Chapter 18
The sky over Santander stretches clear above the city, and the air still retains that coolness that makes you button your jacket slightly as you walk down the street.
The bustle of the day begins to unfold naturally as Rebeca Noriega listens to the sound of traffic and watches the buses stop at the various stops, bringing with them the murmur of people chatting as they stroll by.
Rebeca walks past the shop windows with her hands buried in her jacket pockets. The sun caresses the stone and glass facades, and she feels that same light seeping between her ribs, warming the skin that still holds the memory of her last encounter with Martina.
Beside her, Bruno walks along laden with several paper bags hanging from his arms as if they were trophies from a small urban expedition.
They left a clothing store on one of the downtown shopping streets a while ago, and now they’re crossing the liveliest part of the city, where elegant buildings cast long shadows on the pavement.
They’ve spent the last hour going in and out of stores.
First a bookstore where Bruno insisted on browsing the new releases, eagerly flipping through the glossy covers while commenting aloud on titles that, according to him, “Rebeca urgently needed on her nightstand. Even if you’re not the excellent translator.
” Then they visited a clothing store where she ended up trying on more items than she had planned, twirling in front of the mirror in skinny jeans and linen shirts that smelled of new possibilities.
And then a small boutique where Bruno found a navy blue cashmere scarf that, according to him, “perfectly defines her personality: elegant, a bit dramatic, and prone to getting tangled up in other people’s feelings. ”
Now they’re heading toward the main square as the city moves around them with a vibrant calm.
Bruno lifts one of the bags and shakes it lightly.
“I’ll remind you that all this weighs a ton,” he says with a theatrical smile that creates little wrinkles around his eyes. “If you decide to keep shopping, I’m going to start charging for the service. And my rates are high, just so you know.”
Rebeca glances at him sideways, with an amused smile that only he can bring out.
“Don’t complain so much. Half of that stuff is yours.”
“But I’m the one carrying it,” he retorts, exaggerating his suffering even more. “Where’s the chivalry if you don’t let me show off?”
“Because you wanted to play the hero,” she replies without stopping. “No one forced you to take the heaviest bags.”
Bruno sighs dramatically, though his expression shows more amusement than complaint.
“That’s the downside of being an exemplary friend. Someone has to bear the burden of your whims… and mine.”
Rebeca smiles genuinely and can’t help but nod.
It’s been a long time since she’s felt this lighthearted in a conversation about her life.
Bruno has always had that strange ability to defuse even the most complex tensions with a mix of irony and tenderness that’s impossible to resist. It’s as if he knows exactly where to apply pressure so that the cracks open without causing too much damage.
And for that very reason, she hates the part about having moved to another city just a little bit.
They walk a few more meters before the conversation, almost inevitably, returns to where it seemed to be heading from the start.
The past.
Bruno adjusts the bags in his hands, shifting the weight from one arm to the other.
“There’s something about that whole story that’s always caught my attention,” Bruno remarks casually.
Rebeca turns her head slightly toward him.
“What?”
“That you never really understood why it happened. Or, rather, that you never wanted to understand it.”
Rebeca frowns.
“I understood it perfectly,” she replies, though the certainty sounds somewhat hollow even to her own ears.
Because even as she says it, she feels that something inside her isn’t so sure. A splinter beginning to shift beneath her skin.
Bruno watches her for a few long seconds, in no hurry for her to answer.
“Really?”
Rebeca walks a little slower, as if the words weigh more than her boots, and they start to come out before she’s decided whether she should say them or not.
“What I’ve always wondered is why,” she murmurs. “Why did she leave like that, from one day to the next, when she swore to love me above all else? When she looked at me as if I were the only safe place in the world. Even after what happened and no matter how many job opportunities she had.”
The memory comes back with uncomfortable clarity: the promises whispered in her ear, the arguments that ended in desperate kisses, the feeling that something was breaking without either of them knowing exactly how to fix it.
Bruno shrugs slightly.
“Maybe she couldn’t handle the shame of having screwed up your contract. I remind you that it took you a year for the big players to trust you again,” he suggests. “Or maybe she felt that things couldn’t be fixed. That the damage was already too great.”
He pauses for a moment to adjust a bag that’s threatening to slip, and when he starts walking again, he adds:
“Look, what I do know for sure is that Martina is right about one thing.”
Rebeca falls silent. Curiosity mixes with a slight unease that tightens her stomach.
“What?”
Bruno smiles with an almost irritating calm.
“Maybe fate really is giving you a second chance.”
The words hang between them as they cross a crowded street. The light turns green and the crowd moves forward, but Rebeca feels as if her feet are glued to the pavement.
She exhales sharply, letting all the air out of her lungs.
“Right.” Her tone sounds almost sharp. Maybe because she doesn’t really believe it. “A second chance where we’re both cheating on Julia. Where we kiss in secret, touch each other in the dark, and then pretend everything’s fine. That doesn’t exactly sound romantic to me, Bruno.”
He watches her closely, without looking away.
“But you don’t regret it either,” he says, and the statement weighs heavily on Rebeca.
For a second, Rebeca feels the air trapped in her chest. Her heart pounds against her ribs in a frantic rhythm.
She keeps walking, looking straight ahead, as if the answer might appear written on one of the facades passing by her, in the golden letters of the shops, the balconies with geraniums, but the truth is that everything blurs.
