Chapter Text
Bruno did not want to be doing this.
He swallowed thickly as he buttoned the last button on his guayabara and smoothed his hands down the front. It was well tailored and white, hiding the slight bulge of his tight liver and slowly forming paunch. Agustín had done a good job with the delicate stitching, carefully avoiding the hourglass symbol of his prophecies, the very things that had gotten him into this mess. Instead, perhaps as a nod to his...situation, it was stylized parrots and coffee beans in cream thread.
He debated whether or not to tie back his hair, but decided against it. The less the poor girl had to see of him the better. He found the leather dress shoes that had been insisted on and forced his feet into them, ignoring the caged feeling. He had no right to feel caged when this wasn't going to ruin his life. Provoleta popped her little black head out from under the bench, asking for attention as he let her sniff at his hand.
"Not today, little one. Go back home. Don't want to scare...don't want to scare the "lucky lady.""
He cast about for something to ease the shake in his hands and the pounding in his head. He found a flask of aguardiente tucked away behind the couch cushions. He recognized the woven case.
"Bless you, Félix," he muttered as he took a deep swallow, letting the licorice flavor burn away on his tongue.
He took another drink and the throb in his head eased slightly. He dug for the salt he kept in his shirt pocket before realizing it wasn't in this one, and sighed, reaching in the maroon shirt he'd cast off and tossing an extra large handful over his shoulder before heading out.
His anger didn't dissipate as he made his way to his space up the aisle. The church was sparsely decorated. Half wilted hydrangeas and carnations. Why Pilar and Sofia had chosen his colors to decorate he'd never understand, but the brown and green looked drab and forlorn. She didn't deserve this. He didn't even know her, not really, but she deserved to at least have pretty flowers on her wedding day. Reds and pinks and blues. Not another reminder of who she was doomed too.
The pews were already filled, much as they could. His sisters and their husbands and children, his mother, who he refused to look at. Félix's Tío Leonel and prima Carlota. Agustín's father and stepmother, and his half sister Soledad. Even Silvia Gonzalves, back in the back. There weren't any other friends to see the disaster. He didn't have any.
The other side was about the same. The Guzmans and their little sons, and Julio. Miranda Constantino, Beatriz Cortez, and Carlita Panadero and her mother Nina. Rodrigo Cortez, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Sofia and Pilar glared at him from the pews, daring him to leave. The Padre looked at him awkwardly. He was fighting the good fight with the toupee he'd had made, but it wasn't going to fool anyone that knew him.
He tried his best not to fidget. Not to pull at his fingers or run them through his hair. He couldn't really stop his feet from going pigeon toed, but the rest he managed to tamp down as the doors opened. Hebér Pascual took up his field of vision.
Elena stepped out from behind her father and his heart dropped. She looked so young. She was so young. Too young. Not long past eighteen, and on her way to ruin her life. His eyes darted, but he felt the snaring stares of his mother and Sofia and his feet stuck to the floor.
The dress was simple and unadorned, made quickly, and his heart ached for her. There wasn't even a scrap of lace to make it look like someone had cared. Even her mantilla was a plain length of gauzy fabric. Her hair was scraped back into a punishing chignon that looked far to much like his mother's, her curls dragged into submission, and her flowers were bare white dalias. His jaw clenched as she made her way up the aisle slowly. Damn Sofia for finding that vision and demanding this and damn Hebér for going along with it. Damn his mother and Pilar Guzman for rushing this whole sorry mess. And damn himself, for being too much of a filthy coward to stop it. He barely even knew her, and she deserved better.
It was her face that hurt to look at the most. Despite the shamefully plain dress and the threadbare decorations and the even more haggard groom she was walking towards, she looked happy. Cautious, perhaps, but she was smiling, the little gap in her teeth visible as she made the final approach.
He heard the Padre say something as his eyes started looking for something, anything to focus on but her. 'Please. Please please please don't let her think this was my idea,' he prayed, his fists clenching. And then she was in front of him. Fresh and freckle-faced and smiling, honey brown eyes wide as she took in his face. He couldn't escape. He tried to give her a smile, but even he could tell it came off an awkward grimace at best.
He could see his mother scowling at him out of the corner of his eye and swallowed before holding his hands out to her. She took them with only a second's hesitation and her smile grew like she was actually excited. Padre Conseco began the ceremony and the only thing Bruno could keep track of was the buzzing monolog in his head and the gentle heat of her small hands in his.
'Don't look at me like that. Please don't look at me like that. Don't look at me at all! Don't you see? This is going to ruin your life! You're going to...please loose your nerve. Pleasepleaseplease. No one would blame you. I wouldn't blame you!'
He about jumped out of his skin as she carefully stroked his thumb and smiled. She was going to kill him. She was going to shatter him into a million pieces before they even got to the vows. He could see himself dissolving into green sand and had to blink furiously when the Padre flinched at his eyes. He cast Elena in a sea of green and forced it away with a forceful scrunching of his eyes.
"Are you okay?" She whispered as Conseco tried to get back on track, and all he could do was nod. She gave him a sweet smile and squeezed his hands. The lump in his throat slammed into his heart on its way up. Why. Why was she being so sweet to him? What could she possibly see about this situation that kept that smile on her face? He swallowed again and watched her eyes as they followed his adam's apple. He felt a flush rise as a thought he desperately tried to stamp out crept out of the depths of his brain. 'What if she wants this?'
It was insane. Certifiably insane to think a girl of eighteen would want to be permanently tied to a thirty-two year old alcoholic loner? 'Better than you're going to get on your own, old man. Look at her.' 'I don't want to look at her! She's eighteen!' 'She's your wife, you can do more than look.' 'Shut up! Shut up shut up SHUT UP!'
But he couldn't ignore the part of his mind that was right. Elena was beautiful. He'd never even thought about her in any context beyond 'friendly librarian girl,' but standing before her he couldn't lie about what his eyes were telling him. The windows of the church were letting in golden morning light that lit up her hair and her face, and the plain dress might have been unadorned, but it didn't hide the shape of her, all gentle, generous curves and softness. He couldn't lie to himself and say he wouldn't have noticed her eventually. And he let his heart flip for just a moment to not believe his luck before he descended into disgust and hating himself even more.
Before he knew it he felt himself saying words that didn't register, felt a candle placed in his hand and moving numbly to light a single candle in tandem with her. His hand shook, and he dripped wax on her shoe before the thing caught light, but she was still all smiles. She took the initiative to hold the larger wedding candle and join their hands under it, gazing at him expectantly. The Padre cleared his throat.
"Um. Bru-Bruno?" She whispered, so low he almost didn't hear it. "You're supposed to kiss me now?"
He felt jolt of panic, curling his toes in his shoes before leaning forward and giving her the briefest of pecks on the side of her lips. For the first time her smile faltered.
He avoided the glares of his mother and her family, the worried, questioning stares of his sisters and their husbands. He focused on the pitying looks of her friends. Any miniscule hope he'd had of this having any potential died there. Already he'd ruined her life, separated her from her friends, made her something other. He felt her tug at his hand as they walked down the aisle together, and released his grip on her, pleading silently for her to run, to throw her bouquet in his face, to fall and burst into tears. Anything to annul this farce at the start. Anything to set her free. He cursed himself again for being too much of a coward to end this. To be cruel to her to save her. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and condemned them both.
He watched her smile fade a little more before she steeled herself and took his elbow. Her eyes were focused on some point in the distance, but he saw the little crease form between her brows, the slight nod of her head. He feared then that the person he'd have the hardest time convincing that he was no good for his new wife was that wife herself.
*****
He watched as she was spun around on the dancefloor by her father, then by her cousin's husband, then her cousins. Mariano was only ten, but near her height already. His stomach twisted as she danced with baby Emilio, laughing as chubby little hands patted her cheek and a gummy smile found her chin and began grizzling. Rodrigo Cortez danced with her next. Then Agustín, dancing the only time he was graceful. Then Félix, who's energy combined with Elena's almost as fiercely as it did with Pepa, leaving the two of them breathless and laughing. Bruno refilled his wine glass and bowed his head as Guillermo Gonzalves asked her for a dance. He waved Elena off at her cautious request for permission. Like she needed it. It was her wedding too.
He'd danced with her first. It had been stiff. He knew how, couldn't escape knowing with his family, but couldn't make his legs work right. Didn't want to be pressed against her, especially not in front of so many people. She'd looked disappointed. 'Good. Realize that's all I'll be to you. A disappointment. There's still time to leave. Take it.'
Of course she hadn't. It shouldn't have surprised him, but he was still learning just how stubborn his new...wife could be. When she was determined she wouldn't stop until she'd reached her goal. For whatever reason that goal seemed to be making a go of this joke of a marriage. He couldn't fathom why. So he sat. And he drank. And he watched other men dance with his wife. Let her have a good time. She deserved that at least. His cuñados came to sit beside him, Félix fanning himself and Agustin looking around for Julieta as he rocked a fussy Luisa.
"Ay, come on Bruno, it's your wedding too. Dance with your wife!" Félix laughed as he took in Bruno's sour expression.
"I already danced with her. Don't need to put the poor girl through that again."
"It's going to be a little awkward at first, you know that. It's not the worst thing." Agustín said, dandling Luisa on his knee.
"It wasn't with you two and my sisters." Bruno spat bitterly. "Must be nice, knowing your wife beforehand. Being the same age. Loving her." Félix and Agustín shared a look over his head, both worried at the despondency in his voice
"That can come with time, Bruno. And sure, she's...younger than you would have chosen on your own, but she's not a child. She's getting a degree! She'll be running her own businesses in a couple of years. She's--"
"Barely eighteen. She's not legally a child but she might as well be. Would you want your daughters marrying old men almost old enough to be their father?"
Agustín sighed and handed Luisa to him. Bruno glared over her head. He knew this tactic. He couldn't go off on them if there was a baby in his hands. He let Luisa play with his hair as Agustín spoke.
"I wouldn't like it. I don't control those things, who loves who. But if a vision came about that said that was who would make her happy? If she was happy about it? Who am I to deny them that?"
"I never should have given Hebér that fu-- that vision."
Agustín sighed as he leaned back, snatching away Bruno's glass of wine as Félix took the bottle. "Take that up with him and Sofia. But you might want to actually talk to your wife first."
"She should be running for the hills. Not...going along with this because her mother wants her too."
"Don't be so sure of that," Felix said, nudging him and offering Luisa a bite of food. "Hebér and Sofia asked Elena about this first. Hebér insisted, because of her age. You'd...already left that conversation. She had a chance to wait."
"Then why didn't she?!" Bruno hissed, covering Luisa's ears so he didn't scare her. "What the hell was she thinking?"
Félix didn't say anything, just looked across the courtyard to the table where Hebér and Sofia were sitting with the Guzmans. Hebér was coughing into a rag, and while Sofia was rubbing his back and offering him water, she was also clearly haranguing him to hell and back.
"Might be you aren't the boogeyman you think you are, to her." Agustín said. "Might be she sees more in you than you do yourself."
Bruno only snorted and yanked back his wine, taking a long pull. If he drank enough he could avoid any...unpleasantness later. That was all he needed, Elena forming some sort of attachment to him because he'd gotten her away from her parents. Which he hadn't. She'd done it herself, through this nonsense, but still.
Speaking of the devil brought her to his door, and Elena came to sit beside him, color high on her cheeks as she took a breather. She looked at him shyly, the blush getting deeper.
"I promise I don't bite, Bruno."
He gave a noncommittal nod and jerked as her hand lit on his arm. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to be an ass and brush her off, but he didn't want to encourage her either.
"Elena...you don't have to...I mean...you should be out there, having fun."
"I've been having fun...but I think I'm supposed to be having fun with you?" The uncertainty in her voice nearly undid him, and he leaned back, breaking contact with her as he handed her a glass of wine.
"I'm afraid I'm not much fun at parties."
"Oh...well that's alright. I can take a break," she shrugged, sitting back and sipping her wine slowly.
Bruno sat, hating himself. She was being so sweet to him, and he deserved exactly none of it. He took another sip of his wine.
*****
It had taken his sisters and cuñados and Elena's tipsy friends all combined to get them up the stairs and through his door. Elena had flitted up laughing, a little unsteady on her feet but smiling and rosy cheeked as her friends spiraled around her in a giggling cyclone. Bruno felt like a man heading for his own funeral. Elena paused at his door, taking in the glowing light of his image, the scowl carved into the wood he knew he was matching. She took his elbow and waited expectantly. He tried to hide the shake of his hand as he opened his door. He ignored her as she goggled, the chasm of his room dark, a faint green glow from decades of visions lighting their way as they made it past the sandfall, which eagerly opened for them, spreading to let them through and sealing behind them. There was a strange rippling feeling all around them. Elena didn't seem to notice, had nothing to.compare it too, but he noticed. Something was stirring in the magic of his room.
"Is...is your...is the bedroom all the way at the top?" Elena asked quietly, staring all the way up his stairs. He shook his head.
"It's uh...it's not--not far. Tucked away."
"Oh. Well that's handy!" She said brightly. Her words sunk like a stone from his brain to his stomach, swirling sick with alcohol and dread.
He climbed the two stories of stairs slowly, not wanting to make it to his true room, not wanting to take her there at all. Not wanting to face any of this.
The door to his actual room was hidden by a cleaver optical illusion, a split in the stone invisible to anyone who wasn't looking for it. He clenched his teeth as he turned the knob, sure Elena had some notion of being kissed stupid behind closed doors. That was as much as he let himself think about. He knew from the furious tirades Sofia had subjected him and his mother to to get this farce underway that he wasn't her first (and he wasn't going to be her second if he could at all help it) but knew a fumbling teenaged roll in the hay meant next to nothing for actual experience. He swallowed nervously.
"It...it's not much. I'm sorry," he mumbled as he stared at his feet, silently begging her to please, please give into the nerves she had to be feeling and bolt. 'I wouldn't go after you. Please just run'
"It's...cozy." Elena said, squeezing his hand. He swayed a bit, and cursed himself as she led him to sit on...a bed? He'd had a hammock that morning. He took a moment to actually look around while Elena fussed at him. He tried to wave her away, mumbling about too much to drink, and it seemed to work. She went nosing around the room, delighted by small things he couldn't make out, spinning her wedding band the whole time.
Not much had changed, all told. He knew Juli and Pepa's rooms had changed when they had brought home spouses. He shouldn't have been surprised. In addition to the bed were two little nightstands, one with a bottle of red wine in an ice bucket. His dresser now had a short, wide companion with a vanity mirror, a few simple knicknacks scattered across the top. Her cousins had brought her things already, it seemed. The old wingback chair by his little fireplace had a twin, with wall sconces on both sides and sharing the little table between. And there was a second door, opened to reveal what looked like a handmade desk, the back end of a sewing machine, and most surprisingly, the corner of a separate bed. He made the mistake of smiling at that. Elena thought the look was for her. She fidgeted before him, her veil removed and her shoes missing, tucked away while he was busy trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Bruno I...erm...shouldn't we be...."
He blanched, trying to think on his feet and failing. His hands shook as she peered at him. Standing in white, barefoot and looking as vulnerable as a newborn foal. He couldn't do this.
"I...uh. You should...we should get ready for bed."
"Can you...could you help me?" She asked demurely, turning her back to him. He gulped at the row of tiny pearl buttons down her back, knowing she couldn't reach them herself.
"Just...just the buttons. I'm sorry but..."
"It's okay," she whispered, a blush blooming at her ears and down her back. "I'm...I'm a little shy too. I'll...go to the other room to...to change."
His hands shook as he began, trying not to touch anything but the buttons, but he felt her shiver beneath his touch in spite of his efforts, and felt twin waves of nausea and arousal twine down his back. 'No. No no no. No. She's too young. Stop it, you disgusting old man.'
He bit his tongue and finished his task as quickly as he could without tearing her dress, turning as soon as he was done to avoid the sight of her bare, freckled back retreating to the new door. The guest room. Her room.
Her room.
The house had given her her own bedroom, an escape from him in what should have been their joint space if this entire affair hadn't been a joke. A glimmer of hope.
He bit the cork out of the wine and drained the bottle in under two minutes, letting it slosh in his gut with the rest and cloud his head, the alcohol taking hold rapidly, lack of food giving it nothing but himself to latch onto. His body was instantly weighed down. He barely had the energy to kick out of the cursed shoes and unbutton enough for comfort. He wound himself into the covers and put a pillow over his head, knowing he'd have a monstrous hangover in the morning and for the first time glad of it. And he found himself glad of the comfortable mattress the house had created.
He had nearly drifted off when he sensed someone standing at his bedside. He made the mistake of turning over.
He swore he'd strangle whoever had bought Elena the ridiculous thing she'd come to him wearing. She stood with her hands in front of her, fluttering to keep from covering herself where the green silk negligee left nothing to the imagination and stopped its lace trim just at the tops of her thighs. She was biting her lip with nerves and looking at him, searching his face for some indication of what to do or an invitation to climb under the covers with him. He wasnt sure. Despite his desperate efforts, he felt blood surging southwards, and twisted to hide the evidence, knowing his next lie would be for nothing if she saw him hard. They stared at each other for a painfully long moment before she finally broke, arms crossed over her middle and pushing her breasts into his field of vision, though he could tell be her shivering hunch that it was unintentional.
"Bruno I...I know we don't really...know each other but aren't we supposed to...o sea...you know...together?"
Bruno groaned, closing his eyes against the vision in front of him, an inadvertent siren calling him to his doom. The alcohol had freed a dog in his brain, and it was whispering scandalously in his ear about soft breasts to rest his head on and thick thighs to bury it between. Delicious curves and weight filling in, ripe and waiting for him to bite them. He clutched at his head, groaning in pain and unable to look at her for fear he'd give himself away, fear he'd go against himself and doom them both.
He waved her away brusquely when her hand brushed his shoulder, so delicate he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Not tonight. Too much...too much to drink. Go to bed."
She dissappeared, only to begin crawling in beside him, and he moaned again, a strangled noise somewhere between lust and wrath and helplessness as he flapped his hand aggressively in the direction of the new door.
"Your bed. Might...might get sick. Go to...to your room. Please."
He heard a muffled whimper as the bed dipped again. He ignored it. Ignored the same gentle hand on his shoulder and the wobbling kiss she planted on his cheek. Ignored the tears in her voice and on his own skin as she wished him good night, padding away and closing the little door behind her.
*****
Elena lay huddled under unfamiliar blankets on a bed that felt like a cloud and may as well have been a stone for all the comfort it gave her. Her whole body burned, emotions she couldn't even name boiling over as she cried into her unfamiliar pillow.
"Go to your room." He'd dismissed her like a child. She'd stood there near naked in the sexiest thing she'd known how to sew and he'd sent her to bed like a four year old. He was disgusted by her. She'd heard it in his voice. How couldn't he be? Didn’t all older men want a young little wife? That's what the men at the shops always said. What the men at the dance hall assured her of when she couldn't quite pull away to avoid them. What she'd overheard at bars and parties and nights snuck out drinking with her friends.
Her mother had been right. Of course he didn't want her. She'd already given up the one thing she had, a stupid mistake ate a party. And she wasn't pretty or little or sweet. That was Miranda, with her bright, delicate laugh, and Beatriz, with her humble modesty and quiet voice. Not her. Never her. Never Elena with her loud voice and filthy mouth and rude behavior. Not Elena, who should have been a boy. Not Elena, who was always the consolation prize, a surprise to make up for twin brothers long since dead.
She wanted to be angry. Angry that not even Bruno Madrigal with his stupid goofy face and skinny frame and terrible reputation wanted her. But she couldn't. She knew he was a good man. He'd always been kind to her, when she'd watched his sobrinas. Never admonished her for the way she sometimes spoke like others did. Never leveled a judgemental glance at her when she rambled about books or laughed about Chacha being a little thief or got caught out racing through town on Ladrillo.
He deserved better than some fat little slattern with nothing to offer but shops that wouldn't even go to her nown He deserved a woman his age, someone mature enough to understand him. To support him. Someone that could give him a family. Not a practical child to raise. She knew he hadn't wanted this, but had insisted anyway. Why wait, when there was a vision?
