Chapter 16 Where the Sea Kept Our Secrets
YSABEL
The morning is clear, the rain washed away overnight and replaced by a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at. I wake early, before my parents are up, and lie in bed watching the light grow stronger through the thin curtains.
Today I'm going to the cove with Leon.
I get up and dress carefully, choosing clothes that are practical but nice. A soft sweater, comfortable trousers, shoes I can walk in. I brush my hair and look at myself in the small mirror above the dresser, trying to see what Leon sees when he looks at me.
The yarn necklace is still in the pocket of the clothes I wore last night. I take it out and hold it in my palm, feeling the weight of it, the uneven knots, the evidence of effort. I think about putting it on, but something stops me. Not yet. Not until I know what today will bring.
I slip it back into my pocket and go to the kitchen.
My mother is already there, starting breakfast. She looks up when I come in.
"You're up early."
"Leon is picking me up at ten. We're going to the coast."
She doesn't say anything for a moment, just keeps stirring the pot on the stove. Then she nods slowly.
"Somewhere you know?"
"A cove we used to visit before the wedding."
She nods. "Then you know which shoes to take. Sand gets into everything."
I sit down at the table, suddenly feeling like a child again. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think that's not my decision to make." She sets down her spoon and turns to face me. "But I also think you've been happier these past few days than you were when you first arrived. And I think that man has been working harder than I've ever seen anyone work to prove something."
"That doesn't mean he won't disappoint me again."
"No. It doesn't. But nothing is guaranteed, Ysabel. Not staying and not leaving. All you can do is make the choice that feels right and then live with it."
My father comes in from the yard, stamping mud off his boots. "Leon's here early. His car just pulled up to the gate."
I check the clock. It's a few minutes before ten.
"He's eager," my mother says, and there's something warm in her voice.
I go to the window and look out. Leon's car is parked by the gate, and he's leaning against it, looking toward the house. He's dressed simply, no jacket today, just a shirt with the sleeves rolled up the way he's worn them at the farm.
"I should go," I say.
My mother pulls me into a hug. "Be safe. And be honest with yourself about what you want."
"I will."
My father squeezes my shoulder as I pass him. "We'll be here when you get back. However late that is."
I walk across the yard to the gate, feeling their eyes on my back. Leon straightens when he sees me coming, and something in his face shifts, softens.
"You're early," I say.
"I was ready too soon. I had to unpack the lunch once to check I'd remembered everything."
"That's ridiculous."
"Probably." He opens the passenger door for me. "But I'm here now. Ready when you are."
I get in the car, and he goes around to the driver's side. As we pull away from the farm, I look back once at the house, at my parents standing in the doorway watching us go.
Then I turn to face the road ahead.
***
The drive to the coast takes about forty minutes, through hills I know well and then down toward the water. Leon drives carefully, not too fast, giving me time to settle into the journey.
"I brought food," he says after a while. "Bread and cheese and some of the almonds from the market. I thought we could have lunch at the cove."
"That was thoughtful."
"I'm trying."
"I know you are."
We drive in comfortable silence for a while. The landscape changes as we get closer to the coast, the hills giving way to flatter ground, the smell of salt beginning to reach us through the open windows.
"I've been thinking," Leon says. "About what you said last night. About how everything has to be out in the open after this."
"And?"
"And you're right. I've spent too long treating our relationship like something to be managed privately. Like the public face of our marriage was separate from what we actually were." He glances at me. "That stops now. Whatever we decide today, I'm not hiding anymore."
"What does that look like? Practically?"
"It looks like me introducing you as my wife to everyone, not just the people who already know.
It looks like standing beside you at events instead of across the room.
It looks like correcting anyone who makes assumptions about Nadia or anyone else.
" He pauses. "And it looks like telling people about the baby when you're ready. Together. As a family."
I feel something loosen in my chest at the word family. "I'd like that."
"We should tell my mother," he says. "Not today, necessarily. But soon. Before she hears it from someone else."
"I know."
"I'm not asking you to make peace with her. I'm just saying that keeping this secret from her forever isn't possible, and I'd rather we control how she finds out."
