Blood in the Valencian Soil (Secrets of Spain) (34 page)

34

Valencia, España ~ diciembre de 2009

The dry weather had given away to unusually heavy rain in the night. Valencia’s paths and streets cascaded with flowing water by the time darkness had fallen. Luna had packed her bags for Italy and sent her children to bed. They were excited to finish school early to go on a Christmas adventure. The apartment was clean, the gifts wrapped, and the paperwork that allowed her to carry human ashes on a flight were all arranged and put in her bag.

Luna flicked off her hairdryer and put it on the dresser.
She looked a mess in the reflection of the mirror. She had stepped out of the shower and put her short fluffy white robe on, and between her tired face and flat hair, she looked as if she had aged 20 years in a matter of weeks. She felt as if she had. Going to see Alejandro more often didn’t do her any good. He wouldn’t talk about his life anymore, instead he took her for walks around Escondrijo and talked about the area. All the same it was company. She gave him a kiss on the cheek on her last visit since she would be away for several weeks. He had protested but gave in. She liked him. But her heart was heavy in her chest. Heavy from the weight of lost love. Now she had the sting of that misery to carry around for more than one man.

She fluffed her now-dry black curls and tried to smile at herself, in an effort to look a bit better. Nope. The sound of the rain dominated the room, and she hoped the children wouldn’t be woken with the tapping against their window. It had been hard enough to get them to sleep with their excitement of a plane ride to
Palermo. Her concern turned to annoyance when she heard the doorbell ring. It was late, and friends, neighbours and colleagues all knew not to ring the Merlini doorbell, because the children went to bed earlier than the traditional late bedtimes enjoyed by Spanish children. She pulled her robe tight around her otherwise naked body, and headed down the dark hallway to see who was there.

On tiptoe to the high peephole, she looked into the hallway, worried about who would come to her door while she was alone.
Luna could have sworn her heart stopped beating when she saw who was there. Her torero.

“Luna?” She heard his muffled voice through the heavy door.
“¿Estás en casa?”

She hesita
ntly turned the key in the lock; the deadbolts clunked undone to let the door open. Cayetano stood there, soaking wet. In one hand was an enormous bouquet of red roses, all wet and mushed, limp on their long stems. In his other hand was a long brown tube, which dripped as much as the man who held it. He looked cold and miserable, his clothes stuck to his magnificent body, and water ran out of his hair and over his face. “I thought it never rained in Valencia!” he cried.

Luna stood back, and he took it as an invitation to step inside. “Why are you here?” They hadn’t spoken in weeks, and she thought that the silence was pretty telling; she didn’t condone his behaviour and he knew it.

“I bought you a present,” he said, and gingerly handed her the soaking wet tube.

Luna read the now barely visible label on it –
Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War) by Salvador Dalí. She loved that painting.

“I thought you might like a copy of the painting, since it doesn’t hang in the Prado.” His voice was hesitant as he spoke, almost worried.  “But perhaps now it’s ruined.”

“If something is destroyed on the outside, it can still be intact on the inside,” she said softly and placed it against the wall behind her.

Cayetano dropped the drowned roses to the floor
and closed the door behind him, but didn’t take his eyes off her. He didn’t have any more words. He left countless messages for her, to say sorry and to ask for forgiveness, but the words had lost their meaning. Luna gasped, almost cried out when he grabbed her and threw a kiss on her lips. She found herself pinned between him and the full length mirror on the wall, the gasp elicited more from the chill of his cold hands on her than the surprise of the intense moment. He was cold and wet, but she didn’t care. She wanted to push him off her, slap him, send him away. But she couldn’t. The urge to hold him close outweighed the desire to do the ‘right’ thing.

Meeting Cayetano Beltrán was a painful experience. He turned her intensely fragile world into a jumbled mess – love, then pain, then
love, then betrayal, then confusion. And yet she found herself peeling his wet shirt from his body; she didn’t hear the slap it made when the fabric hit the floor somewhere behind him. She could barely feel her bathrobe get damp and heavy as it absorbed the water from him. His cold hand had gone up under the edge of the robe, and between her legs. The cold sensation overpowered the heat she felt inside her the moment his hands went to her body. The man had only just stepped in the door, barely a word spoken, and already she wanted to tear his pants off. Goosebumps appeared all over Luna’s body; it could have been the cold, or it could have the force of how he made her feel.

“Stop,” she managed to whisper.

They both froze in the moment, their hands on each other, their faces still touching, their eyes closed. Luna could feel his wet body against her, and his warm breath on her neck. He breathed as heavy as she did. Her robe had come untied in the tousle, which left her bare against him. The hand that had tantalised between her legs rested on the inside of her thigh, the other at the back of her neck, and wouldn’t let her go from his embrace. The pause stretched longer, and longer, and Luna could feel the heavy weight of all the drama that had gone on between them seep away.

Cayetano turned his face slightly against
her hand that lay on his cheek; he kissed her palm once, twice, a third time, each slowly moved up her fingers. He reached her fingertips, and let her move her fingers over his bottom lip, gently rubbing back and forward as he brought his eyes to hers. She could feel his pulse sear through his veins, as if he had run all the way from Madrid in the rain.

The anticipation grew as they leant against one another. There was no going back, no moment for a rational conversation; there was nothing more to say. She had wanted him to stop because she felt prisoner to his desires, but she liked it too much
to send him away.

“Where?” he whispered.