Elena cried harder, missing her bed and her pet and even the silly comfort of her stuffed dog Chiquito. The same vision had shown the shops succeed under her, but she knew now her mother planned to will them to Julio. What good was a vision then if all it showed was nothing that made sense. The child Bruno had been seen holding looked like him and nothing like her, and they were both so much older. What if they'd all gotten it mixed up, and they were only friends in the future. What if visions could be wrong?
She cried herself to sleep wondering.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Snapshots of the first three months of marriage, and how Bruno and Elena are adjusting to their new lives.
Much to Bruno's surprise and irritation, Elena seems determined to make the best of the situation, while somehow making things worse for herself in the process. He learns quickly that he doesn't have the market cornered on esteem issues and has to run damage control before his little wife ruins her future career. It's a tough balancing act to care for her and try to drive her away without being cruel, and Bruno is rapidly becoming convinced he's failing
Chapter Text
Bruno ran his hands over his face and groaned, leaning back in his chair and wondering what the hell he had to do to get his wife's newest silly notion out of her head.
Three months of this. Three months of stilted conversations and awkward breakfasts. Three months of a roommate he had to ignore for her own good and his own sanity. He hadn't thought he could hate himself any more than he already did, but somehow he'd found a new store of self-loathing and it began right at that cursed little door that had appeared in his--their--room.
Elena had forgiven him for the botched farce of a "wedding night" as soon as he'd dragged himself to wakefulness the next morning. Her eyes had looked near as bruised as his, and he'd shouldered the guilt as best he could in the face of it all. Elena had already dressed for the day, and had laid out clothes for him as well. His stomach rolled.
"You...you didn't need to do that," he mumbled, though he grabbed the clothes to change when her lip wobbled. She nodded and slipped back into her little room while he put on what she'd chosen for him, sighing in defeat. It wasn't her fault, not really. She'd been eager to get away from her mother, but he didn't have to be a pendejo towards her. His mind whirled as he made some weak attempt at taming his stupid hair, guiltily at using the vanity the house had made for her. He looked over her little collection of things when he'd given up.
Little woodcarvings of animals, painted or stained realistically. He remembered vaguely her tío Sébastien having a knack for the hobby before he'd passed, but had never thought to where they had wound up. The little green parrot was losing its paint, and he wondered at just where her pet was, the old Fuerte's that made a habit of getting into mischief at the market. Surely she hadn't left it with her parents. He saw her peeking out the door, watching him curiously, and waved for her to follow. Might as well get whatever circus breakfast was going to be over with.
His--the family clearly hadn't expected them, watching them to an uncomfortable degree as they figured out where to sit. Casita at least had the sense to provide a new chair. Elena yelped as it skidded towards her, startled as it moved her to his right. At least they wouldn't crowd each other's elbows. His mother cleared her throat, clearly seeing something amiss.
"I'm surprised to see you two out and about already. Casita provided such wonderful honeymoons for your sisters, Bruno. Was something the matter?"
Bruno grimaced, wracking his brain for a lie when Elena spoke up, staring at her plate.
"Lo...lo siento, Doña Alma. That was...that was me. My...my Papá is so ill...both mis padres really...I didn't want to be away so long."
"Well...admirable as that may be, you two deserve time to...get acquainted. I know things were settled rather quickly, no one would blame you for taking some time to yourselves."
"I...it's up to...to Bruno. It's his room. Not...well...it's his decision."
Bruno felt his mother's eyes on him as he studied the plates. Elena had the same blank ivy that Félix and Agustin did. The same ones the kids did, no personality. Something about that rankled under his skin. But she'd handed him the perfect out and he couldn't worry about the plates or their old irritation right then. Why she was defending him he couldn't fathom. They'd have to actually speak eventually, but he could delay that out a little more with what she'd said.
"I'm alright with Elena continuing to help her parents at the shops. We all know they aren't in the best health. If that's how she wants to spend the time I'm not going to say she can't."
"Bruno, she should be spending time with you, getting used to Casita not..."
"She is right there, Mamá," he interrupted, grinding his teeth. "If she's really an adult in your eyes then treat her like one. If she isn't then this conversation is over." He shoved an arepa in his mouth and stalked away from the table, leaving them all gawking behind him.
He couldn't shake the thought of what his mother had said. He'd known, of course, that Casita had done something when his sisters had brought their husbands home. He'd seen neither couple for two solid weeks. Pepa had come back sunburnt and with freckles thicker than he'd ever seen them, and even Félix had the tale-tell signs of constant sun, his skin even darker than usual and the tips of his hair bleaching lighter, giving him the appearance of a halo. Wherever Julieta and Agustín were sent hadn't had as much sun, but they'd been completely inseparable and punch drunk in love with each other regardless.
What did it mean that Casita hadn't provided some magical getaway for him and Elena, but left them essentially to their own devices, the house's only concession giving Elena her own space and furniture, little used that it was? Had the house sensed his trepidation at the whole event? Or was it its own prophesy about the marriage? Doomed to fail so forget the effort? Did the house simply...dislike his spouse? He found that hard to believe. Casita was capricious, and had been known to throw out novios and neighbors alike when she decided had they'd worn out their welcome. Elena was greeted with waving roof tiles and whirling floors that danced her through the house whenever she seemed lost. She had jumped at first, but like Agustín and Félix before her, quickly adjusted to the magic all around her. He'd seen her, once or twice, studying parts of the house. A little hand on a banister, watching as it shifted to widen the stairway. The same hand careful on the tile of the cocina, tracing patterns and laughing quietly as they chased after her, playful. Not dislike then.
It had to be a mercy. Casita had always been a little more gentle with him, and he'd made no secret of how much he'd hated the very idea. He cursed himself again for capitulating to the threats, veiled and open, from his mother and Sofia and Hebér. It was a long walk up his stairs, and he had too much time with his own thoughts, the events still painfully fresh.
"What are you talking about, Sofia? My son has made no mention of anyone. Not since that fiasco with that horrible Gonzalves woman." Bruno stopped his hunt for leftovers and ducked as close to the cabinets as he could, hoping he could sneak out before the voices got to him. The last thing he needed was his mother getting on a tear about Silvia again, with Sofia Pascual of all people. He'd never escape the down-dressing. And what on earth was Sofia doing at Casita after ten in the evening?
"Hebér, you tell her. You tell her what you've been hiding from me for three whole years! What her son has been hiding...if this gets out Elena's reputation will be ruined, Alma! It's bad enough having to cover up that stupid mistake with the Cortez boy, but this? This is too much!"
"Mi princesa, please, I've told you there's nothing going on. Don't believe the worst of our Elena just because we--"
"Silencio, Hebér! Unless the next words out of your mouth are explaining that vision you're not to speak until we get this resolved!"
Bruno gulped, trying to sneak away. If a vision was involved he wasn't getting out of...whatever was happening. He didn't make it very far.
"Bruno, there you are! Have a seat. The Pascuals have come with some...concerns." His mother said as she and the couple in question crowded into the cocina. He hadn't quite set his plate down when a hand snaked out to strike him across the face, knocking him off balance and into the counter.
"Sofia!" came two shouts at once, Hebér devolving into a coughing fit as the woman in question tore him down. Bruno stood in confusion as he rubbed his cheek.
"How long? How long have you been sneaking around with her? How long have you been dishonoring her under my own feet? To think I used to watch you as a child! You'll set this right. If you've gotten her preñada I'll castrate you myself! You will set this right immediately, Bruno Madrigal!"
"Sofia what are you talking about?" his mother asked, again. Sofia dragged him into a chair, nails of her crabbed, arthritic hands scratching at his neck. Bruno could do nothing but sit, stunned into silence and unable to fight back as his world rapidly fell around his ears. Hebér sat a vision plate on the table.
"Sofia let the boy go, he's harmless. Do you remember, Señor? The vision you gave me?"
Bruno stared at it, an odd pain in his chest, the old scar pulling. Elena, older, under the pergola of the shops, happy. One corner was broken off, but the vision plates weren't the most durable things.
"A--a good vision then? I'm sorry. I don't remember."
"Of course you're going to say you don't remember! Anything to get out of what you've done!" Sofia snapped. Bruno flinched, unable to meet her eye.
"I haven't done anything, Señora. I'm sorry, but I don't remember the vision. I don't understand."
"Always in the shops, always so close to her, you think we're stupid?"
"What are you talking about? Clearly I don't know," he groused, anger finally raising up under his confusion. His mother looked grave.
"Bruno, they're saying that you've been...the Pascuals' are under the impression you've been sleeping with their daughter, because of this vision."
"Elena? She's a child!"
"Clearly that doesn't matter!" Sofia snapped. "Hebér told me what he saw, what he broke off the vision and left here. Did you even wait for her to pass eighteen, or have you been slinking around like a snake since the shops opened?"
"I've never touched your daughter! I barely speak to her! Que carajo are you talking about what Hebér saw?"
"Bruno, language,"
"No, Mamá! They're accusing me of that and all you care about is my language? What is wrong with you?!"
"If what they say about the vision is true...Bruno they may have cause to--"
"What about the damned vision? I don't remember anything about it but the shops doing well? What the hell could you have seen?!" He shouted, starting at his mother and rounding on Hebér, who looked taken aback by his temper. 'Good,'he thought,'get the stupid idea out of your stupid head, viejo.'
Hebér signed, but was interrupted by Julieta, Luisa in her arms. "Mamá, what's going on? We heard shouting, and now Luisa can't sleep!" She froze when she caught sight of the vision plate, going numbly to Bruno's side and handing him his fussy sobrina, who immediately dug her little hands into his hair and began bopping her head on his ruana. Relief washed over him. Whatever else he might be accused of would at least be quiet with the baby in his arms.
"Bruno? What's going on?"
"There's been some sort of...misunderstanding with one of Bruno's visions. Hebér was just about to explain," their mother explained. Bruno clenched his jaw and hid his face in Luisa's soft side, where a little hand reached around his jaw and patted his face sleepily. He sat, wracking his memory for something, anything of the vision, almost four years gone, ignoring the startled hisses at his eyes, the glow latent but noticeable enough. He dug and dug in his head for the memory, nothing but the image of him putting his rat Gomez somewhere safe and offering Señor Pascual a glass of water to ease the coughing of his tuberculosis. He kept digging as Hebér began to speak. He almost didn't notice Julieta had threaded her hand with his under the table.
"I broke off part of the vision plate, for Elena's sake. She's...She's very determined when she sets her sights on something, and if she knew the future you'd seen..." he paused, but when he saw no recognition, he continued. "You saw the shops succeeding, that's true. But under Elena, not me or Sofia. I know we'll pass younger now, likely before Elena reaches thirty. You showed me...you and her...together. And later, with a child. Do you truly not remember, Señor Madrigal?"
"I...there's nothing. Nothing. And there never will be! Elena's...she's so young. I swear I've never--I would never!"
"You will," Hebér insisted.
"There's no proof of this other than your word, Hebér. Your word and your suspicion if Bruno doesn't remember. I can't just believe every accusation that comes across my path about my son." Bruno sagged into his chair, but Julieta had stiffened.
"Perdoname. I'll be right back."
"Juli wait!" Bruno hissed after her, but she'd already bolted for her room.
"You can't weasel out of this just by saying you don't remember." Sofia spat, glaring at him. "What else could you be doing in the shops so often if not hounding my daughter with your attention?"
"Reading!" he shot back, his voice low. "Elena's nearly half my age! Why on earth would I look at her?"
"You're no different than any other man, don't think I haven't seen you sniffing around her like a dog."
"Sofia!" Hebér bit, his hand on her arm, "Please, amor, there's a little one present. Let's just wait for Julieta to get back."
She wasn't long. Julieta came back with a bundle in her arms and a heavy expression on her face, Agustín in tow. She handed Bruno a mug of something thick and smelling of earth and a cocada.
"Drink that, then eat, for the migraine. I'm so sorry. Agustín, take Luisa."
Bruno was loath to let go of his sobrina, cowardice at losing her as a shield roiling in his gut, but he handed her off and did as Julieta asked. There was an explosion behind his eyes, light and pain and sound all beating against the inside of his skull. He gripped his head and groaned, head falling forward onto the table as he writhed.
"Julieta, what's happening to him? A seizure?" Alma cried, going to her son. Her daughter's jaw was hard as she spoke.
"He's remembering."
Before anyone at the table could react, Julieta struck Hebér across the cheek, her finger sharp in his chest as she got close, her own eyes slowly gaining a limn of lightning blue, locking the man in his seat. Her voice was panther-quiet and just as dangerous.
"You don't get to come in here and accuse my brother of being a predator. You saw that vision, saw how upset he was, and held him at knife point! You had him convinced you'd kill him if he so much as breathed in your daughter's direction! He begged me to make him forget, nearly killed himself panicking, falling down those damned stairs with that stupid vision shard and sliced his chest open! He pleaded with me, bleeding all over my floor, to make him forget, so it never had to happen!" Julieta sat heavily and gripped at her hair, furious. "He knew people would notice him disappearing. He knows how he is, with the nerves. He didn't want any of this. And now you come in here accusing him of being some...some horrible violodor with nothing more than a memory! Over this!"
She flung open the little blanket bundle she'd brought, the vision piece inside it glowing dully. Bruno chose that moment to look up. His eyes stung with the return of his memories, the cocada barely taking the edge of the pain away. He saw his own face staring back at him, holding a little boy in a slice of emerald that would fit perfectly with the other half Hebér had lain on the table. Sofia snatched it up, glaring before her face softened and fell and slowly became horrified.
"You...you're so much older in this...I don't understand."
"That's what I tried to tell you before you tore off like a madwoman!" Hebér rumbled, "Now it's too late!"
"Now Hebér, there's no reason to rush things," Alma said as she plucked the green shard from Sofia. She saw the little face, her eventual grandson, and couldn't help the wave of contentment that passed over her heart. Bruno was older, gray and wrinkles noticeable even in the impressions of the vision. another decade at least. "I'm certainly not pleased with how you came to me with this, but given their ages in the vision I don't see any reason to worry."
"And if he's been with her now?"
"I haven't! I swear! I swear on my father's grave! Why will you not believe me?" Bruno groaned from behind his hands. He was summarily ignored by his mother.
"If that's happened, much as I doubt it given Bruno's...usual taste in women...Elena is an adult, if a young one. I presume she knows how to be discreet."
"It doesn't matter if he has or hasn't," Hebér sighed, defeated. "Tell her, Sofia. Tell her what you've done."
Sofia's posture had slacked in mortification under Alma's gaze. Bruno stared at her through pained eyes, the glow slowly fading and his skin pale from what Julieta's remedy had done.
"Sofia?" Julieta asked forcefully, glaring at the woman, who sighed in defeat.
"I--I spoke with Pilar. I didn't know what else to do! Hebér was mumbling like a fool and Elena can't be trusted around men and I just needed a voice of reason!"
"And you chose the town's gran chismosa?" Bruno had groaned, feeling the noose tightening around his neck. "That woman despises me! It's not my fault Salomón died, I just saw it!" He let his head fall into his folded arms, lamenting. "Esto es un desastre."
Alma turned to Julieta, a little confused. Pilar Guzman was a member of the town council, and meant to be neutral. Julieta sighed.
"She's never forgiven Bruno for that vision. It's not his fault Salomón got his head stove in by that horse. He should have known better, trying to break a wild stallion at sixty. If anything it's my fault for...for not making it in time, but it was instant!"
"That still doesn't explain...Pilar isn't going to go running around saying Bruno assaulted your daughter, Sofia. This is ridiculous. With the vision in mind, I see nothing wrong with making an arrangement, but surely we can wait for the actual marriage until the girl is twenty?"
"No, we can't," Sofia said sharply. "It doesn't matter if they've done nothing, which I'm still not wholly convinced of. The vision is out in the open now. Even if Pilar says nothing, which she will, Alma, you know she will, other people will know. Between the reputation your son is making for himself at the bar and the one Elena's made for herself being completely uncontrollable, well--"
"Sofia," Hebér warned. Sofia ignored him.
"It's simply a matter of time. As it stands now there's a chance at salvaging this. Pilar believes every ill mannered thing said about both of them, and you know how much sway she holds in town."
"So do you!" Alma spat furiously. She turned to Bruno. Her son was twisting himself into knots before her eyes, staring into his hands as his eyes tripped in their sockets, trapped in a spiral so strongly she could practically see the thoughts cross his face. She knew the rumors the town had laid on him weighed heavily on his mind. Much as she disliked how he was dealing with the pressure, she couldn't pretend she didn't understand. The same vice had nearly controlled her at the same age. She didn't doubt he'd find his way eventually, but this new revelation could be his undoing if it played out wrong. If it played out well...well who was she to deny her son a happiness and partner dictated by fate itself? Still, the abruptness of it rankled, and she waited for Sofia to answer, frozen from her outburst.
"We don't all have the rest of the town council to turn to, Alma. Pilar is the only family I have left now that Sébastien is gone. I didn't know what else to do."
"And now you've trapped our children. Pilar believing those silly rumors from other people is one thing. Her hearing it from you, whatever you said...Sofia..." Alma leaned back heavily, knocking on the table before stopping herself. "You've left no choice for them. They'll have to marry."
"Mamá, NO!" Bruno shouted, sitting up bolt straight in his chair. "You can't ask me to do this. You can't! She's only eighteen! You want me to...No. I can't. I can't do this. I won't do this!"
"Bruno, clearly you're capable, at least some time in the future. A little earlier isn't the worst thing in the world. She's young, but she's not a child."
"I wasn't...I wasn't with her. Not in the vision! I remember now. Not...not in the sands. Not when she's mourning, not in the shops, not anywhere! It can't be this soon! It shouldn't be at all!"
Hebér settled heavily on the table, leveling a look at him. "You said yourself you can't see everything. I saw the same things you did, Señor Madrigal. Not being seen doesn't mean anything. Elena is...very independent, especially when she's upset. I don't see that changing."
"You can't seriously want me to...Señor please, this isn't right."
"I've watched you, the last three years. You get along with her well. Now that I know you had no memory of the vision a lot of things make more sense. My...Sofia's actions aside it's not a bad match. Earlier than I'd hoped, but Elena is grown."
"Then ask her!" Bruno balked, the walls closing in around him and the noose tightening. They were serious. They were all really serious about this. "Ask her what she wants to do! No one's going to volunteer to be weighed down with me! Don't make her do this."
"Is there something objectionable about my daughter?" Sofia sniffed, her mouth in a thin line. Bruno swallowed.
"Yes--I mean not--I mean---She's so young. Por dios, I babysat her! Elena's so bright, don't ruin her life strapping her to a worthless old man!"
"Bruno, don't talk about yourself that way," Julieta tried to soothe, but he brushed her off.
"Don't act like it's not what you're all thinking. Not when that's what started this whole mess! Her coming in here accusing me of being some dirty old pervert!" Bruno snapped, pointing accusingly at Sofia. "Don't act like you didn't think it anyway. I know how people look at me."
"And that's why you need to marry her as soon as we can arrange it." Sofia seethed. "Lo siento Alma but the town has a truly horrible view of your son. How you don't see it is beyond me but they do. Can you truly blame me for suspecting he's guilty of the one thing there aren't rumors of yet? Especially with Elena's...history."
"Sofia, would you let that rest? Por dios it was one boy!" Hebér growled, earning a glare. Alma interrupted before Sofia could berate him.
"Explain yourself. I can certainly see them marrying eventually to save face for both our families, but this is too far. What about this history? Why such a rush? Bruno is right, you should ask the girl herself!"
"Elena will wear white to the wedding, but she shouldn't. Make of that what you will," Sofia said haughtily. Bruno felt his ears pink as he understood. It didn't matter to him, but for her mother to air Elena's affairs out in the open so coldly set him on edge for reasons he couldn't quite name. Sofia studied him, gauging his reaction. Her face was unpleasantly unreadable. Did she want him to be offended he wasn't getting practically a virgin sacrifice?
"Regardless, it's not about that. Bruno is...slowly becoming an outcast. Whether he can rectify it or not remains to be seen. But what will it say about Elena if even arguably the loneliest man in the Encanto rejects her, especially after it's been predicted in one of his very own prophesies?"
