Chapter 13 #2
“I know, but I promise I will return as quickly as possible. But today I don’t want to talk about London or leaving. I simply want to enjoy our first Christmas together. And to start our day off properly, I have a small gift for you.”
He finally held out the gift that he had been holding behind his back with one hand. Ana’s head cocked, and her mouth gaped in surprise as the sadness was banished from her eyes. She motioned to herself. “Para mí?”
“Claro! Obvio!” Peter said teasingly, as if poking fun at the situation would slow the rapid beating of his heart. He pressed the gift into her grasp, his own nervous hands sweating enough to leave several marks on the silk packaging.
“You wish that I open it now?” Ana asked, her smile widening.
“Please do.”
Ana walked back to her desk and sat in her chair.
Peter joined her, standing at just the right angle where he would be able to see her expression at the precise moment when she realized what he had given her.
She slowly, carefully pulled at the two ends of the green ribbon, and the fabric tumbled open.
Inside lay a long length of twisted, white satin cord, threaded through with small pearlescent beads and tied at the ends with bits of embroidered lace.
At the bottom of the package, a handful of coins clinked together, shining brightly against the backdrop of the pure fabric.
“Qué es eso?” Ana asked, her eyes bright with excitement and wonder as she fingered the cord. Then she held up the coins with one hand, reaching for Peter’s hand with the other. “Are they some pin moneys?” she asked, laughing.
He joined in her laughter. “Well, they could be, but I hope they’ll have much more significance than that. I gather you’re familiar with the Spanish wedding tradition of arras?”
Ana fingered the coins, looking at them more closely as shock was written across her face. “Sí, of course. Ay, but these are reales!”
“Indeed. Spanish coins. And there are thirteen of them, to be precise. It is my understanding that the coins represent Jesus and His twelve apostles and bring promise of wellness and happiness in our marriage.”
“Es verdad. That is true. And my accepting the reales also represents my trust in you.”
“And my willingness to provide for you financially. Although my future standing with the army is uncertain, Ana, I promise that I will always provide for you. We will have a prosperous life.”
Ana’s bottom lip trembled, and her dark eyes lightened with tears.
“And Pedro, I promise that I will trust you, and I will care for our house and our family.” Her hand strayed to her midsection.
“We will have a life tan feliz together. Muchísimas gracias for honoring the traditions of my country and family. This is the most precioso gift you could ever bring for me.”
“There is something more in your Christmas present, if you care to look.”
Ana returned to the package, pulling out the length of cord with quiet reverence. Peter’s legs trembled with nervousness. Would she think the gift too intimate? Or entirely unfestive?
“We did not have the opportunity to honor this Spanish tradition on our wedding day, as it was a bit of a rushed affair, but I wished for us to have the opportunity, as I understand the lazo is a ritual of great importance. I only hope I can explain all this without making a fool of myself—or the traditions—entirely.”
“Sí,” Ana murmured as her eyes filled with tears. Peter froze for a moment, fear seizing him, but her growing smile revealed them to be happy tears.
“Gracias, Pedro. This thing was the most thoughtful and considerate that anyone ever do for me in my life,” she laughed. “And for you, this is muy romántico. My stiff Pedro. Un romántico.”
“You deserve it all, my dear. And I would have included these traditions in our original wedding day had I . . .” Been of an emotionally sound mind.
Been prepared for a wedding that I could not have possibly anticipated .
. . “Had I made more careful plans.” He cleared his throat and continued.
“Now, although I have been married to you once before, I’m not entirely certain how this all is supposed to work.
Traditionally, I believe we would be kneeling, but I wager it’s all right if we stand here.
” Peter moved to the middle of the room.
“So, if you will come stand beside me, please.”
Ana stepped close to him, their shoulders pressing and their hands interlacing.
“Now, I believe I should wrap this about our shoulders,” Peter said as he extended his arm above her head, weaving the cord about her.
“Sí, in the shape of an ocho, eight,” Ana said, reaching up her hand to help Peter in intertwining the lazo around them, crossing at their shoulders.
“We have no pastor here, but I suppose it will have to do.” He blew out a breath, hoping to calm his nerves, but the trembling in his knees was incessant. “Ana, I promise you before God that I will protect you and care for you forever, just as this cord wraps around us in a continual motion.”
Ana repeated his vow-like words as tears began to drip down her cheeks. “Pedro, I promise you that I will be support for you through the dificuldades y gozos of life. Through the moments of difficulty and the moments of joy, the moments of pain and the moments of peace.”
“And we have lived through so much already,” Peter said, his chuckle tinged with sadness.
Ana nodded. “And I promise to give you a life of felicidad y amor.”
He repeated her words, meaning every one with sincerity, even if he was not entirely certain how he would bring them to pass.
Felicidad y amor. Happiness and love. Peter’s chest constricted.
How long had those feelings felt so out of reach?
And yet light was breaking through years of darkness as a small hope bubbled up in him.
If anyone would be capable of bringing love to his home, it was Ana.
Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Ana’s head as she leaned into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his.
He wanted to linger in the warmth of her closeness, wanted to press a kiss to a number of locations other than merely the adorable curls on her head.
