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"Alex," he loved the way she sang his name. The sound of her voice made his lips twitch into an uncontainable smile. He lifted his papers from his lap, and waited for Isabel to snuggle into his side. She didn't. Instead, Isabel leant her back against the arm of the couch and her thighs over his, so that Alex then placed is makeshift desk over her legs. They were planning the layout of the nursery before buying any furniture for it, Alex sketching while he watched his wife move about the room. He'd just mentioned it'd be nice if they knew the sex of the baby so they could really start preparing. "Mi querido, eres tan lindo."
Alex found himself blushing.
His fiery wife got this soft look in her eyes whenever she pressed a hand to her growing baby bump. Then she'd turn that gentle expression onto him and Alex would melt.
That first night, and even last week, he hadn't known what she was saying, but that look in her eyes told him everything Alex needed to know. Yes, their marriage had been impulsive, but it was right.
It was real.
They were sitting on the couch in his newly painted house, their house, Alex had never shared a house with anyone but his parents. But living with Isabel, being married to her, talking about their growing family felt right.
It had taken her three days to get settled. Everything Isabel owned migrated over to Alex's house, books and furniture. With her came bright colour and jovial sounds as she filled the empty halls of the two bedroom house.
Her whole family had helped her one afternoon, not wanting the couple to wallow in boxes and procrastination. The colour of the walls weren't to his taste, he didn't think, but Alex loved them. They'd been painted desert orange and cactus green and it felt like home.
He expected there to be a rocky transition period, learning to live with Isabel, but it came easily.
He loved that she curled up next to him when they fell asleep and woke up on her side of the bed with him crowding her. He was late to work on multiple occasions because he'd simply been talking to the woman who was quickly becoming his best friend. Jeff didn't believe that was the reason.
She was fiery and competitive and never stopped talking. So what he had to get used to her confidence as she talked to him in the bathroom. That was a small price to pay for how endearing the conversation through the bathroom door actually was. The waiting for the bathroom wasn't so great, but the way she'd walk into the bathroom not understanding his quip and then her laugh would echo through the closed door made his day brighter.
He loved sharing a vanity with Isabel, her things encroaching on his side of the bench. He'd never felt so much like a man as when Isabel tugged in his tie and fixed it in the morning as he kissed her goodbye.
Her presence, be it lining her things beside his or carpooling as he dropped her off at work in the morning, was showing him what life should be like, filled with laughter and talking and silences that were full of meaning.
And, of course, the music.
Alex came home of a weeknight to Isabel dancing the samba in the kitchen. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful as Isabel happy and carefree like that.
"Oh, hi there, baby," she beamed when she turned around and saw him leaning against the wall watching her. "How was your day?"
Alex pressed his lips together. Like last night, when she'd been wearing the flowing blue dress, the best part of Alex's day was coming home to Isabel. He told her as much. "Better now."
Isabel sauntered over to him, pressing her hands to his chest and stretched up on her toes to kiss him in greeting.
"Hi."
Her hair smelt fresh and her hands were warm through his shirt as she wound her arms round his body and pressed a kiss to his chin.
"Ven a bailar conmigo, gringo," she whispered. Alex melted at the soft lilt of her voice. Her native tongue was so pretty and when it dropped from his wife's lips, Alex could have agreed to anything.
Alex grinned, squeezing her against him. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."
Isabel hummed disbelieving and let go of him, taking him by the hand and pulling him into the kitchen behind her. "I taught you that one last night, Alex."
"Ballet, as in to dance, right?"
"If that helps you remember," she tossed her head over her shoulder to look at him. "We have to work on your pronunciation."
Alex snorted and shook his head, he'd get it one day and she should be glad he'd at least recognised the verb.
Then Alex realised why Isabel was stopping in the middle of the kitchen and twirling under his arm.
"Isabel, I can't dance" he informed her. "Not like this."
He couldn't tango. He couldn't salsa. He couldn't samba. Awkward swaying while holding her close. That he could do. He could stand still while Isabel spun beneath his arms and led whatever stilted steps he took. That was how they had danced last week at dinner with her parents when one of Isabel's cousins had insisted everyone danced on her birthday.
"You've just got to sway you're hips."
For a moment, Isabel faced him, holding his hands in that familiar waltzing pose with her hand on his shoulder and their other hands clasped. Isabel's petite hand skidded down his chest to rest against Alex's hip. He could have very easily been swept away by the heat of her hand, the pressure of it as she pushed him sideways, scooped his wife into his arms and carried her up the staircase. But he stumbled and laughed, "My hips don't move that way."