"Why would Pilar say anything then?" Bruno whispered, floored by the acknowledgement of his fears.
"To force the issue," Alma sighed wearily. "She's been trying to join our families together for years. There was...there was talk of you and Olivia, Bruno, but she ran off with Teodor first. If they weren't babies I'd swear she'd be trying to set up Luisa and Emilio, or his brother with one of the other girls. And...that awful mess with Julieta and Sébastien, before he met Julio's mother." Bruno and Julieta both stared at their mother in shock. Sébastien Guzman would have shared nearly same age difference as Bruno and Elena, and had been fifteen when the Encanto was formed. His mother's distaste was clear, but Bruno couldn't help but notice she didn't have the same objection to putting her own son in such a questionable position.
"Don't stare at me like that, you two. You remember how hard the early years were. It didn't happen and that's the end of it. It's irrelevant to this conversation. Unfortunately, Sofia is right. I hadn't thought about the implications to Elena. I am sorry, Bruno."
Bruno hung his head. Damned either way. On the one hand, the town would suspect that he'd been some lowlife cradle-robber all along, but Elena would get the benefit of the doubt and grace from the town for being saddled with a difficult husband. On the other, he'd stave off the worst of the rumors if he avoided her, but in doing that he'd put the focus on her and the spotlight on her supposed failings. He didn't know her well enough to know what those failings were, but turning her into a romantic pariah by an association with him would be beyond cruel.
"Please..." he pleaded, near silent from the lump in his throat, "Please, Señor Pascual. Please talk...talk to--Ele--...talk to her. About this. I can't...I can't face this if...if she's unwilling. I'll...I'll go along with this to...to keep the peace. But I'm not going to hurt her. She'd already be giving up so much if...if she agrees to this travesty, I don't want to make it worse."
"It's late. Elena will be asleep." Sofia said, as if the idea of asking her own daughter about whether or not she wanted to be sold off like a prize horse was ridiculous. Hebér stood then, glaring at his wife.
"Then I'll wake her up. Señor Madrigal is right. You've made a complete mess of this and Elena deserves a chance to make her own decision about her future." He paused, gathering up the vision, taking the time to wrap the halves back into the cloth Julieta had used to wrap it. His expression was thunderous, but Sofia looked ready to argue back. Julieta stood and took a jar from the cabinet, handing it to Hebér. Hard candies rattled inside.
"For your cough, Señor. Please hurry back. And I apologize for slapping you." She turned to Sofia, who'd risen from her seat. "Sit down. You've done enough, Sofia. We'll wait for Elena's word. Like you should have to begin with."
The older woman sat, cowed by Julieta's sparking glare, while Bruno watched the exchange in a mix of dread and horror and pride. His heart was hammering, and as soon as Hebér was from sight his nerves failed him. He darted out the side of the house, Julieta trailing behind, and lost every meal he'd had that day on the grass. Julieta rubbed his back before pulling him into a tight hug, letting him fall apart against her.
"I can't do this, Juli. I can't. She's so young. What am I going to do? What's...Why is this happening? Why now? I can't, I can't, I can't..."
Julieta helped him clean up and back to his room, pointedly ignoring their mother and Sofia. They'd get the news soon enough either way. Julieta had her suspicions she'd be cooking a wedding dinner sooner rather than later.
"The timing is...I'll admit it's terrible, but this doesn't have to be a bad thing."
"Not you too, Julieta, please," he begged as she sat him down in his chair. He fully intended on drinking himself into oblivion and not waking up for three days if he could, but he suspected he'd catch hell for doing so. It didn't matter, not if even his sensible sister was starting to agree with the Pascuals and their mother. Julieta sighed and knelt beside him.
"Bruno, enough of this. I can't drag you to Sister Santiaga for drinking, but you're a mess. You've been a mess since the tuberculosis outbreak. I know it's hard, the way the town is, but you've only made it harder chasing everyone away!"
"I haven't...I didn't have anyone!"
"Yes you do, you idiot. You have me and Pepa and our husbands. You have the girls. You had friends, more than just Silvia."
"Had, Juli. Had. Who wants to be friends with a bad omen? No one with sense."
"Gustavo was mourning his wife. Luis went off to school, but you could have picked back up when he came back, but you brushed him off. Don't act like you haven't been isolating yourself."
"Of course I did! You heard what Sofia said. Just being near me is enough to damage people's reputations! You think I want that over my head?"
"I think you're afraid to find out," Julieta shouted back, thoroughly fed up with him. "It's easier to just let them hate you than to work on the real issue. Well now you don't have a choice."
"What are you talking about?"
"Of course you didn't notice. There's a reason it's Elena in that vision and not Fernanda or Maria or Socorro." Julieta took his hand. "I don't know if she's realized it herself, but you two are suited to one another, age notwithstanding."
"What, she's got some silly teenage crush on an old man? Ha." Bruno sneered. The very idea was ridiculous. Julieta pinched him.
"Maybe she does. She's not stupid. She has eyes, Bruno. You're smart, and decent looking when you aren't skulking in a corner covered in rats! You're a good man, and Elena Pascual likely has enough sense to see it. You're the one that's always mentioning how kind she is to you at the bibliotheca!"
"I'm a customer! She's kinds to me because I'm always there! She's kind to everyone!"
"Not to Joaquin Ruiz. She broke both his feet."
"For being a creep! He put a hand up her skirt."
"Not to Julio, her own primo. All he did was make an off-color joke about her father and she squashed his nose like a lulo."
"Hebér has tuberculosis, which is my fault. Of course she'd retaliate."
"The outbreak wasn't your fault, and I'll slap you if you say it was. Bruno, she's smacked the hell out of half the Chavez boys, not that they haven't deserved it, and rips into any customer that speaks ill of you at the shops. Did you really never notice?"
"Why? Why would she...?"
"Because you've never bothered to defend yourself, and she and her father both have never tolerated people being pendejos in the shops. But she absolutely focuses on people going after you and other people have started to notice. I don't think she's ever realized herself yet, but Bruno it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if she actually did like you. Por dios, you aren't el Mohán, come to snatch her away in the night!"
Bruno covered his face with his hands, praying silently that Julieta would leave. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to think about what Elena Pascual thought of him. She deserved better than some washed out old drunk. Julieta sighed.
"If you really saw her as a child you wouldn't have asked her opinion be taken into account. Don't throw away a chance at happiness just because it's not coming along at the best possible time."
"Happiness? Are you serious? We have nothing in common and she's--"
"Yes, Bruno, happiness!" Julieta interrupted. "Maybe if you have someone to take care of you'll dig your head out of your ass and pull yourself together. Dios sabe none of us can. I'm sick of seeing you doing this to yourself, Bruno. If you won't listen to your sisters or mother or sobrinas, maybe a wife you're scared to disappoint will knock some damn sense into your stupid head."
He waited until she'd left, slamming his doors behind her, before finding the remnants of a bottle of aguardiente and burning his dread away until he fell asleep.
Elena woke up to the sound of coughing downstairs. She tensed under her blankets and pretended to be asleep. She'd stuffed her ears and kept her head under a pillow once her parents had started arguing over the vision.
The vision. She'd wondered about it for a long time, but had never known what happened to it. It was a beautiful thing, green glass, or maybe stone, she wasn't sure. She'd been fascinated at her image on the thing, reaching out to touch it curiously before her mother had slapped her hand and sent her to bed. She was still catching hell for staying at the dance hall far too late the weekend before, and didn't want to deal with more punishment than she already had to put up with. But she'd had a chance to see the image floating within the vision plate anyway. Her, older and heavier and with a pale streak in her hair to show how much time had passed, outside the shops and smiling. She didn't want to know what her parents had argued over. She could imagine. Her father had asked for the vision, but neither he nor her mother were in it, just her. She knew they weren't in the best of health, but she hadn't looked more than maybe forty-five at the oldest in that mysterious green slab, and the thought of them passing before she'd figured her own life out scared her. She'd cried herself to sleep while ignoring them. She wasn't ready for that. She wasn't ready to be alone, even if she still technically had her mother's family to fall back on if it happened very soon. She'd tried so hard to break away, to show them she was her own person, but it was like swimming through jelly only to find an unclimbable cliff face on the other side.
Her father agreed on the surface, tried to insist she was an adult to her mother, but she had trouble believing it herself most days, no matter what that she'd began running the café all on her own and the record keeping for the bibliotheca and the town and had bullied Senor Geraldo into getting her set up for a correspondence degree with one of the colleges in Bogota. Her Papa still didn't believe she could keep up with it all. He would constantly finish tasks for her, iron out what he thought were mistakes in little things she tried to do, and hover over her if she so much as looked at any of the male patrons for too long.
Her mother couldn't stand any hint Elena wasn't the same quiet mouse she'd been before she'd hit double digit. Any change to the bibliotheca or the libraría or the café was vetoed at best and removed at worst. Most infuriating was the constant décor war. Elena knew her tastes were eclectic, but the café was hers as much as her parents' or at least they said, but every time she put out a cross stitch or a sketch it was replaced by one of her mother's old samplers from her seamstress days. It burned her up. Her mother was constantly questioning her judgement and it drove her crazy. She just wanted a say in things, like they'd promised her when she'd started working in the shops. Instead they treated her like a child. She swiped at her eyes, dashing away the stinging tears, and huddled deeper into her blankets, hoping they'd leave her alone.
"Lenita?" came her father's voice, quietly as the light of the gas lamp brightened around her. She didn't move, but felt the bed shift under his weight. "You snore, nena. I know you're awake. Please talk to me?"
"Are you and Mama done fighting about me now?" She said petulantly as she rolled over. Her father took her face in his hand, stroking her cheek affectionately before folding her into a bear hug that half lifted her from the bed. She did her best to return it, never able to stay angry at her father long.
"Why couldn't I see the vision? It was about me! I have a right to know." She said once he let her go. He sighed heavily and reached for something. From the glow she knew it was the very vision she'd been asking about.
"Elena, I'll let you see, but...there's more to the story than what you saw earlier. Please try to understand, corazón, I only kept this from you to give you a chance to live your life. I didn't mean to cause you any pain."
Elena didn't get a chance to answer before two large shards of emerald were sat on her lap. She saw her older self again, heavier and with the pale streak in her hair, tracing the differences carefully. Something she hadn't noticed before, a tiny wedding band shown on her hand. But she was at least forty in the vision so that only made sense.
It was the smaller shard that froze her where she sat. A man with curly hair holding a little boy. When the broken sides were lined up the little boy was pointing to her. A family then. She studied the face of the little boy, sweet and wide eyed, but nothing exceptionally clear in the inclusions of the stone slab. The man was another story. the curls were common enough, but few men wore it so long. Fewer still had such a distinctly large nose. She swallowed as her mouth went dry, implications parching their way down her spine. She couldn't see his hands, but why else would he be in a vision of her, older, carrying a child that was pointing to her.
"Bruno...Madrigal?" She asked, unbelieving. "I'm...meant to be with Bruno Madrigal?"
"It looks that way," Her father said sadly, brushing a big hand down her hair.
"But why?"
"What do you mean why?"
"Why me, Papá? What's so special about me? Is...is that why he's always in the shops?"
She watched as her father shook his head, his lumbering gait around her room as he searched for something the only thing keeping her from thinking she'd lost her mind. Bruno Madrigal of all people! In her vision!
Her father finished his task, framing the vision plate after removing one of her mother's bits of embroidery. he sat back down and handed it back.
"He cut himself, when he had this. Can't be too careful. You remember Felipe Torrez?"
"The man that used to...hit his wife?"
"Yes. Remember what Julieta did, helping the doctors to help him change?"
"She...She made him forget."
"Senor Madrigal wasn't in the shops for you, nena, other than you're one of the few people in town that's still kind to him. You were only fifteen when I asked for this vision and...the idea of it all...I didn't help. It scared him. You understand, sí?"
"He's not a creep. He never has been!" she said defensively. The most Senor Madrigal had ever done besides haunting the bibliotheca was to occasionally glare at the more superstitious of the boys that bothered her. Her father held up his hands.
"I know he's not, nena. But your mother..."
"What did she do?"
Her father flinched at her accusation, but she just glared at him, waiting. She knew he loved her mother as much as he was intimidated by her, big as he was, but couldn't he just grow a spine about it? Just this once?
"Sofia...she made accusations. And stormed off to your Tía Pilar. I've tried to...there's only so much I can repair, and Pilar hates me and Señor Madrigal. Damn woman doesn't have enough sense to see how it would hurt you if she started spreading stupid rumors."
"Mamá said things about me...didn't she? Not just Señor Madrigal."
"She did," he sighed. "And to the Madrigals themselves."
Elena tried to thread it all together, but her brain was buzzing, a hornet's nest of activity, no thought staying still long enough to stick. The green glow of her future took up her field of vision. A future with Bruno Madrigal and a little son and her parents no where to be seen and her father at sixes and sevens sitting beside her and her tía and mother being chismosas and a hundred other things. She traced the little boy's face under the glass again, letting a tear slip past her lashes.
"What's happening, Papá? I don't...it's all too much at once and I can't..."
Her father pulled her into his arms again, holding her as she cried it out, every little hope and infatuation and fleeting bright attraction she'd been denying, and the constant persistent fear that her mother was right and that she'd end up alone. His rough hands up and down her back brought her back to reality, peering up at him with sore eyes.
"With...with the way your tía is...and all the rumors about Señor Madrigal...Elena I tried to stop your mother. I truly tried but..."
"Papá, please. What's going on?"
"Your mother is at Casita now. It's...it's expected now for you to...marry Senor Madrigal. Your mother is pushing for as soon as possible to avoid any scandal."
"Why is there a scandal at all? She only told tía. I know tía has a big mouth but couldn't she just ignore it for once?"
"Sofia screamed at me the whole way there. People overheard."
"Oh," Elena said, her heart sinking. That shouldn't have surprised her. Her mother hadn't been kind when she'd found out about Rodrigo. Elena doubted she'd change her ways for something so important as a vision.
"And...what did Señor Madrigal say?
Her father hemmed for a long moment, clearly trying to think of the best way to word something. Elena egged him for an answer. "He's...hesitant, because of your age,"
"I'm grown!" she said defensively, still sore from her earlier grumbling.
"And he's more so. And he acknowledges that. It's...frightening for him, that difference."
"It's only fourteen years." She could hear her own doubt in her voice. Only fourteen wasn't so far away from 'only eighteen.' She felt foolish at her own words. Of course he wouldn't see her as grown. She had memories still of him and his sisters watching her as a child, a favor between friends. She looked away, unable to meet her father's eye.
"It doesn't matter, he feels how he feels. He's willing to...go through with a ceremony at least, but the only time he stood up for anything was for asking you if you even wanted to. And if you wanted to wait."
Elena nodded numbly, and thought. One stupid mistake at a party and the fall out from it had made the last half of her school years hell. The boys and younger men that came to the shops still didn't fully leave her alone, and with her father's ill health making things unpredictable, they had plenty of chances to accost her in the aisles or out shopping. She tried to tamp down the tears that welled up at the memory of her mother upon her discovery of the mistake. She still wasn't sure what had been worst, the aggrieved slaps across her back and backside and face with hands and slippers and belt, or the tear down of every failure she had that her mother had given her. That things had gotten out among the boys her age had only made things more miserable, and she knew from the way they all acted she didn't want anything to do with them. She couldn't imagine being with someone that didn't respect her, let alone some pendejo like Rico Chavez or Joaquin Ruiz that wouldn't understand a 'no' if it did a tango on their testicles.
Bruno Madrigal hadn't ever seriously entered her mind as a potential match. She supposed now it was due to the same reason he was currently so worried, the gaps in their age. But he wasn't a bad looking man, if a little scrawny. And he'd never disrespected her. He spoke to her like an adult, regardless of how he saw her, and always had.
"Tía Pilar won't rest. the rumors will only get worse. And Mamá...Mamá wants me out of the house. Don't lie, I know she does."
Her father hung his head, unable to deny it. He couldn't even bring up the gentle lie that it was just because her mother wanted to see her happy.
Hebér knew, somewhere in the recesses of his heart that Sofia truly did love their daughter, but her love was a wisteria. Beautiful and delicate and fickle on the surface, strong enough to strangle and stifle even the stoutest of resolves. His had been squeezed into submission decades before. He had seen it begining with Elena when she was only five, and had gone from a bubbly hoyden to a shy little wallflower within a year once Sofia started seeing the influences her friends had on her. Maybe he'd been in the wrong to encourage that wild streak that reminded him so much of his lost brother Horado, but he couldn't deny that Elena had blossomed. A bright bromeliad that had the potential to change and grow into the same resilient, sturdy ceiba that had been his mother's favorite tree. Hebér watched her then, watched her pondering and deciding her future, and was ashamed again for his own weakness, his mother's face made young again pursed in worry over the pain of potential love. He clenched his fist around the memory, guilt straightening his spine. No matter what she chose, he determined then to support her. His daughter deserved that much and more.
"What do you want, Elena? Tell me and I'll make it happen."
"Señor Madrigal is...he's a sweet person. He's funny. I could do a lot worse."
"That's true, but you could do better."
"No I couldn't papa. But I could...I could get to know him. He's so...skittish though. If he remembers now I might,...he might not come back here. He's..."
"He's a bit of a coward, but his hearts in the right place."
"I don't think being cautious makes you a coward, Papá. Not necessarily anyway," Elena sighed. She swallowed and bit at her lip, taking her father's hands in hers, studying them. She'd always been fascinated with hands. Wanting to draw them well had sparked a lifelong hobby, and it had started with her father's leather tough hands, with their missing little finger and their pale scars on the knuckles and across the backs. And her mother's slowly contorting hands, eaten by rheumatoid so strong even Julieta's magic could do no more than treat it when her mother bothered to try at all. She judged a person's character by their hands. She knew it was silly and a little unfair, but hands revealed so much about a person.
Señor Madrigal had, she'd noticed, very nice hands. Long fingered but sturdy artist's hands, always clean, always gentle with the books and when she handed him something, or when he was leaving a little good luck charm tucked into the little hidden spaces of the shops. Always a little skittish, but animated. She knew people said he spent too much time in the bar, that he was a bad omen, but she'd also heard about the visions he'd given. What person wouldn't want to drown their sorrows at the end of the day when they carried their own and those of the town as well? He couldn't help what he saw, he only saw it. Just like his sisters couldn't really help how they felt or the range of what could be healed and what could only be treated.
She swallowed again, blushing at the thought of the little box under her bed, slowly filling up with knots of red thread and figa charms and worry dolls. She knew he was a superstitious man, but had he woven some sort of spell on those things to draw her to him? She threw the very thought away. He could be a bit of a smartass on occasion, but he wasn't some lunatic sorcerer like Beatriz convinced herself he was. He was...odd, to put it mildly, but what man wouldn't be, when saddled with visions of a future she couldn't even understand. She looked at the strange green slab again, emerald or glass she couldn't tell. The sweet face of the smiling boy. The teasing face of a much older Señor Madrigal. A child born later in life. But nothing said that little boy had to be their first. Señor Madrigal--no, Bruno, she corrected herself, was good with children, eager enough to bring his passel of little nieces in for the Lunes reading she'd begun for the school children recently. He was a good man, and maybe that could be enough to start with.
"There's no point in waiting, it'll just make things worse, for all of us.
By the time they made it back to Casita it was well past midnight, to Hebér's silent relief and Sofia's incensed aggravation. The potential groom was nowhere to be seen, but considering he'd looked about ready for his bones to walk off without him, Hebér couldn't fault him for that. He watched as Elena chose a seat near the head of the table, away from her mother and nearer to Alma. He watched with pride as Elena agreed to the match with only a little wheedling on Alma's part, the older woman making subtle inquiries about Elena's impression of the vision and her son and their situation. He beamed at Alma's raised eyebrows when Elena accepted it all with little hesitance, her nervous smile bright in spite of how small it was.
Bruno, of course, heard all of this the next morning, and spent all the time between feeling like a man headed for the gallows, no matter how his sisters and cuñados tried to raise his spirits.