Cayetano suddenly felt weak in her arms. She stepped forward to release herself from his embrace, and took his hand to guide him down the dark hallway. Everything was silent, in slow motion, smooth but with a heightened consciousness of how each of them wanted to unleash themselves. Luna shut her bedroom door behind him. She could feel his eyes on her every move. The second she turned to him, his dominance took over the moment again, and his now dry hands pushed her robe from her shoulders. They stumbled towards her bed in the dark, four hands desperate get his jeans off, the stubborn wet fabric made the task difficult. The infuriating trousers discarded, they fell into the warm bed. Their hot bodies were unable to feel anything but one another.

Every nerve was shattered. Her heels
dug into the bed as she forced her body against his. Her impatience made her unguarded, it left her on her back, and Cayetano was free to do as he pleased. He took immense delight in every whimper she gave out when he stroked inside her to see how far he could push her. She didn’t dare to release his mouth from hers to speak, and brought her hand gently to his arm so he would stop teasing her. She needed more.

The man knew what more was. She didn’t recognise the noise she made when she came, a deep groan that cried of surrender. She felt him burst, the powerful force of his own release leav
e his body and into hers. He held on to her so tight that the tips of his fingers dug into her back, and she loved it. She could feel tears in her eyes, but wasn’t sure if they were a relief, or if they had been literally squeezed from her body by some libidinous power.

Luna loved his muscular weight on top of her, not a word said. He lay there, his breath erratic as he came slowly back to earth. Her mind was still caught up in a fog of indulgence when he lifted his head and kissed her, his affection now gentle and composed. She could feel the same equal parts invigoration and exhaustion in him that she felt. They finally parted, and he rested his head between her breasts, his arms wrapped around her waist. She ran her hand through his hair, still a little damp. She was surprised the water hadn’t turned to steam. She was that hot underneath him, even the moistness between her thighs that was now against his stomach felt hot.

Cayetano’s voice broke the silence first. “It’s never felt like this before.” His voice was only just above a whisper.

“Actions speak when words fail.”

“I miss you.”

“Please, don’t. Can’t we just have some peace?”

“No, I fear not.”

Sleep came and went. Luna was up early, in order to complete the last tasks she had to do before she set off for her early flight to Palermo. She had dried Cayetano’s clothes for him. When she went back into her bedroom with them, she found him awake in bed, a disorientated look on his face. It was still dark, only a thin strip of light shone through the tiny gap under the ensuite door. He looked almost fearful when Luna came in.

“I thought I lost you,” he said as she sat down next to him.

“In my own house?”

A grin spread over his tired face. “Good point. Why are you up?”

“I’m going to Italy today. Soon, in fact. I need to wake the boys.”

“Can I see them?”

“Is that a good idea?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I love you, and you left me.”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” Cayetano sat up in the bed and reached out to her. “Luna, please I made one mistake.”

Luna looked down at her hands on her lap. One of his hands almost encircled both of hers. “One really big mistake.”

“So what was last night?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Love. Lust. Luna, you overpower me.”

“So does your wife.”

Cayetano sighed as he hung his head. “No, she doesn’t. It was one moment, one stupid moment that I can barely recall. I thought that my whole life was ruined, and… I don’t know… she was there…”

“She was there. How many more times will she be there? Or will anyone do? You can’t love me and do that.”

“I was angry. At everything. I felt as if we’re cursed.”

“Feels a bit that way.”

“Scarlett may ha
ve broken up our grandparents, but that doesn’t mean that María can do it to us. We don’t need to let her win.”

“This isn’t fate. This is real life. These are our own mistakes. We can’t blame some magic higher power. It’s not fate, or a curse… coincidence maybe. We all live and die by our own sword.”

“This is killing me.”

“Me too.”
Luna wiped a tear from her eye; she couldn’t dare look at him. “But I’ve had my heart broken before. All you can do is keep going. I’m pushing ahead with my life. I’m going to bury Fabrizio ashes, and spend time with his family for the boys, and then I’m going back to work as a bike mechanic. You just have to keep going.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re going to be a father, like you always wanted. It’s something I can’t give you. This could be your only chance to have the child you have long wanted.”

“I can’t forget you. I love you.”

Luna brought her wet eyes up to the man in her bed. “I love you.” Her voice began to shake. “I worry that I won’t ever get over it.”

Tears had started to run down Cayetano’s face, and he didn’t even care. “Please… I’m begging you… don’t leave me.”

“I’m going to Italy for three weeks.”

“Can I call you?”

“While I’m with my in-laws? I would prefer if you didn’t. This trip is always hard.”

“I’m sure. Emotionally charged.”

“I have a lot people to think of. To me, burying ashes isn’t goodbye. I have said goodbye. But it’s the homecoming of the only son of the Merlini family for everyone else. My children go through a lot, and most of it isn’t easy for them to understand.”

“One day, when you’re ready, you can think of yourself.”

“I have been doing that for months. I’ve made a mess of my life.”

“Mine is also a mess
, if that helps.”

“Not really, that’s my fault.”

“Is it María’s baby? Is that the problem? I can’t turn my back on the child, I’m sorry.”

“I know you can’t do that,” she dismissed him. “But for you to have a child with someone who isn’t me can’t go well for us. It’s complicated.”

Cayetano inched closer to her in the bed. “What about when you come home from Italy?”

“How do I know you won’t be back with María in that time?”

“Did last night not show you anything? I love you. You can’t ask why, there’s no answer. We are bound together, by love, and time, and fate. If you tell me that you don’t feel that, I will walk away. But I will be forever broken.”

“I can’t tell you that,” she whispered.

“Whenever you’re ready, I will be here. But before you leave, is there any chance for us?”

“Maybe.”