Finally, she sighs.
“I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore,” Rebeca admits. “Some days I hate her for leaving. Some days I hate her for finding her again. And some nights…” She pauses and swallows. “Some nights I just want her to kiss me until I forget how to breathe without her.”
Bruno watches her, and a smile appears on his lips.
“Don’t worry,” he says, giving her a little nudge. “Going a little crazy sometimes is part of the process. Especially when your heart has been lying to itself for years.”
“I guess so…”
A few minutes later, they decide to go into a nearby café.
The place is located on a bright corner, with large windows that let in the midday light. Inside, the atmosphere is cozy and relaxed. Several tables are occupied by people chatting quietly while enjoying brunch, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with that of the food.
They sit by the window at a small table, and Bruno sets the bags aside with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Finally,” he sighs, stretching his arms. “I think I’ve developed new muscles just for you,” he jokes, and Rebeca rolls her eyes.
A waitress approaches with a friendly smile.
After glancing at the menu for a few seconds, Rebeca orders rustic toast with avocado, sun-dried tomatoes, a poached egg, and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil, accompanied by a strong latte.
Bruno, for his part, settles on scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, a small salad of sprouts and arugula, and a cappuccino sprinkled with cinnamon.
When the waitress leaves, Rebeca leans back in her chair and lets her gaze wander out onto the street.
Santander stretches out on the other side of the glass with a quiet beauty. People walk along the sidewalk, some couples stop in front of the shop windows, a woman walks a small dog that moves enthusiastically among the passersby…
There is something about this city that calms her. Something that makes her feel, at times, as if her life could slowly fall into place, piece by piece.
Bruno rests his elbows on the table, drops his chin onto his hands, and watches her with a mischievous smile that lights up his eyes.
“Come on,” he says.
Rebeca raises an eyebrow.
“Let’s go where?”
“You know,” he insists, tilting his head slightly. “Just say what you’re thinking.”
Rebeca sighs. She hesitates for a few seconds, fingering the edge of the tablecloth. But finally she speaks.
“What do you want me to say? That I love her?” The words come out of Rebeca’s lips in a low voice, almost as if she were afraid someone else might hear them. “I think I always have. Even when I hated her. Even when I swore I’d never feel this way again.”
Her gaze remains fixed on the table, on the imperfections in the tablecloth.
“That’s why none of my relationships have worked out. Because I always compared them to her. I always hoped… I don’t know. That the pieces would fit together again.”
Bruno smiles and shrugs without a trace of mockery.
“Good,” he says. “First step taken.”
Then he leans forward slightly.
“What else?”
The food arrives at that moment. The waitress sets the plates in front of them, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room once more, warm and comforting.
Rebeca takes a breath, picks up her fork, but doesn’t eat yet.
“Well, you’re right,” she admits, looking up at him. “Okay? You’re right.”
Bruno raises both hands in a victory sign.
“I knew it,” he whispers with an almost childlike sense of satisfaction.
Rebeca shakes her head, but there is affection in the gesture.
“The day I arrived and saw her standing before me…” She pauses briefly, her fork suspended in the air. “The first thing I thought was that the missing pieces of my life were falling back into place. That the void she left behind had never fully closed. That I was just waiting… to find her again.”
The memory comes to mind with surprising intensity: the landing, the door ajar, Martina’s expression when she saw her. Her blue eyes widened in surprise, both of them holding their breath, the way her hand remained suspended halfway, as if she didn’t know whether to touch her or run away.
Rebeca looks down at her plate.
“But I don’t want things to happen this way,” she continues, stirring the contents of the plate. “I don’t want to have to hide. I don’t want to kiss her knowing that afterward she’ll go home with someone else. I don’t want to be… the other woman.”
Her fingers pause on the coffee spoon, and she turns it slowly, over and over.
Bruno sighs. He leans back in his chair and takes a bite of his eggs before answering.
“I think it’s just a matter of time,” he tells her, completely convinced. “If Martina has told you that her marriage is over, I highly doubt she’s lying to you. Those aren’t things you say lightly.” Bruno takes another bite and chews slowly. “Where is she today?”
Rebeca takes a sip of coffee before answering. The hot liquid burns her tongue pleasantly.
“According to what Ariadna told me…” Rebeca shrugs slightly. “Who, by the way, seems to be really into Cora. They’ve gone on a business trip for a couple of days.”
Bruno raises his eyebrows.
“Wow.” He leans in toward her a little. “So, besides ending up making out on the beach until you were out of breath, you also played matchmaker for the other two?”
Rebeca glares at him.
“Why are you such an idiot?”
He can’t help but laugh.
“I’m just saying that fate really had its cards well played,” he remarks, still smiling. “And that this time, it’s going all out.”
Rebeca slaps him on the arm.
“You’re impossible.”
They both end up laughing. Their laughter fills the small space around the table for a few seconds.
But then something happens: Rebeca turns her head slightly toward the street outside, and her gaze settles on a specific spot.
The expression on her face changes, and her smile vanishes.
Her eyes widen, as if she’s just seen something she wasn’t expecting at all.
Bruno notices right away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, alarmed.
But Rebeca doesn’t answer right away; she keeps staring at the same spot, completely motionless.