*****
Bruno didn't know what Elena did with her day. He didn't see her again until nightfall. He stalked up to his vision cave and waited, granting a couple of low risk visions that could have been figured out with a little reason, but for once he didn't mind. They were a welcome distraction. He waited until evening began to fall before digging out his stash, a fifth of aguardiente burning its way down his throat as he made for his room. His stomach burned too much for food, and if he was half borracho he could waive having to disappoint his wife for another night.
He hadn't needed to bother. He was greeted by a covered plate on his nightstand, a note sealed with lipstick, and the little door closed and dark, the sounds of gentle snoring the only evidence it was more than a coat closet.
He grimaced, setting the alcohol aside, head in half a cloud and stomach an unpleasant mix of starved and sour. Weary, he uncovered the plate. Pan de yucca, plain arepas, a couple of hard fried eggs, and a cup of caldo de castillo. Food to sop up the booze and prevent a hangover. He dreaded opening the note, but curiosity got the better of him.
~Lo siento. Me esforzaré más.~
That was all it said. There was an inkblot and a tear stain, and he'd felt guilty again at making her cry. But what could he do? He couldn't be cruel enough to chase her away. His family would have seen through the charade immediately and taken him to task for it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it regardless. He couldn't run. He had nowhere to go. And no matter what the dog in his brain whispered to him, he would not touch her. He couldn't. The thought roused his blood and turned his stomach in equal measure. He looked at her and saw the gawky teen that had watched Isabela and Dolores, the studious girl that had made him coffees. He couldn't let himself see the woman she was becoming, because he would be lost. She deserved a chance to find out who she was, without the millstone of a useless husband around her neck and a pack of children she was too young for dragging her into the deep end of adult life before she'd had a chance to even enjoy herself.
It didn't get better. She spoke with him to be sure, but there was none of the easy conversation about books or the town he'd grown almost used to in the shops, or even the awkward flirting she had tried on their wedding day. He knew it was him, the few times he went to the shops before he had to stop from the unease of her parent's eyes on him. Elena still spoke and laughed with her friends, though he could tell she remained tight lipped about their marriage. The way rumors swirled around him, he knew if someone caught wind of an untouched bride, the gossip about his supposed impotence so early in life would be the talk of the town.
She became unbearably shy around him, apologizing if they so much as brushed against each other during meals until he begged her to stop.
"Please. Don't act like I'm going to snap at you. I promise I won't. I just...This is difficult for me too, Elena. But I'm not...I'm not going to shout at you if our elbows bump at the table." He had said it as gently as he could, and she seemed to take it to heart. She also seemed to put an invisible barrier around herself, and the occasional bumping of his elbows ceased with its creation. He wasn't sure if he was glad of the absence of her apologies or regretful of the loss of touch.
She continued to put out his clothes. No matter how often he said she didn't have to, she kept doing it. She did their laundry so quickly and so surreptitiously it took him a month to realize he hadn't taken anything to the hampers himself, that his clothes continued to appear in pairs, clean and ironed in a steady rotation, always in a complementary combination and hung neatly on the footboard. After a month and a half he gave up fighting and accepted this quirk of personality, though if he left something on the floor or changed while she was away he made the effort to take it to the hamper or take the basket to wash if it was full. He hadn't wanted a servant, and didn't want her to think that's what she was.
Her row of little animals disappeared one morning, off of the vanity dresser and tucked away into some corner of the little room. At least, as far as he knew. He never set foot in there, never even touched the door. Elena deserved her own space. She never used the vanity, preferring the baño out in the main house, though when she woke up to set her hair and apply her makeup he didn't know. He tried to catch her at it, curious, but she was always quicker. Guilt again wrung through him. There was no trace of her in the room, save the door and the occasional scent of spices that followed her. She didn't use the vanity, even for storing her clothes. He had checked one day, surprised to find the drawers empty save for a little nest Provoleta had built in one of the bottoms. She had never once sat in the chair across from his, though he knew she was an avid reader.
For the most part, she left him alone, discontent to roam the house when she wasn't at her parents' shops, avoiding her cuñados or caring for the girls to take up her time until evening. Occasionally he would see light seeping under her door at all hours of the night, his own chronic insomniac tendencies keeping him up and feigning at sleep. Part of him wanted to tell her she was free to take up as much space as she wanted. Distasteful as this entire thing was, he didn't want her to shut herself away from the world. But she floated by, shaking her head the few times he asked her to read with him. So he stopped, assuming she wanted the solitude.
Like clockwork, every three days she would appear at the side of his bed wearing that ridiculous green...thing, and like clockwork he would send her away, begging at drunkenness or migraines from visions. Her eyes would always be bruised the next morning, swollen from tears he hated causing. But the bruises were slowly being replaced with something else. A simmering anger that presented itself in tight-pursed lips and flared nostrils and even less words than usual, her silences cold but fleeting, at least for now. He knew that those excuses wouldn't last much longer. Whatever incapability he'd hoped she'd infer from his severe lack of interest was a flimsy lie at best. He was only in his thirties, and Elena was not stupid. He couldn't even beg a medical issue, considering he lived in the same house as the town healer. After two months his excuses were wearing thin, and he knew it was just a matter of time before she found him sleeping on his back with his functionality on full display. He prayed she'd get the hint before that unfortunate eventuality, and beg an annulment. It was one of the few reasons the Padre would grant it, and the easiest to falsify, at least in theory.
It didn't help his attempts at all that Elena was, for all intents and purposes beyond her age and the adopted timidity of their living arrangements, the exact type of person he'd always found himself attracted to. Assertive at the shops, a little foul-mouthed, bright and ambitious. All the things he'd never been. That she was built like something from a classical painting was the final kick in the gut, and he hated himself for the little betrayals of his body. The way his ears perked up when he heard her laughter, rare near him. She was besotted with his sobrinas, and played with them and often their gaggle of little friends, all squeals and toddling steps and rambunctious energy begging to be worn out by games of tag and dancing and whatever other games a feral pack of little girl could think of. The way he found himself following the smell of her perfume before he caught himself, castigating his own stupid brain for it's treachery. He didn't care what the vision had shown. Let this one be the first of many he got wrong. He'd happily let his gift wither away if it could prove the vision of them in their later years with a child was nothing more than an illusion, a mad pipe dream of a lonely man. Let his gift abandon him and leave him a normal man. Let it be proven wrong and let that poor, sweet, spirited girl go free before his forced indifference turned her into a shadow.
It was the nights that were the worst. The rare occasions he'd fall asleep before she did. His brain betrayed him in sleep, showing him half a dozen fantasies a night. It could range from something as innocent as holding her hand on a walk through the town to the most flagrant sexual displays, it didn't matter. He'd wake painfully hard, with a horrible burning in his gut. The insides of his thighs were bruised where he would pinch himself to get rid of the issue. His nails had long since been chewed into nubs from the constant swirl of anxiety. But it was better than the alternative.
He'd given into temptation only once, in the shower late at night where there was no chance of discovery. He had taken off the damnable ring, setting it on the sink to avoid dropping it. He didn’t want to know what showing up for breakfast without his wedding band would bring about, but instinct told him nothing good. It was not Elena he thought of, (and the bite of guilt from that confused him to no end) but past loves, women he'd actually seen and been with, each one different from Elena in enough ways he'd thought he was safe.
Consuela, with her dark, smooth skin and liquid eyes, her bubbly demeanor and ability to talk him down from the worst of his nerves. He's thought he would marry her, at twenty-five, but had seen her missing one of those beautiful eyes and married to Enrique De Léon when she'd finally asked for a vision. Casita had liked her, and had let her sneak in and out of his tower undetected frequently to act out their gentle, companionable love with as much time as they'd needed.
Slim, fierce Fernanda who made up for the teasing her long face garnered with the meanest right hook he'd ever seen, who'd been the one to throw him to the ground in their teens after weeks of friendly competitions of skill (which he'd always lost, and not on purpose) and let him cover her in sloppy kisses as they abandoned the burdens of their virginity. That all of their short-lived trysts had taken place in Sébastien Guzman's barn while hiding from her brothers had never mattered, and the fact that she now had moved in permanently with Juana Valdez had solidified them as a passing fancy of youth in each other's minds.
The widow Gonzalves, Silvia plump and wild with her long black hair and breasts he could lose himself in, that had fed three children and were deemed purely for Silvia's enjoyment once her daughters were weened. She'd been living her life to the fullest after mourning for her husband for five years. Their affair had scandalized the town and burned like a brand under his skin. Once they had fucked each other out for a year or so, they drifted apart but remained friends still to this day.
But the memories warped no matter what he did to himself, no matter which past escapade he chased or how he adjusted his hand to the touches he remembered. Black hair would fade to a tawny blonde, skin would pale and spangle into freckles, eyes would change from dark brown or blue to honey. He shuddered through the worst finish of his life to sag limply against the wall before sinking against the back of the tub and burying his face in his hands as the water beat down on him.
He'd slapped himself as hard as he could bear in disgust, leaving red across both cheeks and his hands stinging, his stubble hiding the faint bruise on his jaw, before dressing still sodden and slinking to the wine cellar like the rat that he was. Agustín had found him in the morning, three bottles of red littering his lap and Bruno himself dead to the world. He was too sick to take even the blandest of food. He vaguely remembered his mother muttering about disgrace before telling Julieta to let him suffer for his own foolishness. He hadn't even minded. It was all he deserved.
He'd woken fully hours later in his own bed. Someone had changed him, and as he sat up, he realized he had the taste of guava jelly in his mouth. Someone had combed his hair, and there was a pitcher of water on the nightstand along with an espresso wrapped in a tea towel, covered to keep it warm.
The clinking of china summoned the ghost haunting his rooms, and Elena appeared, sitting gingerly at the foot of his bed, fiddling with her wedding band.
"Did you let Julieta in?" He asked slowly, not ready to really face her but trapped. She shook her head, but didn't face him.
"The jelly," he clarified. "Juli uses it--"
"When people can't swallow." She finished for him. "I'm sorry. I...that was me. It's...it's like when Papá coughs so hard he can't stop. It's...I'm sorry...I shouldn't have..."
"Thank you," he cut her off. She flinched. Apologies again, he realized. How much of an ogre did she think he was? Was she so afraid he'd resort to something horrible to put her in some imaginary line she'd thought up? He wanted to be angry at that, but watching her, really watching her body language revealed the truth.
She was frightened. He'd always known Sofia was harsh, but he remembered more than once the shouting from the loft above, when he'd stayed during the lunch hour and the Pascuals hadn't noticed. Had seen the occasional angry bruise pinched into the softness of Elena's upper arms. Remembered her abuelo Moscote and his cane, that would whip out towards anyone that displeased him.
Something broke in his chest then. Something fragile that he hadn't known was there, and he reached out, taking her hand and startling her.
"Thank you, Elena. Truly. You've...you saved me a lot of pain."
"I'm...supposed to take care of you, Bruno. I can do that, at least."
He didn't acknowledge the question hanging in the air, the one he knew she wanted to ask, why he wouldn't let her care for him in all the ways a wife was supposed to. Instead he squeezed her hand, not quite sure what to say besides offering his own apology.
"For what it's worth...I'm sorry you got saddled with a drunk for a husband."
"You aren't a drunk. You just...drink. Nothing wrong with that." She whispered. It almost sounded like she believed it. He snorted.
"I have a swollen liver that says otherwise. Don't defend me. You don't have to."
"Someone...someone does. Might as well be your wife." She sniffed. He didn't have the chance to debate her over that. She'd stood and gone back to her little room, and he hadn't seen anything of her until the next day.
Now, weeks later, she'd come to him with this asininity, and he had no idea what to do with it. She'd been spending less time at the shops than usual, and he'd overheard her arguing with Señor Geraldo at the front door sometime after comida. Despite his resolve to leave her alone, curiosity got the better of him.
"Is everything alright? I, uh, I don't hear you shout often."
"Oh!" Elena startled, going to sit and waving him off, feigning at nonchalance. "Señor Geraldo is just upset he'll have to start over on the Bibliothecaria training with Julio."
"Is...Is your primo going to help you out later on? I thought he was running his padre's ranchero?"
She steeled herself as she sat, looking so out of place on the divan. He sat beside her, taking in the changes as she searched for the right words to say. There wasn't a hair out of place on her head, a low bun tight against her skull, her curls oiled into submission. She'd traded her paler pastel blouses for high necked jewel tones, and her bright, flowing skirts for a more modest straight line. She'd stopped wearing her city style makeup and even her shoes were plain. He hadn't paid attention. She looked almost...matronly, and it set his teeth on edge almost as much as that silly green scrap of fabric she kept trying to entice him with. She was changing. He hadn't seen her with that silly parrot since they'd married, and now the dread at the situation and disgust with himself was joined by a third companion. Actual worry for her. She was taking this too much to heart if she was trying to look older for his sake. He pleaded again that she'd just get tired of his worthless hide and do away with him.
"The Vasquez twins do most of the farmwork anyway. And they'll be able to hire a new hand with the money Julio will get for...for Ladrillo. Julio needs the training now that I'm giving it up."
"Why is Julio selling your h--what do you mean you're giving it up?"
Elena's eyes went huge at his raised voice, and he made a placating gesture, irritation high on his shoulders.
"What is this nonsense? You've been working on that degree for two years! You...you even told me about it, in the...in the shops." He had to stop before he choked at the reminder of an even younger Elena, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she made him an espresso, rattling off excitedly about the distance program Señor Geraldo had used his old contacts to set up for her.
"I just thought...I thought it would be better. You wouldn't have to put up with me being up so late all the time. I know it...I know it interrupts your sleep. Besides, I didn't think you'd want me to keep at it, with...with us being married now."
"Elena, of course I want you to continue with your studies! Why on earth wouldn't I? This...this arrangement doesn't have anything to do with your education!"
"It's...It's taking time away from...us. It's not like...I don't need it, not really. Julio said he'd take over the shops for Papá now, since...since I'm not..."
"Not what?" Bruno sighed, fearing her answer. It had been three months since the wedding, and he knew her only a little better than he had that day. His gut burned with that realization, living with a stranger who fate and time said was meant for him. His life was a joke and this was the punchline. He just wished he wasn't dragging her down with him.
"I...well we're married now. I...It's my job to...take care of my husband."
"The hell it is." He spat. "Who put this in your head? Sofia?"
"N-no... I just...It's what a wife does, isn't it?"
"Not my wife." He regretted his tone as she flinched, and he wondered again just what Sofia had done to her over the years to have her wilting so badly over the slightest temper. He took her hand and pulled her to sit closer beside him, careful to remain a few inches away. "Elena, please. You've been working so hard to get that degree. I know it's been a hard road. I spoke with Señor Geraldo once, how he got everything set up. It's worth it, even if it can't legally have your name on it."
"But it takes so much time away from you! And if I'm not going to be running the shops anyway then why..?"
"Because you are going to run those shops!" He snapped, regretting it instantly. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he brought up his hands in surrender, explaining. "People think of your face when they go there, Elena. You're good at it! The Encanto needs a real bibliothecaria and you're the best person for the job. Don't give all that up just because you're tied to some sad old man!"
"You aren't--"
"My mother had to arrange a marriage for me when my own sisters have been married for years, Elena. What does that say about me?" He leaned back, raking his hands through his hair. Three months of this, three months of trying desperately to get this lovely, sweet, stubborn girl to see she deserved better than him. There was still time for an annulment, but she had to be the one to ask. Padre Conseco was less traditional by the nature of where he preached, but some things he stood by. He couldn't bring himself to be outright beastly to her. He'd already fallen into the trap of caring for her. So he had to dance this delicate balance of pushing her away while encouraging her to keep improving herself, keep to the path she'd been on before her mother agreed to this farce of a marriage. He looked back to her, only to see her folded into herself.
"My mother arranged it for me too. You...you at least...you've had...partners."
"Elena..." It was gentle, but she jerked away. He grabbed her hand, not thinking, and her lip wobbled before she turned her face from him, tears thick in her voice.
"I know I'm plain, alright? I know I'm plain and loud and fat and stubborn. I'm trying to change what I can. But I can...I can be a good wife. I know I can. But I can't if I don't even have the time to pay attention to you. I know I'm not what you asked for and I'm sorry I ruined it all by agreeing but we're her now so please just let me--"
"Elena...I didn't ask for anything. You didn't ruin anything. I..." Three months of ignoring her hadn't worked. He swallowed. Maybe it was time to switch tactics. "I don't want you to change, because of me. Keep being you. Get your degree. You're so young yet. Too young, to be tied to me."
"I...I don't understand..."
"I...Elena, I'll die a long time before you. I don't want you to be without, and I can't predict everything. Get your degree. They'll be legal one day soon, and you can change it to be really yours. Take over the shops when you're ready to. Your parents will be grateful. Don't cut your own future short for me."
"But you...we aren't even...we haven't...How can you talk about a future when we aren't even married in the eyes of the church!"
"I don't know you, Elena. And you don't know me. Not really. I need time. Time to know you, the real you, not this little... by-the-book housewife your madre wants you to be. Give me that time. Give it to yourself. Learn who you are before you try to chase her away for an old man that can't even remember where he sets his books most days."
"On the chess table," she said automatically. He knew he was giving her a lopsided grin by the way she blushed and turned away. All the more reason to chase her away. A pretty blush like that shouldn't be wasted on a gawky old man like him.
"If...If I give you time..." she began, looking demurely at her shoes before knocking him out of his own, "I know it's arranged and everything, but...would you be...do you think you would...like me? After a while?"
It twisted the guilty knife in his gut. He ground his teeth, another insecurity beaten into her by her mother dragged into the light. His own failings exposed. He'd been trying so hard not to have her believing he resented her, but disinterest had clearly morphed into that in her mind anyway. He swallowed, not sure what to do. He couldn't just tell her he was trying to drive her away (pathetically, gently, terribly.) Elena was too stubborn to give up on this, would twist and contort the warp and weft of herself to prove herself to whatever standards she imagined she wasn't meeting. Was already doing it. He couldn't lead her on, couldn't let her think there was a future here no matter what that damnable vision showed. He could fall back on his terrible reputation, make her think he was a bad omen like the rest of the town did, much as it pained him. Carefully, he took her hand, patting the back in a gesture he hoped came off as patronizing and not comforting. Let her think he thought her a child. Let her think he may never have interest. He had to word it carefully. If he made it an absolute she'd dig in. He'd seen her do it often enough already.
"I do like you, Elena. You're very...likeable."
"That's...I didn't mean it that way."
"How did you mean it?"
"You know how I meant it," she blushed petulantly. "We don't have to be in...I mean...Everything else could come later. Why put our...why put our marriage at risk?"
"Because I'm not a brute. I need more than to just...know you're agreeable. I know it's hard. You're young, it seems so easy at this age. Give it time. Then...Then maybe we'll see."
Elena went to speak, but was interrupted by Isabela and Dolores running squealing through the courtyard, chased by little Luisa on pudgy toddler legs. Luisa fell on her bottom and looked around, spotting them on the bench. Still not the steadiest to walk even at two, Luisa sped over to them in a crawl, tugging on Elena's skirt and cramming a grimy fist in her mouth, talking around her fingers in baby babble and getting answers in return, Elena's serious adult voice and overdone expression sending his...their sobrina into a hale of giggling. He felt his heart constrict and his stomach roil, and stood before anything else stirred at the display.
He made his escape, hoping she'd follow his advice, praying she'd listen to him, beating down images from the depths of his mind of her holding a different child with sandy hair and green eyes and too many freckles. He'd been plagued with the image since he'd sent her away from his...their bed that first night to a room Casita had built in a flash for her.
He roamed the town, sitting at the little window restaurant the now-Castillo sisters ran, quietly observing the town and being observed in turn.
It was a habit he'd picked up soon after the wedding; sitting, usually reading, mostly trying to while away the hours between waking and sleeping. He'd done more requests for visions in the last three months than he'd had in the last year previously, but he couldn't even bring himself to complain, because it kept him free of the house. Free of the specter of his insistent little wife, who was so adamant he make her his wife in truth.
