to London.’

Jo knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Did you cheat?’

His gaze snapped to hers with that intensity she’d feared. ‘No!’ he insisted immediately. ‘Because between trying to hold down a job while repeatedly collecting my kid from daycare because he kicked the nursery teacher and fitting in the occasional concert, I was really motivated to go out and find someone to have sex with! “Extra-marital” always sounded incredibly inconvenient to me when “marital” was already a big enough challenge!’

The hurt in his voice was audible, hidden as usual in sarcasm, but saying an affair would be inconvenient was different to denying that he’d thought about doing it.

That was Jo’s own insecurities talking in a knee-jerk reaction to her biggest trigger, but it took her several long moments to convince herself to stand down. Adrián hadn’t cheated, it wasn’t fair to judge him for what Ben had done and she was trying not to make everything about her anyway.

‘But isn’t Mónica a performer too? A dancer?’

He nodded. ‘With two performance careers, we were doomed from the start. She’s an excellent dancer – and dance teacher, these days. She toured a lot with various flamenco groups when we were first married and is one of the most well-known bailaoras – flamenco dancers – in London. We moved because there was an opening at a dance school and she made a big success of it.’

‘Did you play guitar for her?’ The idea would have sounded romantic, except that the end of that story had already been written.

‘That was how we met. We both toured Spain with different groups and ended up sharing the stage on several occasions. But I’m not a flamenco guitarist. I can play a little, but I am classically trained.’

‘You say that like I should understand the difference,’ she commented.

‘Surely you’ve heard of the great works for classical guitar? Recuerdos de la Alhambra? Vivaldi’s concerto for guitar? Concierto de Aranjuez?’

She blinked, hearing only the rasp of his voice when he spoke Spanish.

‘You are musical, though,’ he insisted.

‘I learned to sing pop songs and Broadway numbers when I was a teenager,’ she answered wryly.

‘Yes, exactly. You’re musical. You’d like classical guitar music if you heard it.’

There was that overconfidence again. ‘Even though it means you can’t serenade me from the twin bed, I think it was a good thing you had to check your guitar as luggage. You wouldn’t have been able to take it with us on the motorbikes,’ she mused.

But before she’d even finished speaking, he shot upright in bed, his hair flying in his face. ‘The guitar!’ he murmured.

‘Ben collected the luggage today. I told you that.’

‘But did you double check that the guitar was among the items?’

‘No, but?—’

‘I have to call Mónica!’ Leaping out of bed, he grabbed his phone off the charger by the desk and frantically tapped in the code.

‘Adrián, it’s nearly eleven!’

‘She’ll be awake.’

‘Yeah, but she might be?—’

His gaze whipped to hers and Jo hadn’t known it was possible to mutually gag until that moment. He put down his phone slowly, then snapped it up again. ‘I’ll send a message.’

Jo tried not to watch him, tried not to think about what Ben and Mónica might or might not be doing, but every direction her thoughts went was off-limits and she felt vaguely dizzy. It must have been the heat – or possibly the result of Adrián swanning around the hotel room in tight boxer briefs and a threadbare T-shirt that she knew was as soft as skin.

Off-limits. She’d hoped talking about their divorces would at least have banished the butterflies from her stomach. He flung himself restlessly back onto the bed, one arm above his head.

‘Are you going to be able to sleep? I’m exhausted just watching you breathe.’

He glanced at her with an amused half-smile and the man had no right to be so attractive, the T-shirt riding up and his lips looking soft and lush beneath his moustache. ‘I’m hoping she’ll reply.’

‘Why is that guitar so special to you?’

‘It’s a very expensive instrument,’ he replied, ‘made by a famous luthier from Seville.’ Jo wasn’t sure if she was imagining something he was leaving out, but she remained silent for a moment to prompt him. When a grimace crossed his face, she knew her hunch had been correct. ‘Mónica’s father gave it to me when we got married. He was a flamenco guitarist, but he damaged his wrist years ago and he can’t play any more. He wants me to play that guitar at the wedding reception.’

‘Ouch,’ Jo responded after her initial gulp of sympathetic discomfort. ‘I thought you said they didn’t like you.’

‘The less they like you, the more expensive the gift,’ he explained with a shrug. ‘I suppose they wanted to bind me to them – to Mónica. And they succeeded,’ he said, his voice trailing off. ‘It’s a beautiful guitar – the sound is like no other I’ve ever played. I offered to give it back numerous times during the divorce, but they refused. I can’t sell it because it’s been in the family for years. Maybe Ben will want it,’ he said with a laugh that was a little broken. ‘A wedding present.’

‘This is really screwed up,’ Jo murmured and his eyes rose to hers again, that bubble of understanding growing familiar. ‘But Ben doesn’t know anything about music. He’s just a corporate Human Resources guy.’

‘The perfect husband for Mónica, then,’ he said drily. ‘Stable job to balance out her unpredictable commitments and lots of… resources.’

‘I earn more than he does,’ Jo said casually. ‘It used to bug him, but he doesn’t complain about the child support payments now. How lucky for him we got divorced. He’ll have everything he wants after the wedding.’

She hoped he was too distracted to dwell on the bitterness in her voice. He was silent for a long moment and she looked up, wondering if he’d been distracted by something else. But he was giving her another of his looks.

‘Jo…’ His voice was low and rough.

‘If you ask me if I’m still in love with him, I’ll push you into the Pe?íscola surf with your own guitar!’ It was more complicated than that. ‘Stop looking at me like that. I’m not going to run to the front of the church and stop the ceremony at that part where the priest asks if there is any impediment.’

Oh dear, she was a little too worked up about this, but at least she wasn’t admiring the smooth lines of muscle in Adrián’s arms any more.

Before she could announce that she was turning off the light, Adrián’s phone beeped and he hopped up to grab it. When he grasped his hair in a fist and spat a string of harsh Spanish curses, she suspected his evening had just taken another turn for the worse.

‘It’s not there?’ she asked carefully, with the unexpected urge to stroke her hand down his back to soothe him.

‘No,’ he said, his voice high with disbelief. ‘They thought the guitar was with me! I told them… at least I thought I did. Joder,’ he said fiercely, the foulness of the curse clear from his tone, even if she didn’t understand the word. ‘I’ve fucked up.’

Unable to stop herself, Jo got out of bed and haltingly grasped his arm, giving it an awkward squeeze. The action only seemed to shock him, so she snatched her fingers back. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

‘What am I going to do?’