"Not with that attitude, baby," she shook her head at him and smirked. Alex wasn't sure how to explain it to his wife, but even in the privacy of their own kitchen Alex wasn't about to sashay around the room and roll his hips to the music playing softly. In the bedroom was a totally different situation.
"Isabel," he warned. "I'm not sexy like that. And definitely not while I'm dancing."
Her hand left his to hold his other side, yanking his body against hers. "You're wrong, Alex. Creo que eres muy sexy."
"Muy?" Alex laughed, doubting his wife. He couldn't believe he'd heard her rapidfire words correctly.
"I think you move your hips very well," she winked at him. "But you're very c ohibido about it."
Just as he went to wrap his arms around her, Isabel turned. She was so little, but her personality was so big, so wild and lively. Her hair was pretty big, too. With her back against his chest, her bare feet on the tiles, Isabel barely leveled with the underside of Alex's chin. Her curls tickled against his neck, and her hips pushed against his.
"Um," he grinned at the top of her head, a little perplexed by their positioning. "Hi."
Isabel tipped her head backward, leaning sideways to view him. "We're gonna teach you how to move your hips to music."
"Like this?" he asked.
Isabel took his right hand and pressed it to her belly. She was barely showing through her clothes but his palm curved around the bump of their baby. Her body moulded to his front.
"You know how I want you to move."
He did. That didn't mean he'd be comfortable doing it like this. As much as his body was pulsing to life at the promise of her body, Alex restrained himself from rocking against her. They were married but their relationship was only new. Sex was still novel and constant and Isabel's raging hormones also played into that, but he didn't want to assume that's where they were headed. So he let Isabel lead.
"I'm going to move," her hands released his and smacked against his ass, the jolt of her touch making him thrust forward. "Whatever you do, we can't separate."
Alex dropped his head forward and the way that sounded like she was talking about their marriage rather than their bodies and kissed the notch at the top of Isabel's spine swiftly. "Sounds good."
Isabel swayed her lower half to the left and the only reason his body followed was her hands pulling him with her.
They were already so good at this part that i t didn't take long for him to get the hang of it, but he didn't want Isabel to move her hands or stop. Still, some animal part of him fell into a sensual rhythm with his wife with barely any prompting.
Alex rolled his hips against his wife, pushing her body against his as they moved together. It was better if he ignored the music and focused on Isabel. The way her hair tickled his nose and how his whole body ached for her. He didn't want to imagine what he'd be doing on a Tuesday night if he'd never met her and instead, for the first time in his life, lived in the moment.
His heart was racing and Isabel seemed neither offended nor interested in the way his body was undoubtedly making itself known to her. Instead, Isabel squeezed him tighter to her, rolling her body against him torturously. Alex could barely breathe, confused as to what had brought this on.
Isabel's left leg stepped forward and then she sank into her right hip as though she was sitting. Without thought, Alex's body mimicked hers, bending his knees a little more and letting their bodies curl towards the left before pushing forward together.
He pushed forward against her body in a wide semi-cirlce, a mix of their private life and what he'd seen on dancing shows while flicking through the television channels in boredom. Then they sank back, grinding together languidly.
"I'm going to turn around and we're not going to stop," Isabel told him.
Alex gulped and his hands slipped across her stomach as she moved to face him.
At least Isabel's cheeks were flushed, but that was the only indication she was just as flustered as him.
She tapped his forearms, directing her to hold her in that ballroom dancer's pose again.
To keep the tidal motion of their hips, Alex needed to take a step toward his wife. Isabel reflected the movement and together the pair of them lambada'd together, their hips in constant contact no matter where they stepped.
"That's it, Alex," Isabel's tone was lewd despite her cheery smile. "Like that."
He groaned, wishing he wasn't as slave to his body as he felt, pressed up against her like this, hearing her lowered voice say things like that.
He hadn't realised it at first, but those little steps they were taking to keep their bodies pressing harshly against each other were turning them slowly in a circle around the room. When Alex did notice, he took slightly bigger steps, more confident ones, their bodies moving togehter forcefully and lazily simultaneously.
"So then you twirl me and we come back together like this," Isabel explained. "A little aggressively."
"I'm not sure . . . " Alex couldn't complete his sentence. He hadn't needed the extra tagline of instruction tacked on the end. The minute Isabel spun away from him, using his right arm to turn under, his left hand reached out to yank her back to him.
He smiled down at her when Isabel was back securely in his arms, pressing both his hands to her lower back and allowing Isabel to twine her fingers behind his neck. He shuddered.