The thought still turned his stomach. Elena was beautiful, no matter what she thought of herself, but she was so young. He felt filthy every time he looked at his left hand, every time he spied the gold band that still sat so heavy and unfamiliar on his finger.
So he sat, sure to be observed never near his wife, never seen by her side, fueling the rumors. He sat, occasionally forcing himself to chat or take a vision request, in the hopes that his terrible reputation could actually garner some good for her.
The men of the Encanto were good men, but they were still only men. Elena had not been without her own attention, before being tied to him, but she'd been so studious and so busy with the shops and her family that she'd never taken advantage of it as far as Bruno could tell. He couldn't blame her on some fronts. Rico Chavez was a pig in shoes and Joaquin Ruiz not much better, his mean streak notorious at the bar. But other men had potential. Silvia's son Guillermo was a big, handsome man, and wasn't there truth to the old wives tale that women fell for men like their fathers? Galo Ortiz was a bit of a wet blanket, but he was responsible enough, and a hard worker like her. She could boss him around to her heart's content and never have to worry about any judgement for it. Esteban De Léon and Franco Sanchez were both garrulous and outgoing, and could both give her a good life. Both younger sons of big families, either of them would likely willingly steal away to the bibliotheca to carve out their own stake in the town. Franco was a little stupid, but some women liked that in a man. He would have considered her friend Rodrigo Cortez, but the waspish way Sofia had described just why she was so eager to marry Elena off as soon as possible made it obvious that ship had sunk in drydock.
Bruno laughed bitterly at himself. Scoping out a young man to steal his own wife out from under him. It was fruitless, he knew. Elena, whatever else she might be, all of it good as far as he had learned, would never go that route without a cause too, and he could never force himself to become the type of man that caused good women to stray. For whatever reason, she not only respected him, but she liked him. He cherished it as much as he regretted it. He was floundering. He couldn't bring himself to chase her away harshly, but couldn't bear the thought of accepting their lot and actually being her husband.
He was so lost in his own thoughts he almost missed when someone sat across from him.
"There are a lot of things I could call you, but 'idiot' was never one of them."
He flinched even as he dared look up, caught under the lone, baleful eye of Consuela Rivera. She sat with her arms crossed, and he felt like one of her patients, some wounded, startled bird wanting only to get away.
"I tried to get out of it. I tried, Coco. Sofia threatened to geld me if I didn't show up. 'How will it look on Elena when even you refuse to marry her?'" he sneered, looking away. "What else could I do? There was a vision and I..."
"I wasn't talking about that," Consuela sighed. "I was talking about this. You've got a wife and now everyone in town sees more of you than they ever did. Without her?"
"Why is everyone so damn invested in my...marriage?"
"Someone has to be. You clearly aren't. People are talking, Bruno."
"Good. Let them talk. When aren't they talking about me?"
"It isn't about you. Not all of it anyway."
Bruno worked his jaw. He couldn't let what he was trying to do be found out. If the Padre got word of it he would never let her free. He cleared his throat.
"I don't know her. Since when is it strange for a man to want to know his wife?"
"Hard to know her when you're never around her."
"Don't you have a husband to worry about now?"
"Don't be snotty, Bruno. This isn't about me."
"Then let it go. Just let it go, Consuela. Please. For old times sake if nothing else. Elena...Elena is strong. She'll be alright, even if she is stuck with me. But she shouldn't be, not...not like this."
Consuela shook her head and looked at him like he was stupid. Maybe he was, and didn't know it yet. He'd been a little overprotective with her when they'd been together, for all the good it had done them. But he was a man with worry in his blood, and she knew it was just how he cared. She walked away wondering if he realized how much he'd already started protecting Elena, even if he thought it was only from himself.
"You had best be careful, Bruno. Oh sure most of the chisme is that you've pickled yourself to impotence. I wouldn't put it past one of the bastardos that used to harass her to try to 'do her a favor.'"
"If they touch her..."
"What do you care?" Consuela needled.
"Because no one deserves that! It doesn't matter she's my wife!" he spat, blanching when he realized how loud he'd been.
"Lucky you then that they're still scared of her father. That won't last long though. And it might not matter anyway."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ligia Carmen, same as always. I swear that woman is a hawk, the way she watches. She's noticed, and the whole town is starting to follow her. You don't do a thing with that girl and people are starting to think it might not be you there's something wrong about. The fact that Ruiz is saying she's crazy for breaking his feet again isn't helping."
"Coco what could they say about her that's worse than what they say about me?"
She looked at him, her opinion of his stupidity clear in her lone eye.
"Do you know how superstitious these people are? I've gotten away from it, Elena can rise above it, going out in the world helps. Seeing it in your visions helps. Bur the rest of them? Paola Rosario is already blaming her for her engagement falling through. 'Married a curse, cursed a marriage.' No one is questioning the logic."
"Elena isn't responsible for Paola Rosario getting caught with another man's dick in her mouth!"
"No, but Paola isn't going to admit that, and she picked an easy target. She's got enough men wrapped around her finger for the idea to spread on both sides. And you know it will only get worse."
Bruno sighed, head hanging. The tightrope he walked got a little narrower as he realized he'd have to stop avoiding his wife entirely. He'd done this for the sake of her reputation, he couldn't be the same reason it was destroyed.
"I suppose...no one is going to believe she's bad luck if...if we're seen with the girls. Juli and...and Pepa could use the break..."
"Jesu Cristo, Bruno you can't just ask her to babysit your sobrinas! Take the poor girl on a date! Por dios even if you aren't trying to win her over you can at least be kind to her!"
"I have been! I just..."
"Want her to go away?"
"Not like that! Consuela she deserves so much better. Clearly. I'm already proving I'm a marido de mierda."
"No. If you were that you'd have been on her the first chance you got and wouldn't be trying to get her to annul this mess."
"Not out loud! Is it...is it that obvious?"
"To people that know you, yes. To people that she comes to to check up on that big horse of hers before she tries to sell it? I could have lost both eyes and seen it. And I told Julio and the Vasquezes if they even tried to sell that beast the only rings they'd have in their future would be a lot further south than their hands."
Bruno winced before sagging in his chair, tired of so much underhanded nonsense. It was good to talk out in the open, even as awkward as talking to a past potential wife about a current actual wife was. Maybe Consuela was right. Nothing said he couldn't be friendly and keep Elena at arms length at the same time. He just had to figure out how without hurting her feelings or fragile self esteem more than he already had.
Chapter 3
Summary:
Six months of marriage haven't succeed in drawing Bruno and Elena closer together...or have they? Bruno struggles to maintain his composure and his resolve to chase Elena away, and Elena loses some of her determination to convince the man she's married to to act like they're actually married. Bruno tries to follow Consuela's advice to mixed results, and nasty rumors in town have reached even Elena's parents, who offer either suspicion or understanding.
Bruno and Elena come to a compromise they can both live with, though it might lead to more problems than it does solutions.
Chapter Text
Bruno ignored his mother's irritated glare as he poured tequila into his mango juice. If he was going to survive another horrid dinner with Elena's parents, he needed something to bolster his nerves. Elena said nothing despite her dubious glance at his glass, but squared her jaw and continued with her meal. He regretted that she was getting used to this, but the drive to continue was always so much stronger than the drive to stop, in spite of the disappointment that had made itself at home in his young wife's eyes.
She was angry with him, he knew. He couldn't blame her, especially not after the night before.
He had begrudgingly taken Consuela's advice, though he wasn't sure how well it had worked. For him it seemed like some of the nastiest rumors were beginning to lift. Or people were better at playing Venezuelan Whispers behind his back. He didn't know, and really didn't care if he was honest. There were less days Elena came back to Casita looking ready to cry, which he took as an improvement, even if it caused him more hassle in trying to get her to see sense.
For her, it only muddied the waters. How could it not, when the man who'd pickled himself and ignored you for three months straight suddenly found excuses to take you out once a week? He was relieved the girls were all young still. He could get away with bringing them along as a buffer for their parents' sakes. And Elena had fallen in love with all three of them enough that she never seemed to mind when they tagged along on the shams of dates. That made it both better and worse.
He'd sat watching on the bank of the little river on one occasion as Elena sat, surrounded by his--their--sobrinas, showing them how to make flower crowns. Isabela had found an enormous patch of black pitcher flowers and was wearing them out running wild, teasing Dolores and Luisa and running around like a tiny little despot. Dolores had passifloras in a delicate tiara on her brow and more spiked into the twin puffs of her voluminous hair. She was quietly amusing herself braiding Elena's own curls in between bouts of being harangued by Isabela. Luisa's hair, already long for barely two and looking longer still on her tiny frame, was braided with dark red and bright pink calla lilies pointing down, a princess cascade to the small of her back. She didn't really understand the game her older sister was playing, but giggled and pitched around the grass around her anyway until she tired out, coming to Elena's soft lap to rest and babble.
Elena made a game of it all, telling a story in fits and starts as they orbited her, laughing brightly once the colibrís and bees started to whirr past them, flowers in their hair drawing the jewel toned birds and insects. Isabela screamed and Dolores went to hide under his ruana, all of them having seen Agustín's horrendous reactions to stings, but Elena sat and waited. She'd held out a hand with a zinnia in her palm and waited for a bee to land before carefully guiding it onto her fingers, showing the girls as they stared transfixed.
"It's just a bumblebee. No one even knows how they fly. Look at them, so chubby, with such little wings. How do you think they fly, pequenas?"
"Magic?" Dolores asked. Isabela rolled he eyes, but Elena only smiled.
"It could be! Maybe the bumblebees had a miracle a long time ago. Maybe it's something we don't understand yet. But they're harmless."
"They sting Papí all the time!" Isa groused. Elena let the bumblebee go as a bottle blue insect landed on the flower. Elena pulled Isabela close, careful of Luisa, still groggy on her lap.
"This is a carpenter bee. They eat dead wood and help get rid of it, and pollinate fruit and flowers. They sting too, just like the bumblebees, but only when they're threatened. Your Papá...He's not trying to make them angry, he just has really bad luck. Or really good luck at finding bees! The apicultors in town love him!" Elena joked, letting the insect go and tickling Isabela's sides until she ran away squealing. Luisa woke up fully then, muzzy headed and confused. Elena held her still as a fat striped bee inspected her hair, carefully guiding the thing away.
"This one's our friend. Do you know why?" she asked. Isabela shook her head, watching as Luisa stared at the bug wide eyed. Dolores knew the answer.
"It's a honeybee!" she exclaimed, clapping when Elena nodded.
"That's right! It works with the apicultors and makes honey for us. It moves pollen from one place to another to help make plants grow. It helps both of your mamás with their work in town. They don't have to stay in the bee boxes, and if we don't take good care of them, they leave. They're good bugs. They just need to be handled gently, given time to...adjust to things, or they get prickly."
"I don't like that they sting still," Isabela pouted. Elena smiled at her and nodded.
"The bees like it less than you do. They aren't like wasps, that can sting and sting and sting, mean little things. A bee dies when it stings. It hurts itself fighting, even if what made it sting isn't really a threat. The bee doesn't know."
"That's really sad, Tía." Dolores mumbled. Elena let the bee go, wistful as Luisa called out "bye-bye hunbee!" sleepily from her lap. She pulled Dolores close.
"It can be. That's why we have to be especially kind to the ones we see that are just trying to live their lives. The bees talk, and they're kind to their friends."
Bruno hadn't heard the rest, to caught up in what she'd said about the self defense of bees. He shifted where he sat, uncomfortable at the feeling of eyes on him. He didn't understand why, the heaviness on his shoulders completely out of step with the bright light of the day.
Something in his chest hurt watching them all, the specter of the vision gnawing at the back of his mind. The resentment at her parents and his mother was beginning to wear thin. He still felt guilty, still felt like an irredeemable old lecher when he found himself next to her, but he had started to lose hope that she'd grow tired of him. The vision itself as good as proved she wouldn't, but he couldn't give in, for her sake if nothing else. But watching her with his--with their--sobrinas had begun putting ideas in his head, calming the wild dog but waking something else protective and worryingly paternal. His dreams had, when they weren't wine soaked nightmares, or dangerous and tempting, had shifted from damning to domestic. Especially once Elena had given up trying to entice him into his own bed. The scrap of green had disappeared, gone the way of her little figurines and her awkward flirting, to be replaced by a long nightgown that she wore like armor.
He tried to ignore it and go about his nights as he always had until recently; nursing too strong a drink and reading until he passed out, sleep always flighty and fleeting at best unless he medicated himself into it. Elena had finally tired of cloistering herself in her little room after dinner, and would join him in the opposite chair. Silent but for the turning of pages or the scratching of a pen, he could almost forget she was there if it weren't for the deep, vibrant royal blue of that damnable nightgown. He wondered who she'd asked, to find out his favorite color. It looked awful on him, but on what little of her pale skin peeked from the thing glowed. It left everything to the imagination, and his ran away with it from prior knowledge granted by the previous nightwear.
He bit his tongue and did his best to ignore the images his traitorous mind created. He couldn't very well blame her for essentially doing what he'd wished and leaving him alone. Or he could, but he'd look like a colossal ass doing it. So he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement and sat in discomfort until she went to sleep. He would follow to his own bed after escaping for a cold shower and passing out, only to be haunted by dreams of soft freckled skin and high pitched laughter.
It haunted him more as he watched her with the girls. Not a speck of resemblance between them and her, but with her tired doe eyes and the worry line carving itself across her forehead from too many late nights studying she looked like any other young mother in the Encanto herding a pack of little ones, and it made him ache. She'd been good with Dolores and Isabela when they were infants, and it shone through with the way she treated them now. The image of a little boy years in the future plagued him, the desire for a family he'd tamped down when his relationship with Consuela had crumbled digging through it's grave in his chest to rise again and pursue his waking mind. When they'd headed back to Casita, each with a four-year-old on their arm and him with Luisa secured in his ruana, he'd let himself drift into contentment for just a moment, wondering what things would have been like if that cursed vision had remained undiscovered for just a few years longer.
He'd taken her to the teatro a couple of weeks after that, the night before his current dilemma. A very late Navidad gift of a performance he suspected she'd be fond of, since their own stilted exchange had been mismatched and disappointing. He hadn't been able to match the leather-bound, freshly printed copy of Dona Barbara she'd had made for him. His own gift had gone over like a lead balloon. He'd always been inconsistent with gifts, sneering at himself for the irony, but he'd outdone himself in terms of thoughtlessness.
He had thought about it. For weeks. But nothing in the world could be both kind and disinterested without being obvious. So he'd wound up caving and buying a simple skirt in yellow. It was a pretty enough color and almost the right size and she'd only worn it once, her thanks at unwrapping it sounding bright and hollow as a seashell. No better way to prove he knew nothing about her, and he'd felt guilty and out of sorts ever since. He didn't want her to hate him. But the disappointment he'd set out to instill had started to sting. He had finally admitted to himself that he liked her as a person, outside of the ridiculous situation they found themselves in. He'd liked her before, friendly and teasing and smart as she was, despite her age.
She shouldn't have had the life experience she did, but her parent's health had forced her to grow up faster than he'd realized. He'd gleaned knowledge over the months without really trying, Elena had very little shyness about her life before when she spoke with her cuñados, and he couldn't help but overhear, tucking the knowledge away for reasons he wasn't really sure of himself. That she'd cared for her aging abuelos until their deaths in her mother's place had startled him. He had never cared for the Moscotes outside of Sofia, hard people with less mercy than a warring ant hill, but he hadn't realized that towards the end of their life they'd gone somewhat mad, refusing Julieta's treatments and letting the tuberculosis take them, the first victims of the outbreak. Sofia's hands had been too damaged by rheumatism even then, and with how much Sofia's parents had loathed her husband, the duty had fallen to Elena. That Elena had never caught tuberculosis between them and her father was a minor miracle on it's own.
Because of it she'd had to accelerate her schooling at sixteen and had been graduated before she broke her primo's nose. She'd been going out with her father to the city since the beginning, and that alone made her more worldly than many of the other folks in the Encanto. Than him, even. That she'd bullied her way into getting a license to drive, what little he'd gleaned from overhearing her chat with her friends, deals she'd haggled for outside her father's businesses astounded him. She was ambitious and savvy under an illusion of simplicity, and truly Sofia's daughter in her shrewdness. When he'd found out why weeks later when Señora Iguaran had come to Casita's door hollering for Elena he'd been floored.
Handling the accounts for the shops on her own. Paying off her mother's debts and covering the expenses her father ran up by never thinking before he offered help. Calculating the percentage of it all afterwards to contribute to a merchant's fund he'd never heard of. On top of everything else she did. He hated himself even more when he found out why the banquera had come to Casita and not the bibliotheca.
"--it would resolve the issue immediately, Señorita Pas--Señora Madrigal. He's your husband. Ask him. Your madre cannot afford another loan without paying the last one off, and I will have it taken from your assets if this isn't corrected."
"Mamá can pawn her jewelry and learn the hard way!" he heard Elena hiss as he slunk behind a potted plant to sate his curiosity. She stood in the front door, blocking the aging banquera from entry, a furious blush raising from her chest. "You can't take from the bibliotheca. It's funded by the town and the account's under Señor Alvarez, not me. Gutting the book shop will bite you in the ass, and the machines in the café are owned, free and clear, by my father and Señor Geraldo."
"Your madre still owes a debt," Señora Iguaran grumbled, unable to deny Elena's points. Elena crossed her arms, hip against the doorframe, and Bruno saw a flash of who she would be in later years, bold as brass and just as hard.
"I don't care what mamá owes you. It's not my problem anymore. As you've pointed out, I have a husband now. And I'm not going to ask him to use his gift, that causes him physical pain, to maybe make emeralds of a decent enough quality to maybe pay off loans my mother never should have been given in the first place."
"Señora--"
"Don't you Señora me, Señora. You knew what you were doing when you gave her that last loan. You knew she'd waste it on expensive city cagada she can't get here. She always does. Take it back. Send that big son of yours to steal it from the loft while they're at my tía Pilar's for all I care. I'll give you the key. Don't darken the doorstep again. Mama isn't my problem anymore, and the shops are square."
"Well I never! And you keep your mouth shut about Jose! He at least knows his place!"
"And I know mine," Elena spat as she went to close the door, though he could see she'd flagged some, puffing up her chest in mock courage where some of her own had slipped away. "It's here, the town's opinion be damned."
"Alma will hear about this, you disrespectful little zorra!"
"Let her. And tell her what you've been calling her son's wife while you're at it. I'm sure she'll be amused. Buen día y adiós señora!"
He flinched as Elena slammed the door before sliding down it, covering her face. He thought she was laughing at first, and wouldn't blame her, that little show of nerves piquing his interest. But as she hugged her knees he realized she was crying.
His chest ached wanting to go to her, but he found himself backing away silently instead, keeping quiet even as Casita's tiles snapped at his feet and a plank from one of the alcoves cracked him over the head. He sighed, crossing over to her cautiously, fingers crossed and salt tossed that she wouldn't read too much into this. He just had to act natural.
The night had gone to hell the moment he'd sat beside her. She'd slumped onto his shoulder, and he'd found himself holding her and running his hand up and down her back, letting her cry whatever had upset her away while his heart tripped over dread in his chest. She came back to herself quickly, and pulled away, righting her face and hair and clothes apologetically.
"I'm sorry. Did...how much of that did you hear?"
"Enough to know I need to have a chat with your madre," he said, not harshly. Elena sagged against the door, looking older and more tired than she had any right to.
"Talk with my padre as well. He's the one that keeps falling for her nonsense."
"Is it...Are they truly so bad, your mother's debts?"
"She's run through all of abuelo Patrico's money already. Not that it was much but the sale of the farm should have lasted longer. Papá...she gives him little envelopes and tells him where to go, and he just...goes, every time. For stupid things."
"What things? Maybe they can be returned?"
"Fancy scents. Jewelry that isn't from Señor Perez. Quack cures for her hands or Papá's tuberculosis. She's...she's stopped trusting Julieta's gift, I think. I'm sorry."
"For what? You aren't in charge of how your parents behave." He said before blurting, "I have tickets to Los Empeños de Una Casa, Señor Borges owed me a favor. Will you go with me?"
