Chapter 33
‘?Ay! sometimes I worry about the effect I have on you,’ Adrián muttered, shifting and drawing her head to his shoulder. ‘I know this is hard, the change, trusting me. But all you have to do is let me treasure you.’
‘Shut up,’ she whined, tears falling in earnest now. ‘You don’t have to convince me of anything. I already shocked myself this morning by thinking how much I love you.’
His throat closed, his brain struggling to recalibrate. He’d hoped he might convince her to take baby steps together. He’d been prepared to be sensible, even though his feelings weren’t. ‘Oh, thank God,’ he muttered, glancing guiltily at the altar.
She stifled a smile that made him want to kiss her more enthusiastically than was appropriate in a church. ‘Were you about to cross yourself then?’
‘Blame Grandma,’ he said. ‘Will you wait until I play guitar for you before you say it?’ he prompted, dipping his head to look her in the eye.
Wide-eyed and a little wary, she took a deep breath and then whispered, ‘I love you,’ with an enormous gulp.
‘There,’ he said gently, his thumb at her chin to keep her head up when she would have dropped it. ‘We did it.’
‘Are we crazy?’
‘Definitely,’ he said with a smile.
‘Are you finally going to kiss me?’
‘I am almost dying of starvation,’ he quipped.
‘You’re lucky I love you,’ she said drily, giving him that withering look he adored.
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ he said, ducking his head until his face was an inch from hers. He was giddy with the closeness of her, with the bursting happiness of returned feelings against all odds. ‘But you could kiss me, you know. Any time you like.’
‘Fine!’ she said in exasperation, clutching the lapels of his coat. Without the slightest hesitation, she brought her lips to his and everything fell back into place. She lingered and he softened his mouth, drawing her in for more. It was a simple gesture, and yet the pressure of her lips communicated such ease – such trust and delight.
‘It was so hard not to kiss you when we arrived in this penis town,’ he broke off to murmur, coming straight back for more.
‘Don’t stop now,’ she whispered in reply, her arms winding around his neck.
‘Never,’ he said, smiling against her lips before he kissed her again, stifling a groan when she opened her mouth on his. ‘I missed this.’
‘Me too,’ she said softly, rising onto her knees to kiss him more thoroughly, her arms tight around him.
He forgot about Mary on the wall downstairs, forgot about the altar a few feet below them, that they were in the sanctuary of a church.
Until someone cleared their throat just below the balcony. They jerked apart, Adrián trying to ignore the fact that he’d messed up her hair and probably had her pale lipstick all over his own mouth.
‘Uh, I brought Adrián a bocadillo.’
Adrián pressed his face to the railings. ‘Dec! Good man!’ It didn’t matter that the boy had pronounced ‘bocadillo’ atrociously. He would correct him later, after he’d wolfed down the Spanish baguette stuffed with cured ham. ‘Give it here!’ He thrust his arm through the spindles and clicked his fingers.
Dec climbed on a chair and was just tall enough for Adrián to grasp the end of the bread stick. Frantically unwrapping it, he shoved the end in his mouth and ripped off an enormous hunk.
‘Thank God,’ he moaned around the mouthful. ‘I love your kids, Jo.’ He hadn’t intended to be quite so effusive so soon, but Jo just laughed at him. At least he’d learned that the way to her heart was through her sense of humour. Perhaps Dec had known that the way to Adrián’s heart was the usual one – through his stomach. It was probably his own wishful thinking that the boy liked Adrián as much as Adrián liked him. He was content to hope.
‘They’re up on the castle ramparts taking photos,’ Dec told them.
‘Do you need to get back?’ Jo called down. Her tone was concerned, but Adrián told himself it was because she wanted to get back to the kissing. He could get used to being locked in the church with her.
‘Dad told me to come and get you two for a photo.’
‘Oh, well, unfortunately we’re locked in,’ Adrián said and perhaps he overdid the false regret because Jo eyed him.
‘The caretaker came ten minutes ago,’ Dec said, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s unlocked down here.’
‘Really? We didn’t—’ Jo choked on her words.
‘I suppose we should emerge into the sunshine, then. With food, I could happily have been stuck here a few days,’ he said with a pout.
‘Me too,’ she said with a wink, making him want to kiss her again.
But instead, he stood with a sigh, tugging her up with him. The door in the room below not only had both handles reattached, it was propped wide open with a doorstop.
Jo hesitated at the threshold Ben and Mónica had crossed an hour ago as newlyweds. He snatched her hand and held it tight, striding cheerfully outside as he tugged her along with him. After heartache and healing, a host of mishaps and the miracle of family, the world was blindingly beautiful to Adrián.
