Chapter 20 My Name, Our Home #4
"Rafael." My father claps him on the shoulder with the easy familiarity that still surprises me sometimes. "I need your opinion on something."
"Irrigation?" Rafael doesn't move his hand from my shoulder.
"The north grove." My father gestures toward the distant trees. "The drainage has been off since the spring rains. Corrado thinks we should dig a new channel, but I'm not convinced."
"Show me when we come over tomorrow." Rafael finally lets go of my shoulder to accept the conversation. "I had a similar problem two years ago near the boundary. There might be a simpler solution."
They drift toward the edge of the terrace, heads bent together, and I watch them go with something warm expanding in my chest. My father still insists that the fruit on his side of the boundary is sweeter.
Rafael has begun insisting on a blind tasting.
Neither has managed to persuade my mother to referee.
"He's good with her." My mother has appeared beside my chair, her eyes on the pram where Lucia has finally stopped kicking. "Rafael, I mean. With Lucia."
"He is." I watch my daughter's eyes drift closed, her tiny fingers still wrapped around the edge of the blanket. "He was nervous at first. He made the midwife show him how to hold her, then spent the next hour refusing to give her back."
"Your father was, too." My mother sits down beside me. "He didn't sleep for a week after we brought you home. He kept checking to make sure you were still breathing."
"Rafael still does that." I smile. "He thinks I don't notice, but I hear him get up at night."
"He'll settle." My mother leaves the umbrella alone at last. "Eventually you both learn to sleep while she does."
Beatrice has joined Corrado at the far end of the terrace, leaving me beside the pram without a grandmother leaning over each shoulder. I take advantage of the peace to lean over and look at my daughter properly, without grandmothers offering commentary.
Lucia is beautiful in the way all babies are beautiful, and also in a way that feels specifically hers.
She has dark hair that sticks up in all directions despite our attempts to smooth it, and her cheeks are round from months of enthusiastic nursing.
Her eyelids lift again, and she watches me with the serious attention she gives to everything that interests her.
"Hello, little one." I stroke her cheek with one finger, and she turns her head toward my touch. "Having a good day with all your admirers?"
She makes a sound that might be agreement and wraps her fingers around mine. Her grip is surprisingly strong.
"I know." I let her hold on. "It's a lot of people. But they all love you very much, even when they argue about umbrellas."
"Are you warning her about us?" Rafael returns and settles into the chair on my other side. "I think it's too late. She's met everyone."
"I'm explaining the family." I don't look up from Lucia's face. "She likes my version. Watch."
I hum a few notes, nothing in particular, and Lucia's eyes track toward me. Her grip on my finger tightens.
"See?" I glance at Rafael, unable to resist showing off this tiny success.
"She was already looking at you." But he's smiling, watching us both with an expression that still makes my breath catch sometimes. "I'm not convinced."
"You don't have to be convinced." I carefully extract my finger and reach for my water. "You just have to accept that I'm right."
"I'll ask her myself when she can answer." He leans over the pram, and Lucia reaches toward him. "Aha. I have a supporter."
"She's after your nose." He holds still while she explores his face, accepting a damp hand against his cheek without flinching. I love him for that.
***
A little later, the grandparents have settled into something resembling peace.
My mother has claimed the chair closest to Lucia's pram, my father has joined Corrado at the far end of the terrace with a second glass of wine, and Beatrice is holding Lucia against her shoulder, swaying gently in a rhythm that seems to come from somewhere deep in her bones.
"I need a break." I catch Rafael's eye across the terrace and mouth the words, tipping my head toward the house. He raises an eyebrow, questioning.
He nods and crosses to where his mother is swaying with our daughter. I watch him lean close and say something that makes Beatrice smile, then gesture toward me.
"Go." Beatrice shifts Lucia to a more secure position. "She's just been fed, she's happy, and I haven't had nearly enough time with her this week."
"We won't be long." I'm already on my feet, reaching for Rafael's hand. "An hour, maybe two."
"Take three." My mother waves us toward the door without looking up from the blanket she's refolding. "We'll manage."
"Are you sure?" I pause at the edge of the terrace, some part of me still reluctant to leave. "She might get fussy."