Elena had looked at him like he'd asked to drop a rat in her coffee, before turning away, hiding a pretty blush he hadn't seen in a long while.
"Isn't that a little heavy for the niñas?" she asked, still unable to meet his eye. He stood and pulled her up with him, tired of sitting on the floor.
"Just as well they won't be coming."
"You mean...just us?"
He should have seen the writing on the wall with that coy question, but he was just glad she wasn't completely upset still, and nodded. She'd broken into a huge grin before darting to the baño, calling "Give me five minutes, please!" behind her. She reappeared right on time, thought he wasn't sure her changes were an improvement, her hair tamed from the writhing tangle it had worked itself into to a tight, staid chignon that brushed the collar of her high blouse. Her eyes were dry and her cheeks bright though, so he chocked things up to her trying again to seem more mature, though the hairstyle looked so out of place on her still that it served only to make her look sad.
The play was a success, it seemed. She'd been absorbed in the story from the start, laughing and watching the drama unfold with the same bright expression she'd had the last time he'd seen her dancing, and it hurt the center of his chest to watch her forget her worries for a few hours. After the intermission and a tense part, he'd found her little hand slipped into his. He wasn't sure who'd initiated it, and couldn't bear to pull away and spoil her fun, though it made his stomach flop. Once the show had ended and Elena had snuck up to the stage to congratulate her friend Miranda on a good performance on her bit part (Bruno held his tongue, Miranda Constantino's acting was passable at best, but she'd had fun, and Elena was happy for her, so he couldn't bear to be snarky) Bruno, not quite ready to face home, took her to dinner.
Perhaps her tía's new restaurant with Señora Sanchez had been a bad choice. The Encanto was small, and while several families made a living running little eateries out of their front rooms, it felt like the best option. Conversation had been easy, both of them happy enough to discuss the play and moving to more familiar territory, works it reminded them of, favored books, Elena's minor lament that the Encanto could only host silent films still. He behaved himself, only splitting a bottle of wine with her instead of giving in to the temptation to down the entire thing and mute the sharp edges of the world. A weight eased on his shoulders as she smiled, the young woman he'd known at the bibliotheca returning to her, despite the sad, pulled back hair and the dull clothing. Her eyes were lit up again and she was smiling, her cheeks rosy from the wine. He'd truly never set out to make her miserable, hadn't wanted her to fold into herself.
There was a pulling sensation in his chest as the night wore on, and he stamped it down. She wasn't for him, no matter what the town records or that vision had shown. She should have been with some enthusiastic young man, someone that could keep up and grow with her, who wasn't too much a coward to leave, who could travel with her to the city and actually help her. He could barely face the town, and the thought of leaving past the mountains, knowing what he did know about the outside world did little more than terrify him. And part of him, the part slowly being enticed by the cruel, wonderful things he saw in his dreams, was beginning to regret that.
Her hand had found its way into his again as they went home. He didn't mind the weight of it as much as he should have, and he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried. There was a chill fog, and she huddled close for warmth despite her long sleeves. A natural lull in the conversation found them under one of the dim gas streetlamps as she paused, puzzling over something as she looked at him curiously.
"Is everything alright? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, and he should have seen it, should have realized, should have stopped her, but he'd grown just complacent enough to miss it. She only grinned and brushed a curl out of his eyes.
"Thank you, for tonight. I was worried you'd never...that you'd never see me."
He didn't get to respond. The next instant her hand cupped his cheek and her lips connected with his, their negligible height difference making the distance nothing. He blinked in shock before easing, kissing her back instinctively and feeling a spark shoot down his spine. Her lips were soft, and her hand on his face felt so sweet... Ice followed the path back along his nerves when he realized what he was doing, revolted with himself, and broke away. Elena blinked, startled, as he floundered to explain himself.
"Elena, please...I can't. Not...I need more time. Please don't press the issue."
"I can't even kiss you? You're my husband!" she asked in disbelief, something dangerous under her voice.
"And we still barely know each other. You asked me if I could come to like you, but I barely know you."
"Who's fault is that? You never speak to me! Tonight was the first time we've had a real conversation, spent real time together on our own in months. In...in ever! I thought maybe you'd...I don't know, changed your mind about...whatever this is." He tried to placate her, but it only stoked the fire that had started burning in her chest earlier that day. The coals had been banked and flared up white-hot.
"Elena, I told you. You're still so young yet. Let...let time pass. Learn who you are before you--"
"'Before I give her up for an old man like you' yes Bruno I know! Dios sabe you say that cagada enough!" She spat, cutting him off and rounding on him. Every word hit him like a slap, dragging the weight back up onto his shoulders and stirring fury and sorrow in his gut. He didn't know which would win out as Elena continued.
"Did you ever think maybe I know what I want? That I know who I am well enough already? I'm doing my degree, I'm staying with the shops, I'm at Casita every night watching your sobrinas and helping your sisters and trying to take care of you! What more do I have to do? What haven't I done? I am your wife and now I can't even kiss you? I'm yours and you keep pushing me away! What sort of husband doesn't want affection?"
"The sort married to a child!" he shouted, rage winning before he clapped a hand to his mouth, dread sweeping over everything as Elena fell silent, gaping at him with huge, tearful eyes. "Elena, please I...lo siento...I didn't mean..." He reached out to her, but she turned from him, straightening her back and walking away.
"You meant every word. Fine. It's fine. If that's really how you feel then fine. You'll just have to wait for me to grow up then."
"Elena..." he pleaded, trailing after her, but she held up a hand sharply. He flinched away, afraid she'd give him the slap he deserved for running at the mouth, but she only stood in cold repose. "Leave it, Bruno. You've said enough. Thank you for a lovely evening. Make your own way home. Wouldn't want you to be seen out with a child."
He stood frozen in the street as she walked away, her back ramrod straight and the tale-tell sniffle of her tears fading into the distance, and Bruno felt like the lowest sort of heel.
She had greeted him that morning with chilly courtesy and the news they would be having dinner with her parents, and he'd accepted his fate, sensing a change in the wind but unable to parse out which direction it would go.
Hebér watched as his yerno sat quietly at the café counter. It was rare to see him in the shops these days, when before he'd haunted the place, practically lived in the chair in one of the fiction aisles. At first it had worried Hebér, the thought that Bruno Madrigal was not as honorable as he'd thought him, but he realized soon enough that whatever he felt about the vision, he wasn't letting it affect his daily life. Bruno had left Elena alone outside of coffee orders and the occasional light conversation over some book or another. Nothing out of bounds, not even a glance at her as she matured under his nose. The most untoward he'd ever seen the man act was when he burst out laughing at one of Elena's tirades against some boy that had been harassing her. That Elena had booted the boy out with broken toes and a twisted ear hadn't made a negative impression, and that Señor Madrigal hadn't stepped in had proved enough to Hebér that he hadn't developed any feelings towards his daughter, despite the vision.
It didn't surprise him when it was revealed that he'd asked his sister to make him forget. Hebér couldn't help wonder if that was part of the problems he saw now between Bruno and Elena. His daughter was a good liar, at least to her mother, but Hebér could tell something was amiss. Six months married and his daughter still danced around her husband like a stranger, and Bruno seemed to be encouraging it, huddling into himself as he'd always done. He was kind enough when he answered her questions or took something she offered him, but there was no warmth in it, not even the lingering smiles he used to give when they'd spoken about books. It should have made him furious, Hebér knew, but it only served to sadden him further about the whole situation.
He had tried so hard to keep Sofia from finding the vision, to keep her from questioning it all, but like their daughter, she was a campeiro hound when riled, and would not let go until she had stomped her way to Casita and demanded an explanation of the missing piece from Bruno. The younger man hadn't had a clue what was going on, outside of begging a headache when he tried to remember, some mental block. When Julieta had come with Alma in tow to see to him, it had crumbled. Bruno had gone silent after blowing up at his mother and sister, unable to deny the evidence written in stone. He'd begged them to wait, begged Hebér to reason with Sofia, but once Alma had realized that this secured a partner and children for her only unmarried child, she'd latched on just as strongly, and between her and Sofia, Hebér had watched as Bruno became beaten down into a grudging acceptance over the days. He still hadn't forgiven Sofia for the way she'd used the growing unease around Bruno as the final stroke to guilt the younger man into the arrangement. She hadn't been wrong, was the worst part. A refusal of a marriage locked in stone from Bruno Madrigal would have marked Elena. People would have begun to question her as well, what was wrong with her that even the man rapidly becoming the town pariah didn't want her. As it was, Hebér had seen pity for her lot, but not the suspicion and wariness that followed her husband.
So now he sat and watched. Elena's expression looked the same as she had since the wedding. Cautious, but hopeful, though the later was shining through less and less. She'd been so excited at the news, always a little sweet on Señor Madrigal even if she hadn't realized it yet, that she had agreed almost immediately. Hebér knew part of it was simply to get out from under Sofia's thumb, and he regretted not being able to better protect her. Walking the thin line between protecting his daughter and caring for his wife had always been hard, but it had grown more difficult after Elena had started to grow up.
He hadn't been able to bear seeing her cloistered away like Sofia had been growing up, the Moscotes notoriously rigid with how they raised their girls. Maybe he'd done his daughter wrong by encouraging the part of her that reminded him of himself and his brother in their youth, the wild streak that saw her gifted with that giant campolina stallion on her quinceañera by her primo and breaking that same primo's nose two years later for a slight, that had her racing the Chavez boys and getting into fights at school to defend her little friends and had given Sofia more gray hairs than anything else in their life put together. He saw Horado in the width of her grin, heard him in her loud, brassy laugh and the patience she showed to the children she had tutored. He saw his mother in his daughter's face more than her own mother, Elena's coloring almost entirely from her abuela, the only concession to his or Sofia's own darker tone her tendency to freckle. He saw his father's stubborn determination in everything she did.
It was those lasting shadows of his family that kept him fighting against Sofia's stifling, as best he could. He understood his wife's overprotectiveness. Of course he did. Between what had happened to her prima Pilar and her father's own sever isolation of her until she was of marrying age, as well as the treatment she'd gotten after they'd been caught together and rushed to the alter to prevent a scandal. With the deaths of their twins, born so soon after their wedding, born too soon to survive, only a few months short of the Madrigal children receiving their gifts, including the one that could have saved them, well, of course he could see why Sofia was so strict with their only living child. She saw it as righting all the wrongs life had done to her, what Elena herself wanted notwithstanding. Understanding had never meant condoning, and he had tried to his own detriment to protect Elena, and calm Sofia down to her perceived slights.
He couldn't lose either of them. He'd lost too much already that he couldn't get back. He couldn't lose Sofia to her stony silences, and had to plead with Elena to humor her. He had spent too many nights thrown out of the house before they'd moved to the loft because of it, all of them tearing at his heart. He couldn't go back to a wife that hated him. He had fought too long and too hard to try and make her happy, though he knew he failed by his very nature. But he couldn't be the cold miser her father had been either, raised too poor to not help where he could now that he had the power to. He couldn't lose his daughter to her own independence, and tried to beg Sofia to accept that Elena was not and never had been a smaller version of her to live out her dreamed of life like a doll. So he balanced, and flailed, and hoped that at the end of his days that what little family he had left didn't hate him entirely. He couldn't bear the silence of indifference, would rather fend off the rage. At least then he knew they felt something for him.
"I'm headed over to Carlita's for some roscones for the workers when they come in. Do you want to come, Bruno?" Elena asked, pulling Hebér out of his reverie. He watched as Bruno hemmed for a moment before shaking his head. Elena deflated for a split second before putting on a big grin and nodding, handing Bruno the keys.
"Lunch break. Make sure you eat something, please. Bye, Papá" Hebér waved at her as she went and moved to the counter from his seat in the bookshop.
Hebér observed Bruno's nervous twisting of his fingers before the younger man put his head in his hands. They'd been terse with each other all morning since coming in after breakfast, but Elena had perked up after a visit from Olivia and the boys, Nahno and Lito a cheerful and chaotic distraction. She'd read to Emilio from one of the colorful board books they'd recently started stocking in the bookshop. They were a hit among the young mothers, and Hebér had to wonder if he'd ever see Elena reading one to a child of her own. Not the one in the vision, he knew, but they had years yet before he and Sofia passed. The distance he saw between his daughter and her spouse made him doubtful.
Hebér had been watching carefully since the wedding, as much as he could. Bruno's reticence during the planning and at the ceremony had been hard to miss, and it wasn't often a man went to his wedding looking like he was aiming for the grave. If Hebér hadn't been there for the laughable engagement agreement he'd have been insulted for his daughter's sake, but he knew all of it was a symptom of Bruno's own nerves and failing reputation. For Elena's sake he sincerely hoped, distasteful as it was for him to think of it, that Bruno had gotten those nerves under control. Elena defended him often enough, but there was enough that went unsaid to raise the eyebrows of anyone with even the slightest instinct of suspicion.
"Trouble in paradise already?" It wasn't how he'd wanted to start the conversation, but Hebér hadn't had much chance to speak with Bruno at all since the wedding and had never been good with his words. Elena had done her best to avoid dinners home when she could, and had only brought her new husband a handful of times to the ones she hadn't been able to wheedle out of, and Bruno had been near silent through all of those as well. Bruno glared at him.
"What sort of question is that?"
"Just an observation. You and Elena seem...distant."
"Forgive me for not being all lovey-dovey with the child bride you sold to my mother," Bruno spat, turning to leave with a stormy expression, a final straw clearly dropped. Hebér grabbed his arm. Was that truly how this man thought of his daughter? Bruno sagged.
"Why?" He asked. Hebér saw the desperation in his eyes as Bruno tried to tug loose of his grip. "I thought you loved her. Why on earth would you tie her to me?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Hebér countered, glaring back until Bruno began to squirm. "You were in that vision, holding your child. Who am I to deny Elena her future?"
"Her father!" Bruno shouted, jerking his arm away. "You held me at knifepoint and told me to stay away from her! You said you'd never tell her! I have a scar on my chest from that stupid fucking vision! I thought you were going to kill me! And three years later you just--just fucking give in because your wife found the vision? Because what, you couldn't just lie?!"
"No, Bruno. I couldn't lie to my wife. Is that what you're doing to my daughter? Lying to her? I thought better of you."
"I don't...lie to her..." Bruno mumbled, hanging his head. Hebér let him go, seeing the defeat take over as Bruno flopped back onto the stool. "I just...she doesn't deserve this." He gestured vaguely at himself and put his head in his hands.
"I'm trying to...give her a chance to change her mind," he said. Hebér studied him. A few grays had appeared, easily spotted in his black hair, and the man twisted his wedding ring around his knuckle like he was praying the rosary, the skin long since rubbed raw. 'Ah,' Hebér thought, understanding delicately veiled language after years of dealing with it from Sofia. 'It's like that then.'
"She won't, you know." Hebér said wearily, pulling himself and Bruno matching tintos before sitting down heavily beside him, hiding his laughter when Bruno grimaced at the taste, knowing he preferred the way Elena made his coffee, even if now he'd never admit to it. "Elena is...very much like her madre. In that at least. You can try, and maybe she'll get tired of waiting. But she's more like to dig her heels in."
"She might. Now. After what I said." It came with a sigh that perked Hebér's ears. He smiled at the regret coloring it clear as day. Progress was progress, even when it didn't look like it.
"I heard about that. Both of you have louder mouths than you think. Be glad it was Silvia that was eavesdropping." Hebér grumbled, covering his mouth to cough before reaching for the flask of syrup that Elena had foisted on him that morning, bullying him into trying to treat his illness even if it wasn't a cure. Bruno slumped miserably beside him, unsure exactly which way to be miserable. Hebér shrugged. "Is it even a marriage if you and your spouse don't argue? Be glad Elena didn't smack you. I'd warn you to be kind to her, but I can already tell anything I say isn't going to get under your skin nearly as much as what my daughter isn't saying."
"Is...is it that obvious?"
"You don't have to be in love with her to care for her. Feeling bad for being an ass is expected. Don't do it again."
"Everything I do bites me in the ass. Surprised I have enough left to be one."
Hebér laughed before falling into a coughing spell, waving Bruno off as he moved in concern.
"Ah, it won't kill me yet, you and I both know that," he croaked, finishing his tinto and breathing in relief. "The only reason I'm not furious is because I know why you've started paying attention to her in the first place. Don't be surprised if it actually works out in your favor."
"It shouldn't." Bruno sighed, swirling the coffee in his cup, looking for all the world like he wanted to dive in and drown in it. "She deserves better, Hebér. Even if I...even if I can straighten up...If we ever...She deserves more than...this." He paused, looking out into the middle distance. "I thought you'd want better for her than this. Than me."
He gestured at himself, spinning the wedding band on his finger, ill-fitting and beaten with use, the fortunate emerald and ruby dull from collected grime. Old. Between the rush of planning and Bruno's own resistance there hadn't been time to have a set made, and Hebér could guess where the ring had come from, a memento of a man unknown and long dead and never quite lived up to. Hebér realized then where the fault lay. He'd long suspected, having watched Bruno grow up from a bright, shy child to the sad, rundown man beside him. Balking that he thought was for appearances, fear he'd thought overblown, all made sense to him then. And Hebér worried. He'd seen the seeds of self-loathing take root in his daughter after her mother's cruel treatment, could see them blooming fully across Bruno's hunched posture and slowly unfolding self-destruction, the tale-tell bulge of a tight liver not quite hidden under his shirt. He recognized Elena's embroidery work down the front, geometric patterns in dunn brown a good complement to the forest green. She was trying, whatever way she could. Bruno needed to get himself together and try as well, before he hurt her. Ill as he was, Hebér was not above clocking his yerno for mistreating his daughter should it come to that.
"Maybe she does. Dios sabe I wanted to give her time to live her life. But who's to know. Maybe that would have only brought her more heartache than we already saw. Elena was content enough, it being you. And she could certainly have done worst, drinking and whatever the fuck this is right now aside. I just want her to be happy. Maybe you'll understand, once you have your own children. I don't like that it's so soon, that she's so young. I don't particularly like that it's you, putting her under the eyes of the town. But with you, I know that she'll be happy, in time. The vision showed that, at least."
Their conversation was cut short as Elena struggled through the door, her arms full with a huge basket, another trove of Carlita's experimental treats. Hebér watched as Bruno shuffled to help her, unable to meet her eyes still, and couldn't help but hear the loud growl Bruno's stomach made at the rich scent of whatever was under the cloth.
"I told you to eat someth--oh, nevermind. Do what you want. Papá, you know it's time for you to rest, head upstairs or you'll be too tired for dinner." She snapped, setting the basket down on the counter and breezing past them both to the return pile, collecting an armload to reshelf and ignoring Bruno's stilted apology. Hebér vacated his seat, knowing they'd get nowhere with an audience.
Bruno followed her around as she tried to sort the returns, and his constant presence at her back was quickly infuriating her. She was doing her best to be civil, would have to be for the dinner tonight, but the insufferable man was making it almost impossible. After bumping into him for the fourth time, she broke.
"What?! What do you want from me? Leave the child alone to do her chores!"
"Elena, please..."
"Please what, Bruno? What? You're sorry? You didn't mean it? I know you think I'm a child but I didn't realize you thought I was stupid too! Just leave me alone."
"Elena, please," he said, more strongly this time, grabbing one of the books as she tried to shelve it. "What do I have to do for you to forgive me?"
"I'd say act like you were actually my husband but we both know you aren't going to," she spat, her eyes dark. "You won't be honest about whatever this is, so I won't bother asking."
The accusation stung, even though she was completely correct. He looked away.
"I still--"
"Need time, yes I know."
"That's not what I was going to say," he sighed, releasing the book and letting her put it away. She leaned against the shelves and glared at him, waiting for him to continue. Outright ignoring her hadn't worked. Being kind but distant had only lead her along when he hadn't meant to. Another new tactic was needed, and he was grasping at straws.
"Look...It took me...years to have any sort of relationship with Con--with the last person I was...close to." He pushed out, rubbing his neck. "We were friends for years first. It's just...if we're going to...be more than just...I dunno..."