But he would not ruin the sentimental moment by getting ahead of himself.
That is, until Ana interrupted their quiet contemplation herself by shifting to stand in front of him, their torsos pressed together, until they were helplessly wrapped in the shining white cords.
“Ay, que error!” she said, her eyes full of laughter and her brows raised in feigned innocence. “We are tied together! Oh no!”
Peter chuckled nervously, “My dear, what will we do?”
“Está bien, I am sure you will get free of this . . . perhaps tomorrow.” She raised her eyebrow suggestively, teasingly.
He was now entirely certain that she would be able to feel his heart pounding through his chest. It nearly drowned out her voice, it was so loud in his ears. What on earth could she be trying to accomplish?
“Pedro, you forget one thing so importante.”
His stomach dropped in panic, and the excitement of her nearness dampened significantly. “Oh no, do tell me what it is.”
“You need to kiss your bride!”
That request was entirely surprising but not entirely unexpected.
Ana certainly was one for tradition. Still, Peter found himself entirely frozen in shock, his arms not knowing how to embrace his wife, much less pull her in for a kiss.
Their first kiss at their first wedding was certainly not romantic or emotional, and now that some of those feelings had developed, he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to react.
He searched her face for any of the wide-eyed panic that he had seen beneath the kissing bough, but her eyes were clear and bright, her smile peaceful.
He had no desire to kiss Ana if it would cause her to remember such painful moments.
But could it be that she had begun to leave those memories in the past?
“Are you entirely certain?”
“Yes.” Her voice was firm and steady. “Pedro, we are esposos. You are my husband. It is right to desire to kiss you, no?”
“Well, yes.” Peter’s face was flaming—he could feel it.
“I simply want to ensure that you are comfortable, given your . . . past experiences. I would never want to experience any discomfort in my company. And if that requires that I maintain a safe distance from you, I will willingly do so without complaint . . .”
“No. Peter, I need you. I need your touch.” Ana placed her hands gently on his cheeks and stared into his eyes for a moment. “This helps me to feel safe—more safe than when you are not with me.”
Still, he hesitated. He had sworn never to frighten or harm her. But had she not just given her consent, her invitation?
Luckily, Ana moved for him. She brushed her lips against his with enough tenderness to draw tears to Peter’s eyes, which was not an easy feat.
She pulled away for a moment and stared at him, vulnerability written in the blush on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes.
But before Peter could put to words his surprise and delight or apologize for his lack of experience, she covered his lips with hers again, this time looping her hands around his neck.
Her lips were full, soft, and distractingly warm.
Peace rose in Peter upon feeling closer to Ana than he had ever thought possible.
For countless years, Peter had neglected every relationship of value in his life and had filled that void with an incessantly busy schedule, causing his quick rise in the army.
But no victory or position compared to the deep contentedness that flooded him upon holding Ana in his arms. And upon feeling her closeness, countless memories raced through his mind.
Passing Ana at camp, while fumbling to squeak out a word or two in Spanish to her.
Watching her confidently and gracefully navigate complex communications in multiple languages.
Seeing her walk down the aisle to marry him, her expression heartbreaking and beautiful.
And kissing her for the first time as man and wife—a small, innocent peck that altered his life irrevocably.
After the initial surprise of Ana’s touch and the emotion of the memories wore off, Peter realized that he was kissing his wife, a moment he had dreamed of for longer than he cared to admit to himself.
And that realization seemed to blessedly thaw him.
He wasted no more time in wrapping his arms around her, slightly constrained as they were by the cords that still surrounded them.
He threaded one hand through her hair and cupped the other around her growing waistline.
Involuntarily, he sighed into their kiss.
Her lips were perfection. Ana pulled back, laughing, and he brushed a kiss against her conveniently exposed throat.
It would seem her throat was also perfection.
Peter tested her cheek. Again, perfection.
He returned to her lips, all his resolve completely dissolved.
Yes, he was startled to discover that he most thoroughly enjoyed kissing his wife.
This would be a new weakness of his, it would seem.
Finally, Ana pulled back from his grasp. “Wait, I have una pregunta.”
“Yes?”
“Why you take the berry from the kissing bough?” Her lips curved teasingly, but her eyes were genuinely curious.
Peter felt his face burn. He hadn’t realized she noticed him do so. “They say that if a man kisses a woman beneath the kissing bough, that he should take a berry as a sort of proof. Or remembrance. Perhaps it shall bring us luck.”
“Yes, I believe it bring us this buena suerte. Because you kiss me, I be so lucky, no?”
And Peter found it a good opportunity to pull her close again.
Feeling her nearness and tasting her sweetness was as dangerously intoxicating as any sort of liquor Peter had ever heard of.
Granted, Peter had never kissed another woman, but he imagined Ana’s kisses were the most delectable of all.
Then he returned her kiss, moving his lips against hers slowly, gently, hoping to convey how deeply he cared for her.
He laced his fingers into her hair and deepened their kiss.
Ana pulled back, smiling and breathing hard, and Peter felt his knees weaken slightly, both at her reaction and at his realization that he had kissed his wife.
Finally. He cupped her face with one hand and leaned down to press his forehead against hers.
“Feliz Navidad, Ana.”