"This isn't a smiling dance, Alex," she told him. "You can't be smiling at me while doing the forbidden dance."
Alex's smile grew. He'd never not smiled at her while they were doing the forbidden dance. He couldn't stop himself. This beautiful, sexy, wonderful woman was his wife. She chose him, for whatever reason, to do this with.
"I love you," he told her sincerely.
Isabel's stoic facade cracked into a smile of her own and Alex felt like he was floating, as cliche as that was. He felt untethered and heaven-bound and gladly lost himself in her lovely eyes and their heady movements.
"A little faster, Alex," Isabel's hands crept into his hair, fingers raking through his locks, her chest pressed flat against his as well as the rest of her body. "To the music."
This way, holding her so close to his body, Alex felt as though he was carrying Isabel across the makeshift dancefloor, in complete control of them. He turned them in circles and rocked their hips together, pushing her hips away from his and connecting them again on an impulse that paid off when Isabel moaned. He spun her around quickly and pulled her back to him, hard, breathless.
As the song came to a crescendo, his movements did indeed grow bolder until, with Isabel putty in his arms and gasping in surprise, he lay her against the floor and continued the languorous gyration of their hips.
"Mi amado, where did you go?" Isabel asked him, her voice bringing him out of his memory. "You're blushing. You can't be thinking about the rocking chair I want."
They were putting together a design of how they would turn the empty second bedroom into a nursery and Isabel had big plans. She'd been talking to her mother about nursing the baby and what was best for lulling their child to sleep, less stimulating for the bedroom as opposed to a designated play area.
Isabel was laying with her feet in his lap, while Alex was sketching out the floor plan against her thighs. Every so often she'd touch her hand to his cheek to break his concentration, muttering something in Spanish, and Alex would flush and turn his head to kiss the inside of her wrist.
"All I said was we should probably go shopping for baby things," he protested, finding himself blushing at what he'd recently learnt was Spanish for 'cute.'
Isabel cooed at him, stroking a hand down his cheek. "Aw, papi."
It was only small, hardly significant at all, but Alex felt like he was sitting straighter at the term. He was going to be a father. Never in his life had he actually thought this would be his reality.
A lot of their time was spent like this, a weird mix of being familial and domestic as though they'd been together for years. Other times they were more unsure and doubtful of their relationship, excited and scared all at once.
Alex put his pen down and twined his fingers with Isabel's, their joined hands caressing where their baby was growing inside her. "Thank you for telling me about her. Or him. You didn't have to do that."
Isabel pitched toward him, her legs moving as she shifted her torso closer and rested her head against his shoulder. "I did. I'm not sure why but I did have to tell you."
"I can't imagine what I'd be doing if you hadn't walked in that night," he lowered his lips against her bushy hair.
"Would you be back in New York?"
"No, I'd still be here," he thought aloud. "But I'd be alone and . . ."
"Unhappy?" Isabel lifted her head off his shoulder to look at him gravely. Alex found it funny that they were so protective of their little reality they'd created completely by chance. Everything had fallen into place in the exact right way for this present to be happening and, while he didn't want to think about what could have been if Isabel hadn't stopped by when she had, Alex couldn't help but wonder why him and why now. Because this life with Isabel that they were building together was so jarringly different from his previous one in New York.
Better.
But in a way he hadn't even imagined was possible.
"Alex," Cathy would address him the same way every time he failed to dodge her at Christmas. Their families had grown up in side by side properties in the city. And, like some Nora Ephron movie, everyone seemed to think that the two kids who'd been faux married in the third grade and gone to the prom together because their coupling seemed to be a smart match, would end up together for real. "Just one date and we'll see where it takes us."
He'd turned her down his whole life, mostly by running from a room when he saw the blonde coming. But he knew that tactic wasn't going to work forever. His parents liked to sit them together at functions and Cathy subscribed to the same thoughts as them about how smart their pairing would be financially and for their reputations.
But Alex didn't love her, he hardly liked Cathy. She was beautiful but plain, and unextraordinary in her interests and convictions.
He took a long gulp of his champagne. "What about that investment banker your parents set you up with?"
"He'd be a fine husband," Cathy responded. "Have dinner with me, just to appease our parents."
Alex shook his head. "If our parents knew we had dinner they'd think we were getting married." They barely even spoke except once or twice a year. When they were eight, things had been different, but now Alex had no interest in the woman who used to be his friend.
"Would that be so bad?" she leant too close, her perfume expensive but overpowering. "Think of the class of events we'd get into if our families merged."