"Room mates?" she supplied flatly, still shelving and starting to ignore him.
"I didn't mean..."
"A stupid fling?"
"...fine. Let's go with that. Yes. If we...if you want this to work...we need to... have something in common at least."
"Being married seems like a good start," she groused, going back to retrieve more returns, shoes clacking in anger and forcing him to follow. He was sure he looked pathetic.
"Before this...before all this, you were kind to me. I thought it was just...how you were, but..."
"Jesucristo Bruno would you just spit it out? I don't have all day!"
"Friends. We should try to be...to be friends first. We need...a better foundation than a scrap of a vision."
Elena set the stack of books she'd gathered down and looked at him, trying to gauge what exactly he was rambling about. Friends. As if married people needed to be friends to be married. Her parents alone proved that didn't have to be the case. Though she supposed the only examples he had were his sisters and their spouses. She sighed and sat, letting him twist in the wind as she puzzled over it all.
She hated that he had a point. She knew, as well as she could given the gap in their ages, that both Julieta and Pepa had known and seen their husbands for years before their actual weddings. She remembered the giggling over bets the older crowd always tried to cover up when she was younger...she didn't want to think about how young, the reality of it a sharp slap to her anger that he had every right to be hesitant. The quiet wagers of which sister would have a child first, and if that child would be suspiciously early after the wedding but perfectly healthy. That his sisters had waited for a few years before having their children had killed the betting pools entirely. The curiosity at how they'd managed, Julieta's gift no doubt, sent her back down the path of anger at Bruno, still ignoring her six months on.
But no one could deny that his sisters and their husbands weren't just still startlingly in love, but also great friends. She'd been witness to it often enough after the wedding. She'd tried to stay out of the way, feeling so out of place she'd never really found a niche to fill. Félix and Agustín had found her, more often than not. They were kind, though it took her weeks to be able to face them without some vague suspicion she couldn't place. Some shadow of her mother's nonsense, most likely. So she'd found herself pulled into helping with chores and children and getting to actually know her cuñados. They tried not to ask how things were going with her unsociable husband, but she still found herself, out of shame of her own failure more than anything else, lying to them. No details, though it was easy enough to explain because her cuñados were men she could be shy around and their wives were her husband's sisters and who would want to hear that about their brother?
But the hints and coyness were enough. She had seen Alma more than once watching her and Bruno across the dinner table, speculative. Probably wondering why her young and supposedly fertile nuera wasn't yet pregnant. She had no reason to think there was some issue, and Elena certainly wasn't asking Julieta for contraceptives, so the continued lack of evidence was likely starting to concern her suegra.
Elena wasn't even sure why she was protecting Bruno, if she was honest with herself. It wasn't like he was sticking his neck out for her. If anything he just wanted to be left alone. Or she thought he had. Now he was taking her on dates, albeit most of them to help watch his--their--sobrinas. She loved it and hated it. The girls were young and sweet and adorable. And watching Bruno with them made the persistent ball of anger in her stomach subside for a while. He was gentle with them, fun, but so very careful. She could see the sort of father he'd be as clear as day, and her heart hurt with longing for that man, buried so deeply under the mess that was the rest of him. She didn't care about the awkwardness or the strange habits. If anything, they made him interesting, and always had. She missed a man that might never have existed, the shy, friendly person that had spoken with her over books and laughed with her when she had to throw some idiot out of the shops.
She looked at him now, sitting at the counter and looking away from her. He looked...sad. He always looked sad, to be sure, but this was different. Torn, somehow, twisting his wedding band around his finger as he stared into the distance. Grays had sprouted in the last six months, or she'd come to notice them. But they looked handsome on him, highlighting his eyes somehow. She took in the downturn of his mouth and the terrible posture, the still tight bulge of his liver under his shirt, on display from the way he sat. She wished he would stop that. She had no right to ask it of him, since it seemed the only comfort he had from his visions, since he wasn't going to take advantage of her presence any time soon. He'd made that clear.
She'd thought it was from the drinking, at first. She knew about whiskey-dick well enough, even though she'd never come across it herself. The danger of having male friends and a primo with no sense of how to talk to his female cousin. Or maybe some medical issue. She knew personally Julieta couldn't cure everything, and knew that there had been a bout of nasty fevers when the triplets were young. Part of the town's history, maybe it had damaged him some way that was permanent. And she could have accepted that, if he'd just told her rather than hedging for weeks. But she got up well before he did, to pick out his clothes and prepare herself for the early mornings at the shop, and she had eyes.
The lie stung. It still stung. But he'd been gentle enough, really, until he'd put his stupid sandaled foot in his stupid big mouth the night before. And she knew, again, that men didn't need to be slavishly attracted to a woman to function. Her existence was proof enough of that concept. Maybe this was an olive branch on his part. She couldn't really blame him, for finding her unattractive. She knew she was. Sickly pale and spotty, hair unmanageable and overweight with a crooked nose and buck teeth, not a hint of her mother's beauty or fine bone structure to her. Maybe, if they were friends at least, he could find something to like about her enough to make the vision happen, one day. It wasn't like she had a choice. He was her husband, and if she wanted children, and she did, despite knowing she was a little young (though not so much younger than her mother had been with the twins) they were going to have to come from him.
She'd said vows, before the padre and Dios and everything. She wasn't very fond of taking la biblia one hundred percent for fact, but those things at least held weight for her. She could only hope they held the same weight for Bruno. She liked to think they did, but she didn't see him the majority of the day and men, after all, had needs. And this had all happened so suddenly. Maybe he still had someone, that didn't mind that he'd acquired a useless wife who had the added detriment of being unattractive. That thought almost brought her to tears, but she swallowed it down and took a breath, reaching out for his hand. Friends she could do. If that was all they'd ever be, she could bring herself to live with it. It was more than she had right to ask of him, when she'd upended his life.
"Will you at least quit acting like you married a damn toddler, if we try this friends nonsense?" she asked. It came out harsher than she'd meant, but she was still angry at him, and he still deserved it for being an ass the night before. He took the hand she offered, looking forlorn as always, the barest hint of a smile breaking through.
"I deserved that. I...I know it isn't worth much, but I am sorry. I know that...I know there's more to you than your age, Elena. I just...want to know what all of that is."
"And if you don't like it?" she pressed, squeezing his fingers until he winced.
"I don't think I won't. But...If we...can't come to some agreement...I'll leave ou--your future in your hands, then."
She noticed his slip, the reticence at admitting to the future shared in the vision, but chose to ignore it. The sun was getting low, and they had a dinner with her parents to face. She squared her jaw and let his hand go, trying not to be too prideful that he rubbed the circulation back into his fingers.
"Then I can try," she said. She moved away sharply then, closing down the shops as the evening closed in and the smells of her mother's cooking, accompanied by some shrill harping at her father, filtered down from the loft. Before going to the door, the little pocket door lock always confounding Bruno, she pulled her reluctant husband even more reluctantly to the thin sofa in the bookshop to sit beside him. She took his hand and twined their fingers together, ignoring his muted protests.
"I said I'll try, but you have to as well. I'm not stupid. I know what people are starting to say in town. So. I'll play this game, but you have to play mine."
"Elena, I'm not sure..."
"I won't kiss you again, don't worry," she said, not giving him the chance to put another foot in his mouth. "But if we're out in town, I'll be holding your hand when I have a chance. I'll laugh at your jokes if they're funny, but I'll tease you if they stink. I...I don't expect a lot of affection. Just...please stop acting like I don't exist. Treat me like you actually would treat a friend."
He smiled at her then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she knew then she was making a terrible, wonderful mistake in sticking things out. But she pushed the worry down as he spoke, his thumb going over hers in what had to be an unconscious gesture.
"I don't deserve your patience, but thank you for it. I'm sorry I can't...that I can't promise more. You deserve better."
"I do," she said sharply, before softening as much as she could, still fighting back the anger at him, trying to calm herself into acceptance of what little she'd get from him. "But I...appreciate what you're able to give. I'm sorry for being so..."
"Don't apologize. Please? First rule of being friends with Bruno; it's usually his fault."
"That's hardly fair!" she laughed, surprised. He gave her a crooked grin, and the wonderful, terrible mistake reared its head again.
"No, but this isn't about fair. If it was, I'd still be molding away in my tower and you'd be seeing some handsome young man that...well...someone better for you, anyway. Besides. I'm easy to pick on. May as well have some fun with it."
She looked at him sadly, realizing she wasn't the only one in this what passed for a relationship that didn't care for themselves as much as they should have. She patted his hand and stood, pulling him to the door and pleased at least he let himself be pulled.
Sofia watched as her daughter and yerno fumbled around each other at the dinner table, shaking her head. Six months in and still acting like fools. She had expected this phase to be taken care of within the first couple of weeks. Elena's eagerness for the match had been almost unseemly, but Sofia couldn't begrudge her daughter that. She'd fumbled her own opportunities at Elena's age. Whatever other mistakes her daughter had made, at least she had understood the importance of this and getting things settled quickly before Señor Madrigal and his mother had the chance to change their mind.
Perhaps it was more Señor Madrigal--Bruno, rather, she corrected herself, being imminently awkward and it rubbing off on Elena. She tried to put her fears to bed. Pilar had kept her abreast of the rumors, and she knew what was being said. Impotence at best. Marital rejection at worst. The law of course meant they were spouses, but without a complete consummation their union could be put to the question by anyone that had cause. Vicenta Bardales had been looking for someone to pair up her troublesome son with. Every butcher needed a wife after all, to help him with the less physical parts of the business, and Elena had a good head for record keeping. Silvia Gonzalves' son Guillermo was taking over his family's farm. Older than Carlos but younger than Bruno, he'd been a considerably eligible bachelor, despite his disagreeable mother. Both men had, to one degree or another, shown a passing interest in her daughter, and had the vision not come to light Sofia couldn't say she wouldn't have encouraged Elena towards the carnicero at least.
Señor Madrigal, while awkward and less than handsome, was still a Madrigal, and pairing with him would guarantee Gifted children and a high standard of living. An agreeable man if nothing else, assuming a woman could get past the rumors. Lucky enough for Elena they hadn't, but the way the winds were blowing was drawing more than one speculative eye his way.
Sofia shook her head. She'd never thought she'd be wishing for her daughter's scandalous behavior, but if the rumors were correct, it was too little, perhaps too late. She gave Elena a once over. There'd been very little change except her daughter dressing more conservatively, which was appropriate enough for a married woman. But no weight loss or gain that may have betrayed a pregnancy. Sofia sighed, knowing Elena's reputation wouldn't survive an annulment. This marriage, the vision that had forced their hands, they'd been the only way she could make sure Elena was cared for. The shops were barely a life, and her daughter deserved better than to work herself to the bone her whole life like Sofia had done. She watched as they made their plates, fumbling between each other and looking away when they connected. She'd had enough of this.
"Elena, that's far too much," she said, eyeing her daughter's plate critically, "Split it with Bruno, Dios sabe the man looks half starved as it is."
Elena started, swallowing down the fact that she hadn't actually eaten anything at Carlita's earlier, too caught up talking to her friend and gang-pressed into helping Nina with a difficult order. She scraped half of her posta negra onto Bruno's plate while he protested weakly before she elbowed him to silence. It wasn't worth the fight. And her mother was right, she did eat too much.
Her mother sat and smiled at her, and Elena made a weak attempt back, already dreading the night.
"Well, it's good to have you both over. You've been scarce."
"We've been...busy, Mamá," Elena said, wincing at how that sounded and floundering to correct herself before her mother made assumptions. "Casita is busier than I thought it would be. I didn't realize the town council met there almost as much as they do at church!"
"I...see. Well surely that can't be all that's been keeping you away. A family dinner once a week. After all once the children come I don't want them to not know us."
"Mamá..."
"Señora Pascual..."
"Surely you two have had time enough to be...familiar with one another," Sofia balked at their hesitance. Elena saw fears dance across her face, and her stomach sank. "I certainly hope you've been trying. One grandchild I'll never meet is unacceptable, and the town has been rampant with ridiculous rumors. I was hoping they were just that!"
"Sofia!"
"Hebér, they're acting like children forced to sit together in church. I'm not blind. And the town isn't mute. You know people are talking."
"Let them talk! They did about us enough!"
"And look how long it took us to recover from that," she groused, before rounding back on her daughter and yerno, who had at least had the sense to look embarrassed, hands clasped under the table. She shook her head, glaring at Hebér before turning on her daughter. "At least tell me there's been some attempt, Elena. You're young, and...hearty. I'd assumed, given your...history... you would be eager to try."
Elena felt her face burn, stealing a glance at Bruno told her he was the same, tips of his ears blazing. Her mother's flowery language made the prying infinitely worse.
"Mamá! How much we're trying isn't your business! I can't just...will myself preñada, It takes time!" She paused, sliding her eyes across Bruno as he covered his face. It was mean. It was so very mean. But she still hadn't forgiven him and it would get her mother off her back. If it made him angry he'd just have to get over it. "Besides. Maybe we just want to enjoy being married for a while before dragging a child into it."
She saw the downturn of distaste at her mother's lips. Bruno was staring at her hard enough she had to kick his ankle under the table before he ruined the illusion and her mother twigged on, which she would rather avoid forever than hear how much of a failure of a wife she was from another person; from her own husband was enough. Her father was giving her a pitying look before studying Bruno.
"See, Sofia? That's what you get for making assumptions. Let them alone, or we'll never have them back for cena again. The poor man's already red as a pitaya."
"You can't blame me for wanting to be sure, Hebér. That vision didn't just show them together. You've told me enough to know we're on borrowed days."
"We have years yet," Hebér said, muttering 'hipocondríaca' under his breath. Elena stifled her giggle and made due with her scant meal, ignoring Bruno as he struggled with his overfilled plate. Whatever else her mother said, he was a little thin. A little weight would look good on him. He caught her out watching him, and she didn't shy away, letting him see her until he turned away. It wasn't much, but when he reached out for her hand this time, something made her hope it wasn't for show.
Dinner was mercifully brief after that, her father having a coughing fit so severe that her mother broke her resolve and found the syrup Julieta made for him, letting him take a healthy swallow and insisting he go to bed.
Elena was quiet on the walk back to Casita. Bruno held her hand guiltily, knowing it wasn't the action a friend would take, but making the concession to please her. He still had to make up for running at the mouth, and she'd made it clear she wasn't going to let him off easy. Before they reached the last hill, she sighed.
"Well, Mamá will leave us alone for a while. Serves her right, asking about all that."
"She's...looking forward to nietos, isn't she?"
"Mamá always wanted a big family. All she got was me." Elena shrugged, and he squeezed her hand, hoping she'd understand it for comfort.
"Is...Is that what you want?" he asked, tentatively. He felt the need to know, even if it wouldn't be him providing it. Elena shrugged, snorting humorously.
"Doesn't matter what I want. Never has. You only saw...one little boy in that vision, years from now."
"I...don't see everything," Bruno admitted. Maybe it was a mistake to. But if she wanted a big family, she might have to make due with their sobrinas until she saw sense and left. She gave him a rueful grin.
"Maybe not, but you see enough. It's okay. I'm not going to ask you for a herd of kids."
"I didn't--I mean..."
"I know, Bruno. Like I said, it doesn't matter. We'll do this friends thing and see where that leads. I...I'm not going to fight with you over it."
Bruno didn't know what to say about that. He wanted to say something, to offer her some sort of reassurance, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't want to lead her on or give her false hope, but he didn't want to leave her to worry either. He squeezed her hand again before she headed away, clicking the door to her little room behind her without a word. The uneasy feeling that something was wrong burrowed into his chest, and he couldn't shake it. By the time several weeks, and several more awkward but less invasive dinners with her parents had passed, it had settled well into his ribs. That he could never quite place why was what worried him.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Nine months into marriage and we see things beginning to improve for Bruno and Elena as they celebrate Elena's nineteenth birthday. Flashbacks of the time in between, of feelings beginning to grow, and of doubts beginning to seal themselves, repairing some of the damage assumptions and fear had caused.
A planned surprise and Elena's family's own doubts begin to chip away, creating their own cracks in the carefully created façade our couple has built around themselves.
Notes:
CW:
Verbal abuse, negative talk about weight, vomiting, ED mentions.
Chapter Text
Elena smiled as she accepted the little box from Bruno. He sat close beside her as the girls all swarmed at her feet, playing with the remnants of her wrapping and tissue paper. Their parents had done their best to make her nineteenth cumpleaños a special one. She swallowed down the awkward, floating feeling at that. There'd been no mention of her age, and she was grateful for it, even if the reminder lived around her like a second skin. Her sketches and the tiny watercolors she'd begun making to fill in the empty hours were noticed after a while, given to the little ones when they saw them and found them pretty, and Elena found herself with a lavish amount of supplies.
"Just be sure to keep Bruno out of them," Pepa had laughed as she'd opened the paint palette, eyes lighting up at the variety of colors, "He's got his own supplies, paper thief."
"Ay, Pepa we were in primaria!" Bruno groused.
"You painted my hair purple, meirdecilla," she teased.
"And I still say it looked better!" He stuck his tongue out at her, taking his sister's teasing in stride, nudging Elena with his shoulder. "I promise I'll at least ask first. And purple isn't your color." She grinned, setting things aside. Alma, Agustín, and Julieta's gifts had been more practical, but no less appreciated; a lovely embroidery box, a sturdy set of hoops and even a small, silver chatelaine to carry the most used tools around with her. Agustín had taken notice of her nervous decorations of Bruno's shirts and said something, she supposed. She wasn't skilled by any means, but simple stitches could be the most versatile, and it kept her hands and mind busy when her eyes were too tired to read. Bruno hadn't said anything, good or bad, but she'd caught him more than once studying the tails of his shirt, drawing his thumb over the patterns and looking puzzled, like he couldn't quite figure out how they'd made it there. But she thought a couple times she'd caught him smiling. They went unseen most of the time anyway, the man living in his oversized ruana, but she couldn't really begrudge him the physical barrier against the town.
So it was down to his gift, the box flat and suspiciously shaped like a necklace box, and she lost herself in thought for a moment, trying to puzzle out if he'd gotten better with gifts since Navidad. She wasn't expecting jewelry, wouldn't have even wanted it right then anyway; the bitter taste in her mouth from dealing with her mother's debts had poisoned that well for a while. They still weren't quite on civil terms after Sofia had been forced to sell the collection of Victorian brooches, rings, cameos, and caribe pearls she'd amassed over the years. In the end, the only things she'd been left with had been the pieces gifted to her by Hebér, crafted in the Encanto. Simple styles. A few sets of small teardrop earrings, her wedding band, and a silver necklace with a ranita pendant.
Bruno had come with her that day, if only to avoid her handing over the shop keys to Jose Iguaran for a pre-approved break in to take the things. He'd ripped Sofia up one way and down the other, months worth of misplaced vitriol sighting in on her mother and firing away. It had almost been funny, though Elena herself had been too busy crying after convincing her father to bring out her mother's jewelry box and her mother turning on her, calling her a disgrace and ungrateful and a dozen other things before Bruno had exploded, inspecting the contents of the box with distaste, before handing it to Señor Perez, who'd come along with his little grandson to further inspect what her mother had been buying over the last few years.
"This? This is why you couldn't even give your own daughter a decent wedding dress?"
"Of course not. There was no time. If Elena had been able to fit into mine you wouldn't even have noticed."
"There was a month! A month we had to sit and put up with the Pre-Cana! My--our--cuñado is a tailor! You think I didn't hear from him you'd lost your mind at the price? That wasn't even that much!"
"Jewels last longer than a dress that often doesn't survive the night! I thought you had sense."
"What use is them lasting if you have the banquera beating down your daughter's door for compensation? What even is this?"
"They were supposed to be an investment! Look around you! The shops certainly weren't going to make sure Elena was taken care of! The jewels at least could!"
"Not if she's paying off debts you took to buy them!"
"They'll increase in value! These things are impossible to get here! No offense to you, Señor Perez, but there are skills and styles outside your expertise! Antiques with value! Surely you understand."
Gustavo grunted, loupe still in his eye, before shooing Beto over to Elena, who scooped him up, not missing the soft look Bruno gave her before he steeled his face back. Gustavo cleared his throat.