‘There you are!’ called Liss, appearing in the courtyard and thrusting Jo’s abandoned handbag at her. ‘Come on!’ She rushed ahead of them, leading them up the steps to the castle walls where they joined the wedding party again – no hiding, no shame, only pride. He was proud of Mónica, of Oscar, enormously proud of Jo – and proud to be the one to stand next to her in family photos.
They joined in at the edge of one of the group shots, Adrián’s arm tight around her, and then the photographer asked with a meaningful smile if they wanted a few photos together. He found Mónica smiling at him and gave her a nod in return, before drawing Jo with him to the highest ramparts, overlooking the belltower and the tiled dome of the church, in shades of orange.
‘You didn’t fool me on Wednesday,’ the photographer said drily. ‘Here, look.’ After pressing a few buttons and scrolling, she held up the camera to show them the photo she’d taken in the middle of the labyrinth. In the picture, they were looking at each other, sharing half-smiles, and so at ease Adrián wondered why it had taken so long to work out this was love.
‘We don’t have anyone left to fool,’ he said softly as he drew Jo against him to pose for the photo. ‘Not even ourselves.’
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. The photographer snapped away as they recorded the amused smiles and little kisses of their first day as… who cares what they were called, anyway?
Oscar rushed to them, as well as Liss and Dec, and they ended up with a series of candid photos of Jo’s kids rolling their eyes and Oscar spilling his water down his papá’s shirt.
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned this trip,’ Jo began earnestly, mopping Adrián’s chest with a tissue more thoroughly than was probably necessary in those temperatures.
‘Mmmm?’
‘It’s that we should always have spare clothes.’ She chuckled at him. ‘Don’t look so disappointed. I also learned that I hate labyrinths and I like Spanish guitar and I love… paella.’ His pout must have been a touch overdone because she laughed harder. ‘And you. I love you.’
‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘I have learned that you shouldn’t deprive people of breakfast or accept lifts from bikers unless you want to meet God.’ He paused. ‘And also that sometimes disasters can turn into the greatest blessings.’
Later that evening, after a four-course meal full of mussels and shrimp, as well as steak and salad, and flan for dessert, Adrián fiddled with the borrowed guitar on one side of the room as Alberto’s friends set up a cajón. Jo sat back in her chair and watched the fuss, Liss beside her.
‘Are you going to dance?’ her daughter asked.
‘Definitely,’ Jo said. ‘You?’
Liss made a face but didn’t answer either way. ‘I’ve never seen Dad dance. I suppose Mónica will make him do it.’
That brought a grin to Jo’s lips. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing that.’
With a couple of strident chords, Adrián seemed finally satisfied that the guitar was tuned and he shuffled to the edge of the chair, adjusting the stool someone had found to act as a footrest. Shaking his hair out of his face, his posture transformed him into a classical guitarist. Jo was pleased to notice he seemed to be in less pain now, a week after the accident.
He looked up to where Mónica sat on Ben’s lap – a display of affection Ben had seemed uncomfortable with at first but was getting used to, if the proprietary hand on her hip was anything to go by. And Adrián began to play, a slow, touching song that Jo recognised from a film – an old film, she suspected.
His left hand quivering to produce vibrato on the strings, he plucked a warm, sentimental sound from the instrument, harmonies emerging and disappearing again, bass and treble melting into each other as the fingers of his left hand slid over the frets.
‘He’s really good,’ Liss commented under her breath.
‘He’s a professional guitarist,’ Jo explained. And a care worker. She loved both of those things about him, but she especially loved that proud tilt to his shoulders.
No one seemed to mind if it wasn’t the old luthier guitar. From the sweet love song, he glanced at the man sitting on the cajón and they launched into a lively tune in the minor key, to clapping and cheering from every corner. Alberto was the first on the dance floor, raising his arms and shuffling his feet and punctuating his movements with claps and shouts of, ‘?Olé!’
Rita and Ford sat in open-mouthed silence as Mónica dragged a red-faced Ben onto the dance floor and proceeded to completely overwhelm him with the passion of her steps. She coaxed him into stamping and clapping and the whole room cheered when he attempted a slow turn, keeping his eyes on Mónica.
Jo watched Adrián come alive, fiercely strumming and plucking the vivacious songs and drawing out the aching emotion of the slower ones. Alberto and his friends sang in crooning Spanish and Mónica’s father even shared a grin with his former son-in-law and clapped him on the shoulder – his left shoulder, which made him cry out in pain, but Jo suspected Alberto hadn’t done it on purpose.
After she’d enjoyed the show for a few songs, Jo headed for the dance floor, swaying with her own moves and occasionally copying the other guests, even though she knew she wouldn’t get the steps right. Mónica applauded her with an enthusiasm that felt entirely genuine.