"Serafina." Beatrice fixes me with a look that brooks no argument. "I raised a child. Your mother raised a child. Between the four of us, we can handle one small baby for a few hours. Go."
Rafael tugs my hand, and I let him pull me toward the house. "You heard her. We're dismissed."
"I feel like I should argue." I follow him through the kitchen, grabbing my light jacket from the hook by the door. "Just for form's sake."
"You can argue later." He opens the door and holds it for me. "Right now, we're escaping."
The car is warm from sitting in the sun, and I roll down the window as we pull out of the drive. The air smells like citrus blossoms and warm earth, the familiar scent of spring on the estate.
"Where are we going?" I turn in my seat to study his profile, though I already know.
"Where do you think?" He glances at me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I thought we might check on the treehouse. Make sure it's still standing."
"It was standing last week." I lean back in my seat and let the breeze wash over me. "And the week before that."
"Buildings need regular inspection." He takes the turn toward the grove boundary, the road narrowing as the cultivated rows give way to older growth. "I'm being responsible."
"You're being ridiculous." But I'm smiling too, watching the familiar landscape slide past. "I love that about you."
He parks at the edge of the clearing, in the spot that's become ours over the past year. The path to the treehouse is visible through the trees, worn smooth by our footsteps.
We walk together, not hurrying, his hand warm in mine. The light filters through the leaves in shifting patterns, and somewhere above us a bird is singing something complicated and beautiful.
"I missed this." I squeeze his fingers. "Just being alone with you."
"We were alone this morning." He holds a branch aside so I can pass. "For at least ten minutes before your mother arrived."
"That doesn't count." I duck under the branch and wait for him to follow. "We were doing laundry."
"Very romantic laundry." He catches up to me and slides his arm around my waist. "I was thinking about you the whole time."
"You were thinking about whether we had enough detergent." I lean into him as we walk. "I saw your face."
"I can think about two things at once." He squeezes my waist before letting me pass a narrow bend in the path. "I'm talented that way."
The treehouse comes into view, solid and beautiful in the afternoon light. The stairs curve up to the platform, the railing sturdy beneath my hand as I start to climb.
"I'll never get tired of this." I pause halfway up to look at the view. "All those years it was just a pile of boards, and now it's real again."
"Better than real." Rafael climbs behind me, his footsteps steady on the wide stairs. "It has cushions now. The old one just had splinters."
I reach the platform and cross to the bench, running my hand over the faded fabric.
Through the doorway behind me, I can see the small wooden room, the afternoon light falling through the window onto the sill where the carved sliver of wood still rests.
S + R. A heart around them, crooked and perfect.
Rafael joins me on the platform, standing close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through my shirt.
"What are you thinking?" He turns me to face him, his hands on my waist.
"That I want to kiss you." I slide my arms around his neck. "That I've been wanting to kiss you all afternoon, while your mother debated umbrella placement and my father pretended not to notice us making eyes at each other."
"We were making eyes at each other?" He's grinning, pulling me closer on the platform. Leaves shift gold around us. "I thought I was being subtle."
"You weren't subtle today." I rise on my toes and brush my lips against his, once, twice, lingering. "It's one of your better qualities."
He kisses me back, slow and thorough. Heat builds familiar and deep: less desperate than a year ago, hungrier for being allowed. I know the smile against my mouth. I know the way his breath catches when I make a sound.
When I pull back just enough, he follows, impatient, and I laugh softly into the next kiss.
His hands span my waist, thumbs stroking the soft place above my hips, then slide lower. He grips my ass through my trousers and hauls me flush until I feel him hard against my stomach.
The contact makes my pulse jump. I grind once without meaning to, and he answers by fisting lightly in my hair, tipping my head so he can kiss me deeper, filthier, until I'm clutching his shoulders on the open platform with the groves spread below us like a secret we still get to keep.
"Inside." I pull back just far enough to speak, already breathless. "Now."
Rafael doesn't argue. He takes my hand and leads me through the doorway into the small wooden room. Sunlight falls across the daybed we added last summer.
On the sill, the carved sliver still rests. S + R. A heart around them, crooked and perfect. Something in my chest goes warm and tight at once.
"Close the door." I catch his shirt as he turns, reluctant to let him get even that far.