45. Alina
45
ALINA
A m I a little overwhelmed? Yes. Tomas’s family is noisy, boisterous, and a little over-the-top. I mean, a banner welcoming him home. What’s next, a parade?
And I love it.
I stand to the side, not sure what to do with myself. Tomas has the family I’ve always wanted, and it’s hard not to feel a little envious. Then he catches sight of my face, and he smiles at me, wide and happy. “Meet my family, Ali,” he says, lacing his fingers in mine. “What did I say about them? Loud, opinionated, and nosy.”
That’s when his mother catches sight of the ring on my finger.
Her eyes go very wide. For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, and then she squeals in delight and pulls me into a tight hug. “Tell me everything,” she says, her voice high and excited. “How did you meet? When did you get engaged? Have you set a date for the wedding, and what about a venue? It’s going to be in Valencia, right?” She turns to Tomas, her arm still around me. “Mijo, if you tell me you want to have the wedding in Italy, I will be very mad.”
Oh shit. I give Tomas a horrified look. His mother thinks we’re really getting married, but of course we’re not. This is a fake engagement, and its only purpose is to convince my father that I’m not interested in marrying the Russian groom he’s lined up for me. And I don’t know what to say to his parents. I feel awful lying to them.
“Tomas,” I start hesitantly.
“Ali,” he replies calmly. “Mamá, let her go; you’re smothering her. Ali, this is my father, Jose Antonio Aguilar. My mother, Carina Cetrone. My sister, Carlota Aguilar Cetrone, her husband, Ramon Torrente, and their son, Adan. Everyone, this is Alina Zuccaro. My fiancée.”
Wait, he’s introducing me as his fiancée? I wish we had time to get our story straight. Had I known we’d be ambushed by his family, I would have insisted. “It’s good to meet you.”
Tomas’s sister gives me a warm hug. “Welcome to the family,” she says. “It’s so good to meet you.” She gives her brother an arch look. “Tomas hasn’t visited in five years. I’m assuming you’re the reason he’s finally here.” She beams widely. “I like you already.” She takes her wriggling child back from Tomas. “Tell me everything about yourself. What do you do for work, what do you do for fun, and what’s the most annoying thing Tomas does?”
“Umm…”
Tomas thankfully comes to my rescue. Again. “Carlota, enough with the inquisition.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Want to go to our hotel and get settled?”
“A hotel?” Tomas’s mother sounds horrified. “You’re staying in a hotel when you’re home? Nonsense. I readied your room when you told me you were coming. I’m not taking no for an answer, mijo. Family stays at home.”
I have to bite back my chuckle. “Your room?” I love this. Tomas is calm and collected all the time, and nothing ever seems to get under his skin except, from the look of it, his family. It’s funny. I’m seeing a whole new side of him, and I like it.
“My childhood room,” he replies, giving his mother a look of fond exasperation. “I moved out when I was eighteen, and yet Mamá still hasn’t got rid of my stuff.” He gives me an inquiring look. “What do you think? Stay with this lot, or opt for peace and quiet?”
“Hey,” Carlota says indignantly, punching him on his arm. “We can be quiet.” She seems to notice her barking dog for the first time. “Biel, cállate.”
Stay with Tomas’s family. I don’t hesitate; my answer is instantaneous. “I’d love to stay with your family.”
I half-thought I’d find posters of bikini-clad women in Tomas’s bedroom. After all, he says he moved out when he was eighteen. Sadly, there are no half-naked blondes gracing his wall.
His bed, though? It’s small. It’s not quite as small as a single, but it seems narrower than a double. Tomas notices me looking at it and grins. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze. Scared?”
He’s baiting me, but I’m not going to fall for it. “I’m just thinking that it’ll be hard to ignore your snoring in a bed this size,” I say repressively.
“I don’t snore,” he replies with a grin, unzipping his garment bag and hanging up his suit jacket. “You, on the other hand…” His voice trails off suggestively.
When I first saw the garment bag, I was tempted to make a joke about how he couldn’t go a weekend without wearing a suit. Then I remembered the reason we’re in Valencia. My father has indicated that he wants to take me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and though he doesn’t know it yet, I’m not going anywhere without Tomas. He’s going to need the suit.