She knew Adrián was watching, but she didn’t look at him at first – until she recognised the tinkle of the strings at the beginning of the next song.
Alberto whooped and gathered with his friends near the musicians as Adrián began to play ‘Bésame mucho’. He gave her a wink when she glanced at him, but he turned towards Alberto as he played and they began to sing.
When Jo joined in with the singing, Alberto beckoned her over, grasped a schnapps glass from the table and thrust it into her hands. After the next chorus, she clinked her glass with his and they both sipped, Jo spluttering and clearing her throat while Alberto sang the verse.
Shuffling around the dance floor with her little glass of liquor, joining in with all the bésame muchos and feeling Adrián’s warm eyes on her, she marvelled that this was the most fun she’d ever had at a wedding – including her own.
When he finished the song, she approached with a smile, coming in for a kiss, only to have him snatch her glass and down most of the contents with a cough.
‘I could bring you your own if you like,’ she asked in amusement.
‘I’m good now.’
‘Did you… play that for me?’ she asked.
‘Of course not!’ he said curtly. ‘Have you forgotten I’m not playing for you until we get home?’
She leaned back on her heels and eyed him, but he glanced up at her with a hint of a smile.
‘Maybe you’ll have to sing – for me. But tonight is about my pride, remember?’
‘I haven’t forgotten your pride.’
‘Good, then give me a kiss and dance some more.’
She began a mock grumble, but he leaned up and gave her a quick, soft kiss that reminded her of the future they’d imagined together that afternoon. Only a few seconds later did Jo notice that the room had gone quiet and all eyes seemed to be on the two exes.
Jo straightened awkwardly, waiting for whatever censure was coming their way. But Aunt María Dolores just stood in her seat and called something out, clapping her hands for emphasis.
Adrián grinned. ‘She wants me to play flamenco,’ he explained, calling out to Mónica’s aunt in the affirmative and strumming the guitar.
But before he could start up the next song, his phone rang. Retrieving it from the pocket of his jacket with a frown, Jo caught sight of a Spanish phone number before he connected the call. ‘Sí,’ he answered brusquely. A moment later, his eyebrows flew up and he met her curious gaze as he listened.
After confirming something quickly in Spanish, he hung up and released a full-throated laugh, leaning his head on her heavily. ‘It’s the guitar,’ he said between chuckles. ‘The police found it in a field not far from here. It was our fault. The lining of the case had been ripped open – to look for jewels that only existed in my warped sense of humour.’
‘That’s the last time I’m picking up one of your running jokes,’ she said with a groan. ‘But is the guitar all right?’
He nodded brightly. ‘Not a scratch on it apparently – although I’ll believe that when I see it.’
‘What’s that?’ Alberto called out. ‘The guitar has been found? Another reason to celebrate!’
‘I’m glad it’s not damaged,’ Adrián said earnestly to his former father-in-law.
‘Yo también – me too. Oscar will need a guitar one day soon, no? He can take lessons from the best: maestro Alberto Hernández Ortega!’
Adrián just rolled his eyes and stowed his phone, picking up the guitar again.
Jo leaned on his shoulder and dropped her mouth to his ear. ‘I think Oscar is already learning from the best.’
His lips twitched. ‘Oh, so you found out Dec taught him how to play Mario Kart?’
‘Whaaat?’
With another chuckle, he brought her head down to press a kiss to her mouth. ‘Now shh. I have to play flamenco before María Dolores poisons my drink.’
The party grew lively after that and continued well into the night, with Adrián playing on and off, refusing to put the guitar away for good, even though Jo knew his shoulder was aching. When they finally started to wilt at two in the morning – well before the rest of the family was ready to retire – he handed the guitar back to José Pascal and they rounded up the children to head to their hotel rooms – after searching for Oscar for ten minutes because he’d fallen asleep under the linens of his grandparents’ table.
Adrián hefted him up with some difficulty, holding his weight with his right arm as the boy dropped his head to his father’s shoulder and went back to sleep. When they reached their floor, they were too tired to react to the continued absence of Adrián and Oscar’s door with anything beyond a brief groan, and Jo tugged him into their triple room, where he hurriedly dumped Oscar onto one of the single beds.
Exhausted, they collapsed wherever they could, stuffed into the small room.
When Jo opened her heavy eyelids the following morning, it was to see Adrián across from her and she smiled. He was snuggled into Oscar and both of them were blissfully, sweetly asleep on the single bed next to hers. Dec was on a pile of blankets on the floor, out cold, and Liss had turned away and tucked herself into the blankets on the other side of the double.
Her family was chaotic, imperfect, overwhelming – and she loved them so much. Wherever they went next, they would go there together, and that was all that mattered.