Alex could have rolled his eyes. He liked art as much as the next New Yorker but had no interest in going to black-tie galas at the Guggenheim. "You mean think of the million dollar loans you'd be immediately approved for and the four penthouses and being married but never seeing each other."
"Living in different houses? The luxury of money to do whatever we wanted?" Cathy listed. "We don't like each other, Alex, would it be so bad to live in seperate residences and keep up appearances? You would learn to love me, I know it."
Alex lifted another glass from one of the trays that was being carted around. Then took another, one held in each hand. He couldn't imagine anything worse.
"Bye, Cathy."
Only a few weeks later, he and Jeff had taken the job in Nevada and moved to the other side of the country. Away from the dullness that was his city apartment that his father had bought him until Alex had insisted he break ties from the financial constraints of his family, and away from the boredom of family functions he was obligated to go to every so often, Alex found a little peace. Of course, the company house was too big for him and utterly unfillable. He'd never been one for worldly possessions and also wasn't interested in making this place his permanent home, even if he was meant to be on the west coast for six months.
The walls were white and the halls were lonely, the house a sufficient roof over his head and close enough to that Mexican diner that he was fed well enough.
The best part about the whole thing was the whole country between him and his folks. Between him and Cathy who only wanted him for his father's money. He'd literally celebrated that first night.
"I'm not sure unhappy is the right word," he told his bride. "I don't think I ever expected my life to be this full."
Alex wasn't certain he was explaining this right but Isabel wasn't taking offence yet, which was a good sign.
"As far as I was concerned, I was happy," he told her, rubbing her hip with his left hand, keeping her body close to his, while resting their entwined fingers at the waistband of her cotton pants. "I didn't know that I wasn't until I met you."
"Mi dulce esposo," Isabel whispered, stretching her neck to peck his lips.
Alex let his lips fall open beneath hers, relishing in the way his lips tingled with electricity as his wife kissed him.
Isabel's lips were soft and plump and confident as they moved against him, her tongue caressing against his top lip, teasing. He opened his mouth further, his hand sliding up her back to push her closer to him, slipping up her spine to tangle in her hair at the back of her neck to keep her mouth against his.
Her cold fingers touched his throat, icy as she tugged his collar, her teeth pulling his bottom lip, sending shivers through his body.
And then she pulled away completely, smiling up at him sweetly.
"I love you," she whispered, unsure.
His heart skipped. They had been careful not to say those words to each other often. They barely knew each other.
Except that he loved her too. Alex told her as much.
Alex wasn't sure when it had happened, but he definitely felt the same. She was carrying his baby, a perfect stranger, but he loved her so much it hurt to leave her in the mornings and it felt like the world was righted when he arrived back home. He hated being away from Isabel and their growing child. He was proud to call her his wife and proud to announce her due date to his boss, even if the office snickered that he'd knocked up a woman and rushed into a marriage with her.
This was his life and he loved it.
"Are we picnicking in our spot tonight, honey?" he asked when Isabel's eyes turned away from him. Yesterday she'd been talking about photographing the desert at sunset and Alex had begged her not to go without him.
Alex wished he could speak Spanish to her without sounding like he was reciting dialogue from some terrible porn movie. Endearments spilt from Isabel's lips constantly, sweetie and baby and my husband, both in Spanish and English, and Alex thrilled at every single one. He wished he could return the favour. "Honey" seemed to make her beam beatifically at him. Alex just wished he had a bigger repertoire of adjectives to shower his wife with.
Her gaze snapped back to him and Isabel smiled as though she was astounded he was paying such close attention to her. Alex imagined it would be difficult to have someone know every detail about you if you had such a big family, so many voices talking, so many things about people to remember information about. He was so glad he could be the man who memorised her interests for his wife who deserved the world.
"Mi carino," he tried.
Isabel pressed her lips together as though she was laughing, she stroked her hand up his jaw and held his face tenderly.
"Carina," she touched her lips to his softly. "You're mi carino. I'm your carina."
"Mi," he kissed her. "Carina," and again.
There were a lot of Spanish phrases that Alex was learning as he spent time with Isabel and her family, her brothers were teaching him lots of things, like mierda and soy debil and soy un tonto which Miguel had sworn meant he was hot and sweaty but had made Isabel smack her brother upside the head when Alex had come home and said it.
But there was one sentence he'd picked up from Isabel using it so much. One he hadn't needed to be taught and he pressed a final kiss to her lips before he used it, rubbing his hand over her stomach where their baby was only the size of a small lemon. "Nuestro precioso bebe."
Isabel crinkled her nose at him, her eyes soft and loving as she tugged on his earlobe. "We're going to work on your pronunciation."