“I do not snore,” I say indignantly.
He winks at me. “Don’t worry, dolcezza. It’s adorable, not annoying.”
I frown at him. “You’re in a very good mood. What’s going to happen when your family finds out we’re not really engaged? Should we tell them the truth?”
“No,” he says immediately. “My mother is the worst actor in the world. If she knew the truth, she’d never be able to pretend. It’s not a big deal. Once we’re back in Venice, I’ll tell them about the ruse.”
“They seem really excited about your engagement.” When she finds out it’s not real, Carina is going to be crushed. And I can’t bear to be the one who puts that look of disappointment in her eyes. “I feel like I’m abusing your mother’s kindness.”
“She won’t hold it against you, dolcezza.”
Tomas’s parents live near the beach in a neighborhood called El Cabanyal. It’s warmer than Venice, but the ocean breeze makes the heat manageable. Carlota announces that we’re going to eat outside. “Can I help?” I ask when I head back downstairs.
“No, no, just enjoy the lovely weather. Ramon and I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?”
Tomas comes up behind me. “Carlota is the head chef at one of the best restaurants in the city,” he says, his voice proud. “According to her sous-chef, she’s very temperamental. There’s lots of screaming and throwing things. It’s best to stay out of it. You wouldn’t want to be hit by a flying knife.”
Her eyes narrow. “My sous-chef said that, did he? Just wait until I find him.”
“Who’s her sous-chef?” I ask in a low voice.
Tomas gives me a wicked smile. “Ramon. This ought to be fun.”
Lunch is amazing. Carlota and Ramon bring out dish after delicious dish. Patatas bravas, olives stuffed with anchovies—Tomas tells me they’re called gildas—Brie baked with caramelized onions with a dollop of raspberry sauce on top, paella, croquettes, a cuttlefish stew, warm bread, olive oil, and so much more. I eat everything. By the time I’m done, I’m so stuffed that it hurts to breathe, and I regret nothing. I lean back in my chair and let the conversation flow around me.
Carlota watches me approvingly. “You should come to my restaurant for esmorzaret tomorrow,” she says. “It’s in the central market. Have you been to Valencia before?”
“No, it’s my first time.” And probably my last. Once Tomas’s family finds out about my deception, they’re not going to want to see me again. “What’s esmorzaret?”
“Valencian brunch,” Tomas says from across the table. “Usually, a sandwich—a bocadillo—followed by cremaet, which is basically coffee with rum. It’s a Valencian specialty.”
“Like café bombon?”
Tomas’s father leans forward with interest. “You’ve had café bombon?”
“She made it for me,” Tomas replies. “She thinks it’s disgustingly sweet.” He gives me an amused smile. “She’ll come around.”
Lunch lasts three hours. Adan, the baby, is a little restless by the time we near the end, so his father takes him to the beach. Tomas’s mother stirs reluctantly at the end of the meal. “I need to stop by the hospital,” she says. “I told them I wouldn’t be coming in today, but there are a couple of patients I want to check in on. Tomas, will you give me a ride, mijo?”
Tomas gives me an inquiring look. “Will you be okay by yourself, dolcezza?”
I blush at the nickname. He’s called me that dozens of times, but this is in front of his family. “Of course.”
“You should take a siesta,” Carina says with a smile. “It’s my favorite Spanish tradition. Dinner here is a little later than in Italy. We don’t usually eat until ten.” She turns to her daughter. “Carlota, don’t clear up, mija. I’ll do it after I get back.”
“No, you won’t,” Jose Antonio says firmly, demonstrating where Tomas gets his stubbornness from. “I’ll do it.”
“No, Papá, your hip is bothering you,” Carlota protests. “It’s no big deal. I’ll take care of it.”
I jump to my feet. “Please let me do it. It’s the least I can do to thank you for this delicious meal.”
“No, Alina, you’re our guest?—”
Tomas winks at me. “I thought you told her she’s family,” he says teasingly. “Which is it?”