"Agreed." I look out the window at the passing fields. "But that's a conversation for another day. Today I just want to be with you."
He reaches over and takes my hand, and I let him. His fingers are warm and familiar, and I feel the calluses from his work at the farm, the evidence of all the days he's spent trying to prove himself.
"Almost there," he says.
The cove opens below us at the last turn in the path, pale sand between the rocks. Leon parks the car at a small pull-off where the road curves close to the water, and we walk the short path down to the beach together.
The sand is pale gold, the water a deep blue-green that darkens toward the horizon. Rocks frame the cove on either side, creating a natural shelter from the wind. It's private here, hidden from the road and from any nearby houses, but it's not secret. It's just ours.
"I forgot how beautiful it is," I say.
"I never forgot." Leon sets down the bag of food he brought and spreads a blanket on the sand. "I thought about coming here after you left. I couldn't make myself do it without you."
"That sounds sad."
"It would have been." He sits down on the blanket and looks up at me. "I'm glad we're here together now."
I sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. The sun is warm on my face, and the sound of the waves is soothing in a way I'd forgotten.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" I ask.
"Of course. It was maybe six months before we got married. We'd been sneaking around for over a year by then, and I wanted to take you somewhere we could actually talk without worrying about who might see us."
"You packed the worst picnic I've ever seen."
He laughs. "I forgot the knife. We had to tear the bread with our hands and eat the cheese in chunks."
"And the olives were still in the jar with no way to open it."
"I carried that jar home unopened."
"You kept offering me olives anyway."
"I was hoping you'd forget I was holding them hostage." He reaches over and takes my hand. "You laughed at me all afternoon."
"I did. We could just be ourselves here. No one watching, no one judging. Just us."
"That's why I wanted to bring you back." He looks out at the water. "We'd already had our first kiss by then, in that alcove behind the tapestry. But this was different. This was the first time I felt like we could actually have a future, not just stolen moments."
I lean into him, letting my head rest against his shoulder. "I'm glad we're here now."
"So am I."
We sit in silence for a while, watching the waves, feeling the warmth of the sun and each other. It's peaceful in a way nothing has been peaceful for weeks.
After a while, Leon stands and offers me his hand. "Walk with me?"
I take it and let him pull me up. We leave our shoes by the blanket and walk toward the water's edge, where the waves lap gently against the sand. The water is cool on my feet, a pleasant contrast to the warmth of the sun.
"I've been thinking," I say, "about why I'm here."
"And?"
"Not just because you asked. Not just because of the cove or the memories or any of that." I stop walking and turn to face him, our feet still in the shallow water. "I've been watching you, Leon. These past days. Really watching."
"What have you seen?"
"I saw you take that call at the farm, the one about the irrigation pump. And instead of leaving, you told them to handle it and went back to the fence with my father."
"That was nothing."
"It wasn't nothing. It was exactly the kind of thing that used to pull you away. Something at the estate always needed you more than I did. But you stayed."
He's quiet, listening.
"And when I talked about the bakeshop at the farm, you listened. You didn't tell me again that I didn't need to work."
"I'm trying to learn."
"I know. That's the point." I squeeze his hand. "At the market, when Signora Benedetti asked, you said my wife without hesitating. You credited my family's work. You didn't make it about you."
"It shouldn't be about me."
"But for two years, it was. Everything was about managing your world, your mother, your reputation.
And I was supposed to fit into the spaces that were left.
" I look down at our feet in the water, at the way the sand shifts beneath us.
"I'm not saying one good week fixes everything.
There are still going to be moments when someone says something, or your mother pushes, or I feel invisible again. "
"I know."
"And I'm scared. I'm scared that I'll let myself believe things are different and then they won't be. I'm scared of loving you this much and being let down again."
Leon cups my face with his free hand, waiting until I look up at him. "I can't promise I'll never hurt you. I can't promise I'll handle every situation perfectly. But I can promise that when I fail, I'll own it. I'll listen. I'll keep trying instead of pretending everything's fine."
"That's not very romantic."
"It's honest. And I think we've had enough pretty promises that didn't mean anything."