Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
KIERAN
My trip to New York is short. Mam picks me up from the airport and drives us straight home.
The brownstone we live in looks the same as it always does, tastefully decorated and artfully designed, but something feels different.
Perhaps I’m seeing it with new eyes. Perhaps I’m just now noticing all the love in it, now that I know what love is.
It’s nice to lay on my bed again, but this house—it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home is where Isabel is. Home is the Philippines.
Mum steps in to deliver my paintings to the Riboulets so I can rest; they liked it so much that they bought three for their permanent collection, leaving seven up for grabs.
There’s no escaping Mam and Fliss’ interrogation over dinner. I’m forced to show pictures, to recount the PG version of how Isabel and I got together.
My whole family attends my exhibit. Red stickers are stuck to the labels next to each painting.
Clarisse Riboulet tells me my collection has so far been the fastest to sell out, out of all the shows they’ve hosted this summer.
Mum winks at me when Clarisse rhapsodizes about the cleverness of the stitching, how it calls to mind the Moirai, and how the stitching together of our memories can be looked back on as fate.
How fate itself is a construct woven by a pattern-seeking mind looking for explanations, connections, and justifications in an absurd world.
If she only knew she was proof of her interpretation herself.
I call Isabel to show her the packed gallery. I wish she were here, but I’ll be home soon enough. We call again after the show, and again when I arrive home. We fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing, and we do it every night until I fly back.
* * *
Life is on the up and up, and the same week I return to Manila, I sign the lease to my brand-new apartment.
Rocío, Isabel, and I hit up IKEA to buy furniture.
Even with a loosey-goosey budget from Mum, I figured I’d aim for something reliable but affordable enough just so she doesn’t think I’m taking advantage of her.
I push the cart around the labyrinthine store, smiling as Isabel and Rocío gush over this object and that. Despite coming here with a list and an agreement not to get distracted, we leave with a little more than we prepared for. Not that I’m complaining.
Rocío’s family’s trusted handymen come to assemble the furniture. In just a week’s time, I’m all set up and ready to go.
First order of business: host a housewarming party, no matter how small.
Isabel and I curate the playlist, drinks, and menu. We buy a bottle of rosé and more beer. We cool them in the fridge and set about preparing dinner.
Rocío fiddles with the lamps, trying to perfect her vision for ambient lighting. I’ve come to accept that she and Isabel, for better or for worse, are a package deal. Hopefully Joaqs and I will get along when he returns from Cebu.
The only other person to arrive is Inigo, whose height I’d been warned about, and who was still taller than I expected. He brings us a potted plant and invites me to their next game. He said he’ll introduce me to his teammates, and Rocío says not to worry—“They’re nothing like your friends.”
After the twins leave, I get a new wind when I see Isabel standing in front of the sink, washing her hands.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Hey, yourself,” she says with a grin.
“We have one more thing left on the agenda, in case you forgot.”
“Huh? What is it?”
I smirk. “Breaking the bed in.”
She laughs and whacks me with the drying towel. Nevertheless, she lets me scoop her into my arms and kiss her deeply.
I’ve never felt more fond of her than at that moment. My sweet, strong girl. So brave, so perfect for me. Of course I’ve questioned my faith, but damn if she doesn’t give me a reason to believe. A girl like her is a miracle, like something out of a dream.
I carry her to the bed and strip her cute little white dress off her body.
I smooth my hands down her sides, watch her skin prickle with goosebumps.
I latch on to her neck, leave my mark there before I move down, patient as she unclasps her bra and then sucking on her nipple while my free hand pinches the other.
She whimpers softly and cradles my head against her chest. I want more. I need more.
I press her down onto the bed and set about stripping myself. I sink to my knees, one hand on her thigh as I kiss down it, the other stroking my erection.
I kiss her over her panties, already wet with her arousal. Hooking two fingers under them, I drag them off her legs, kissing down the trail it leads. I toss the flimsy fabric aside and look up at her from between her legs.
She’s pressing her breasts together, her index finger caught between her teeth. Fucking hell, she’s gorgeous.
I lick a stripe against her slit and treasure the moan it elicits from her. Her scent, her flavor. It isn’t long before I’m burrowing into her, lapping at her soft, warm flesh like my life depended on it.
She squirms under me, crying out in pleasure. I let go of myself to hold her down, write sweet oaths of love against her bud. She shudders in no time, a sweet cry of “Daddy!” before she collapses into a panting heap on my bed.
I pull away, already leaking from the tip and smirking. “How was that?” I ask. Isabel doesn’t respond; she just grabs me by the nape of my neck and pulls me down for a passionate kiss.
I fumble for my drawer and pull out a condom packet. I tear it open before Isabel stops me.
“I’m on the pill now,” she says sheepishly. “Mama said I wasn’t allowed to sleep over otherwise.” A flush creeps up her neck. It makes me laugh. So fucking cute. I love her so much.
I toss the condom aside and scoop her under her arms, hugging her tightly, our cheeks pressed against each other’s.
I position myself at her entrance and listen to her breathing, revel in the way it hitches when I push in, and the way mine syncs when her walls suck me in and contract around my length.
“I love you,” I whisper, pulling back just to thrust right into her.
“I love you,” she returns, repeating it over and over again in time with the buck of my hips. I could do this forever. I could lay here, making love to her until I die, and know I’d leave a happy man.
We reach our peak together, gripping each other close, our moans an ecstatic harmony blending into one. I bottom out inside of her as her body jerks and her walls pulse around me.
I drop down next to her and pull her into my arms. I kiss the side of her head and lay back to stare up at the ceiling.
She rests her head on my chest and traces circles over my skin. “I think your bed’s sufficiently broken in now,” she says with a laugh.
“Are you kidding?” I say, rolling her over so she can get on all fours. I kneel behind her. “We’re not even remotely close.”