Carlota makes a face at her brother. “Don’t you have to give Mamá a ride?” she asks pointedly. “Maybe you should do that.” She glances at me, a smile tugging on her lips. “How about we do it together? That’s my best offer.”
“I’ll take it.”
The kitchen is large and modern, and cleaning up takes very little time. It’s just a matter of loading everything into the industrial-strength dishwasher. Carlota and I chat companionably as we work. Mostly, she tells me all the places I must visit in Valencia. “The market, of course,” she says. “La Llotja de la Seda is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and Mercat de Colón is in a really beautiful building. And, of course, you can’t miss Turia, the park that runs through the city.”
“I’m only here until Sunday.” I handwash a beautiful jade green ceramic platter that won’t fit in the dishwasher. “I don’t know if I’ll have time for everything.”
“It’s a small city, just like Venice. Everything’s really close together. You can do it all in a few hours and then settle in the square with a glass of wine and people-watch. Have you set a date for the wedding?”
She’s good. One moment, she’s telling me about the tourist attractions, and the next moment when my suspicions have been lulled, she throws in a personal question. I’ll have to be careful how I answer; Tomas and I still haven’t got our stories straight.
Come to think of it, Tomas’s family’s questions are good practice for the meeting with my father. Under the circumstances, I’m sure he’ll have as many questions about my engagement, if not more.
“No,” I reply. “Not yet. We’re not in a huge hurry.” I flash her a smile. “And before you ask, we also haven’t picked a venue.”
She grins. “Only my mother will be mortally offended if the wedding isn’t in Valencia. I wouldn’t mind visiting Venice. I’ve only been there once.”
I’m dying of curiosity. “I know Tomas hasn’t visited in five years,” I say carefully. “Can I ask why you haven’t traveled to see him?”
“We wanted to,” she replies, her expression pensive. “He asked us not to. I’m afraid that when Tomas told us he was going to marry Estela, our reaction wasn’t the best. None of us liked her.” She makes a face. “When she turned him down—the evil bitch—he didn’t want to discuss it. He shut down every attempt to talk. Maybe he felt like we’d gloat. I don’t know. Tomas doesn’t love often, but he loves deeply.”
I can believe that.
“Anyway, that’s all in the past where it can remain. What’s important is that he’s found you, and you’re a zillion times nicer than Estela. And if you want to borrow my wedding dress…”
Umm, okay. “Is that another Valencian tradition?”
She bursts into laughter. “I’m so sorry,” she says when her giggles have died down. “I should explain since Tomas clearly didn’t. Our abuela, Ana Isabel—my father’s mother—left Tomas her engagement ring, and she left me her wedding dress. It’s my most cherished possession.” Her expression softens. “Although Adan’s first pair of socks might rival that. Anyway, Tomas never gave Estela our abuela’s ring, so deep down inside, he obviously knew she was the wrong woman for him. And he gave it to you?—”
“What?” I yelp.
“He didn’t tell you?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Typical guy. Yes, you’re wearing the Aguilar engagement ring. We haven’t spent a lot of time together, but already I can tell you’re going to make my brother very, very happy.” Her voice is warm. “So, if you want to wear my wedding dress, I’ll be happy to lend it to you. But please, no pressure. Your mother might want you to wear her dress, of course?—”
My throat feels thick with tears. “My mother is dead. If she had a wedding dress, I never saw it.” I don’t even know if she was married to my father when she ran.
Carlota takes in my expression. “I’ve made you cry,” she exclaims in dismay. “Tomas is going to kill me. Oh God, Alina, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a difficult memory?—”
“No, it’s not that.” Well, it is that, a little. I miss my mother. It’s been two years, but some days, the grief feels as fresh as ever. But it’s not just her absence that’s making me cry. It’s Tomas’s perfect, lovely, kind family. Throughout lunch, I sat there, surrounded by their warmth and laughter, and it was everything I’d always wanted.
But it’s not real. None of it is.
Is it all fake, though? A hopeful voice inside me whispers. He gave you his grandmother’s engagement ring. That’s got to mean something.
Two stories are happening here. One where reality intrudes and I get my heart broken, and the fairy-tale version with a handsome prince and a happily ever after. But I don’t know which version to believe.