"I don't know who told you all that. Patrico, probably. Tonto ignorante. Gold is gold. Stones are stones. Prices are set by the market, no linaje. Only time it means anything else is if it's famous or belongs to royalty, and Colombia is distinctly lacking in that!"
"Even then! The size, the weight of them has to mean something!"
"Yes, it would. If they weren't fake!"
Elena had played a clapping game with Beto as she tried to listen in, seeing the shocked look on her mother's face, and Bruno's, his brow darkening.
"F-fake?"
"Oh, the gold and silver's real enough, lucky for you. The pearls too. The half of the diamonds that aren't paste are circonio. The other stones are all over the place for quality far as I can tell."
Elena watched as the news played across her mother's face, thunderous and her fine brows knitting together as her eyes bulged, fury boiling under the surface as they darted. She could practically hear the wheels turning in her mother's head before grinding to a halt and screeching, reaching for her shoe.
"Hebér! I told you what to--how could you--I look like such a fool! Inútil hijueputa! Bulto! Bastardo! How dare you make me look so stupid! I told you to check! I always told you to check!"
"SOFIA!" Bruno and Gustavo had both shouted, the older man gathering up his grandson, thanking Elena for entertaining him and telling her to come by with the box later before taking Alberto and leaving in a huff, holding back his anger at Sofia's outburst. Bruno had rounded on her mother, who was still browbeating her father into the couch as he coughed, unable to speak and red-faced and dodging the waspish sting of her boot.
"That is enough! That's enough, Sofia! No wonder Elena sinks into the furniture if this is what she had to deal with at home! This is your mistake! Wasting money on your own malditas tonterías is bad enough, but dragging them into it? The debt? What is this cagada?"
"Don't you speak to me like that! The way they spend money? I had to make investments. It's not my fault Hebér is a fool and Elena destroyed her reputation! I had to protect her somehow! Enough of this. You are my yerno, I am due that respect!"
"Who's fault is that? Not mine! Not Elena's! You're the one that went le zafó un tornillo! No one would have known about any of this if you'd shut up and listened to your own husband for five damned minutes! You send a cafecultor out to do a joyera's job and act surprised when he doesn't know a real stone from a fake one? You act like everything your own daughter does is wrong and then act surprised when she says to hell with you? If anyone has 'ruined her reputation' it's you!" Bruno paused as Sofia flinched away, a wash of green lighting the room.
Elena watched, gaping and heart racing at the sight as he took a breath, pushing his hair from his eyes and trying to shake the glow. She'd seen it before, heightened emotion half waking his Gift, but it had never been so strong before. It had never made her flush down to her chest before either, suddenly and uncomfortably warm in the loft. Bruno took a breath and pushed his hair away from his face before he continued. His voice was back to a normal volume, but there was an edge to his words, rough from shouting or just jagged agitation she couldn't tell, but it did nothing to ease the heat rising in her cheeks. In his anger, muted and coiling, he barely even stammered. She hadn't seen this side of him before, and she wasn't at all equipped to figure out how she felt about it.
"We'll take this to Gustavo, since he clearly won't do business with you. We'll sort this out for you one...one time, and one time only. I'll even do a vision to cover the difference if I have to. But we're not doing this again. You are not taking out another stupid, useless loan to waste on city trash. I will...I will not have Señora Iguaran at my doorstep and hounding my wife to tears again over you."
He had gathered the box and waved Elena to him, and she'd gone without questioning it, turning to avoid her mother's eye and leaving without even a goodbye.
She'd been at sixes and sevens for days afterwards. Seeing him raise to the occasion to protect her from her mother's temper, to, if she dared think about it enough, knock her mother down a desperately needed peg or two, had released something in her chest that she desperately had to hide. He was trying. He'd been trying so hard to walk the tightrope of actually befriending her and keeping her at arms length, and she was trying her best to respect the distance.
He was funny, when he wasn't nervous. And when he was, and the nerves weren't because of her. They had similar tastes in reading and hobbies, with enough difference to bicker constantly, but the bickering was just as fun as the shared time together. Since he wasn't under any pressure from her to treat her like a wife outside of public appearances, they had eased into a contented companionship, evenings spend reading together or occasionally helping with her coursework. He had a better memory for the numbering system the bibliothecas in Bogotá had begun using, and she refused to feel guilty for leaning on her husband. He'd be helping her in the shops eventually. If she ever got her way, anyway. They took the girls out less frequently and themselves out more often, even if it was just to walk through the market together or visit her friends.
Miranda and Beatriz were a little wary of him at first, but had slowly warmed up once they'd realized he was awkward but harmless. Carlita was constantly trying to feed him and her mother was constantly trying to push him out the door, still irritated over a vision he'd given about a stove breaking. He took it in stride. Her male friends were more stand-offish, but Rodrigo was a quiet sort and Esteban had the grace not to mention Bruno's drinking, and somehow they'd managed to have civil conversations over futbol. That Bruno even liked futbol had surprised her, but he assured her later he had more fun playing as a child than he ever would watching. Julio...Julio hated him. Elena didn't like to mention Bruno around her primo or her primo around Bruno. Julio had lost her as a partner in crime enough to the shops, but she had grown so focused on actually getting her husband's attention the last few months that she'd been visiting all her family less and less. Julio didn't care about the vision, didn't care that Elena herself had admitted she cared for Bruno. As far as Julio was concerned, Bruno Madrigal was an old pervert that wanted to lock her away and have her pumping out babies as long as she could.
She'd have laughed at him if she hadn't run out crying. If it weren't for the ring on her finger she could almost forget Bruno was her husband. There wouldn't be any children anytime soon, and she knew it. She'd buried the ache at that, buried the smug looks she got from Hilaria and Olivia Chavez as her old schoolmates flaunted their new son and daughter Yolanda and Chepito around the town, snide comments and sneering glances at her soft stomach not hidden in the least. Buried the longing that swelled in her chest when his, always his, never truly hers, but his sobrinas came to the tower to play in the sand or pulled her to camp out with them in the nursery. Squashed and folded and buried it all when she played with Emilio, or when one of the other little ones she'd cared for before going to work full time in the shops came to her with grubby hands and big bright eyes and little hugs as tight as their arms could hold. She didn't bring Bruno to the horse ranch anymore, only riding Ladrillo enough to let the big beast know she hadn't forgotten him, and ignoring her big stupid primo and his big stupid mouth.
Bruno seemed hesitant still for her to spend any time with his own friends, but she got the distinct feeling it was more due to his lack of them than her lack of being sociable.
Bruno was sweet. When he wasn't expected to think about her, he found it easier to do so, and if it weren't for the fact that she knew he was keeping her at a distance for his own unfathomable reasons, she'd have thought he was trying to romance her. Surprise lunches at the café, randomly picking flowers when they were out, when no one could see them, little chores done for her so she didn't have to, all of it was so confusing at first that she'd spent ages angry at him for talking out both sides of his mouth at her. Until she realized that was just...Bruno. He did the same thing with his sisters, his mother, his sobrinas. Concessions of kindness and respect that she hadn't seen of men growing up. Her own father doting but comfortable to let her mother rule over the household. Her mother reigning with an iron fist and demanding Elena herself put aside her own interests to learn how to be at least a pleasant and practical wife. That Bruno was content to do half of the household duties and not treat her like some worthless layabout when she did something like get absorbed in a book and forget to bring in the laundry was so foreign to her. He would just shrug and bring it in himself. But she was learning to like it. It took her longer to accept it was just him, and not some sly courting tactic.
But the anger directed at her mother, the protectiveness she'd seen directed at herself, had sent her reeling. Playing at friends or not, that had been too personal, to impassioned for it be anything other than from his heart. Maybe he was better at lying to himself. He had had much longer to perfect the art of it. Maybe he didn't even realize it, which made things much harder and much easier at once. It gave her hope, but she had to tamp it down. Had to deny the knowledge creeping into her consciousness that left her waking hot and sweat-soaked every night in the little room and lonely bed she'd been sequestered too.
It quickly become a favorite fantasy, when she wasn't dog tired from the last of her studies or keeping herself awake to finish something while she still had the drive to. The dream that sparked it had been so real and so intense she’d woken in a frantic sweat. The pull was stronger than the first such dream she'd had a few weeks into their marriage right after she’d caught Bruno in his stupid lie about his supposed impotence.
She hadn’t seen much then, but it had been enough to force a blush the whole day and had stuck in her head. Bruno, passed out on the bed as she quietly shuffled to get his clothes ready for the day. He’d slept without a shirt, and she’d pause to actually admire him for a moment. A wiry man, the little drinker’s paunch awkward on him. He was more suited for a soft middle rather than a drum-tight liver, and she hoped, if nothing else, eventually he’d slow down. She wondered at the scar on his left pectoral, biting her finger to resist the urge to trail over it. She had followed his chest hair down to the little line across his stomach, blushing furiously when she caught sight of the obvious and insistent tent in the sheet covering his hips. She couldn’t look away, and it had twitched strongly as she watched, the little damp patch at the top widening. Bruno had shifted, groaning and turning his back to her, and she had scampered away, her head spinning and sending her into fever dreams that she never quite remembered but left her needy and on edge for hours.
After the reinforcement of those dreams by his anger and his eyes, she was eternally glad Casita had provided her with a sturdy lock. She had felt so guilty at first, exploring herself one of the many things her mother beat into her head as an unforgivable action, but she'd heard enough long before that from Julio's big mouth and her friends to know everyone did it. And after her mistake with Rodrigo it didn’t matter. It mattered even less now that she was married, even if she wasn’t much of a wife to her husband.
She felt more guilty, and scared of getting caught out, when she'd started stealing Bruno's shirts. He'd never noticed, but that didn't stop her from the nerves. He wore some sort of sharp, peppery cologne from the velaro's side business, something woodsy and lingering that teased at her when they sat close. He'd always worn it, as far as she could tell, the scent combined with the herbs he burned for his visions even in the far above vision cave, haunting her from days past in the cafe before they’d married. She had held one he'd discarded to her for long enough to embarrass herself, taking in the smell of his cologne, the sage that lived in all his clothes, the faint tang of sweat that made her mouth water and her stomach clench.
It had taken nothing to roll onto her back and hold the shirt over her, letting her mind go wild. She could imagine his weight over her as she stroked at her sides, enjoying the tingling sensations that pooled at the tips of her breasts and between her legs. She bit her lip and tried to imagine her hands as his own, crossed under her breasts to fondle them, her nipples going into taut peaks that she thumbed at carefully. She liked to imagine he’d like her tits, at least. If he ever got over himself and decided a plain but willing wife was better than celibacy. Men liked bigger tits, didn’t they?
She would stroke them to hard peaks before twisting, groping herself and imagining Bruno above her still, the savory scent of his shirt and the scratch of the material enough to fool her desperate mind. She would press at her flesh and rub at the skin of her thighs until she was burning up, her sex swollen and thrumming with an ache that for the first time her own hand couldn’t satisfy, not even when she rolled back over and ground against the bones of her wrist, fingers pumping desperately inside herself, slippery against her unfortunate desire.
Shame had crashed down her spine when she grabbed the first thing that made sense, her whole body aching and calling out for a sensation she’d barely known. The thick handle of her hairbrush, smooth and cool and silver. She had slicked it with spit and her own wetness before arranging her bedding, slinging Bruno’s stolen shirt over a pillow and propping the brush between it and a second and the pressure of her thighs, mortified at herself but the fire in her belly too strong to ignore.
That first time had taken only a few sharp strokes before she’d fallen forward shaking and whimpering, her nose buried in the salt and sandalwood illusion of her husband as her body twisted and clenched and she let tears she didn’t understand fall.
She’d begun sneaking the books from the bibliotheca, the ones her father kept behind a heavy curtain, reading between her studies and learning what she could. She wasn’t about to listen to Julio’s grandstanding nonsense, and couldn’t ask Olivia or her mother. Her mother would just call her simple and figure out Bruno didn’t want her. Olivia would likely die from the shock. So she read late into the nights, read The Nunnery Tales and Venus in Furs and Fanny Hill. She got bold and snuck in moments of reading in Bruno’s own book collection when he wasn't in the room. She’d never paid attention before, but no one could accuse her husband of being a prude. Well, she scoffed, thinking of herself, almost no one, anyway.
She decided against continuing her sad attempts at enticing him. Clearly he’d hated the negligee and what was beneath it, and she supposed it was more modern than it needed to be. She could play the long game, and leave more to the imagination. Let him picture whoever he wanted, and maybe he’d eventually see her.
In the meantime, she could make do. He never noticed his shirts missing, replaced before he woke up. If he acted more flustered and kept closer to her on days when he grabbed something out of the hamper rather than what she’d put out, well, she’d read enough for her schooling that she knew about Pavlov and his wild theory. If he could smell her on his own clothes without realizing it, who was she to argue with science, especially when it might work in her favor?
It didn’t make it any easier to live with him. If anything, it left her more on edge, but the sweet, stinging distress that lived under her skin and kept her nerves smoldering almost made up for it. She had to swallow down her hopes every morning. Had to pretend to be content at the infuriating, exhilarating friendship growing between them. Had to put aside thoughts of stubble-rough kisses and gentle calloused hands and sandalwood and sage lulling her into a sated sleep. Had to ignore the insistent, incessant voice at the back of her mind that made her question if this was what love felt like. Had to ignore the mean little voice that followed, telling her of course it wasn't, and not to be stupid.
"Is everything alright?" Bruno asked, startling her back into the present. She shook her head and smiled, failing at hiding her blush, slipping a nail under the paper seam on his gift to her.
"Just lost in my head, sorry," she smiled, pulling the lid off the box. Her eyes went wide. Not jewelry, but a set of six shepherd's crook bookmarks. Each one in gold, with engraved leaves climbing up the body. From the end of each hook was a flat hummingbird charm on a short chain, also gold, with a flattened glass bead threaded in the body, perfect for spinning and each in a deep jewel tone. She covered her mouth to hide her shock. He'd been teasing her for weeks about her reading habits, now that they were on more even, comfortable footing. Always at least five books, on rotation, set in random corners all throughout the house. He could never keep track of his own, but he kept track of hers, and gave her a raised eyebrow at the amount of scraps and wrappers she used as bookmarks. That he'd now remedied. Three little sets of eyes had peeked over her lap at her silence, and Luisa had reached for one of the hummingbirds.
"No, Sita, for Tía!" Isabela corrected, distracting her sister with a bright tissue paper flower. Bruno's hand brushed at her elbow, his voice a little disheartened.
"If...If you don't like them, I can get you something else. I just thought..."
"Bruno, I love them," she gushed, unable to hold back. "Thank you!" She didn't think as she turned, kissing his cheek. He froze, but recovered well, giving her that lopsided grin that was quickly beginning to fluster her every time she saw it.
They looked up to his family making themselves scarce, laughing nervously and shifting away from each other, just a few inches.
"Sorry," she mumbled, closing the box carefully as he gathered the rest of her gifts. He shrugged, not quite able to meet her eyes.
"No es nada. I'm glad you like them. You, Señora Pa--Madrigal, are hard to shop for." He made his way to his--their-- room, knowing she would follow. She opened the box back up to admire the gift a little longer, before shutting the lid and holding it to her chest, hiding her face and the tears at his slip. Nine months. Nine months and he still barely saw her as his wife. She sniffled and swallowed back the lump in her throat, looking heavenward as she straightened. At least he'd stopped calling her a child. At least she could count on him to pretend, just for a little while, that he might be able to care for her, some nebulous time in the future. Friends. She was lucky really. Friends were rare enough for her, and Bruno, whatever else he was, was at least a very thoughtful friend. She wouldn't be denying she was a complete fool if he hadn't been.
Bruno watched, pleased and oddly put out, as Elena found her little pile of books and puzzled over which color bookmark to place in which volume. It was a funny little habit of hers, putting things in chromatic order. Her few colorful blouses. The scant collection of personal books that had begun to populate a low corner of his shelf over the months. That still nagged at him, the separation, but he couldn't say anything. It was plain as day that she did it in concession to him. He hoped these at least wouldn't disappear. Her little animals had never made a reappearance, and much as it pained him to admit it, he feared she'd sold them. He never was sure what had happened to her more colorful clothing, the flowing skirts and ruffled blouses she'd favored before they'd married. Even the refitted men's clothes she had used for working and riding that gigantic horse of hers, cast-offs from her father and primo, had disappeared. She'd at least stopped punishing her hair once she realized the way she'd been styling it, if beating it into submission could be called that, was damaging her curls. But now she kept it bundled in a looser bun and covered under dull and oversized bandanas, only the front few curls breaking free. In the strong summer sun they'd become the only ones to lighten, and paired with her still dull clothes he was beginning to think he'd married a slightly confused noviciada, wondering when Sister Santiaga was going to snatch her back in the night.
He'd been utterly confused when she'd apologized for her extended night routine, doing whatever witchcraft it was that left her hair smelling like clove and cinnamon even through the silk wrap at night and the bandana by day. All he knew was it had something to do with aloe plants--somehow--and that she'd become slightly jealous of his own curls, which he cared for the same way he always had, the soap that appeared in the baño whenever he used it, Casita keeping track of who used what in the house so well that he'd honestly forgotten what was in it.
The best he could figure was she thought it was some inconvenience to him, her going about her night in half a turban. He couldn't figure out why, other than another sign of another long-lived insecurity of hers burnished into her skin. He hoped his plans for tonight would at least put her more at ease.
He wasn't thrilled with the plan, but he'd had to make concessions to get what he wanted. Dinner with not only her parents, but the extended Guzman family would be...awkward. Her prima Olivia and her husband were closer to his age than hers, their oldest son more of an age to be Elena's little brother. He still hadn't shaken the feeling of being an old pervert when he sat beside her, entreaties to friendship or not. And the fact that her primo Julio, who may as well have been her twin with how close they'd been before she'd married never stopped making it clear that was exactly what he thought of him wasn't helping. But Bruno had to grin and bear it. He was tired of seeing her sad, knowing he was the cause of it but feeling powerless to change the habits ground into his bones. He could do this for her at least.
He watched as Elena settled into her chair, book in hand. He held back his chuckle at the title. Amalia: Un Romance de lo Argentino. He knew that one. The bait and switch tragic ending was going to frustrate her, he knew, but he couldn't deny it was a good story. He tried not to think too much on her focusing on doomed romances as he observed her, rifling through his wardrobe for a fresh shirt that wasn't wrinkled with the heat. She had the book open in her lap, her hand on the arm of her chair and delicately petting Provoleta. The rat had taken to her immediately, but Elena had taken longer to warm up to his unusual pets. She'd never been mean to them, too soft hearted he knew now, but she'd spent a few months trying to be where they weren't. What had finally won her over was, almost predictably, the girls.
His sobrinas loved to play in the sand and sun in the main entryway. With Elena and his cuñados help, he would haul buckets of water to dampen it, plenty of material for sandcastles and the perfect way for the girls to spend rainy weekends indoors when Pepa had to help tend the fields. More often than not, they would run each other and the adults ragged before collapsing by lunch time.
He'd found Elena buried under the pile of them, smiling wistfully as she ran a hand through Luisa's hair, her head pillowed in Elena's lap, and her arms wrapped around Paco. Isabela and Dolores were both holding one of his rats as well, Provoleta and Dulce, but Paco was a sight next to Luisa. Oversized and raggedy-gray, covered in scars and missing an ear, Paco was an ugly old thing, and cranky, but he'd always loved Luisa, who was surprisingly gentle for a toddler.
"Need a hand?" he'd asked, leaning against the rock wall and ignoring the pulling draw in his gut at the scene. Elena shrugged as best she could, hiding a blush. He ignored the way she swept her eyes over him. It wasn't like he was any sort of attractive. He must look silly, leaning on the wall like a lout.
"I kept trying to shoo them away, but the girls insisted. Bruno, what the heck is that thing? Half nutria? How is it so big?"
"Eh, just big. You get one like that, every now and then. I can move them if you want."
"No, leave them," she sighed, conceding the point and letting Paco sniff her thumb. "They aren't so bad, I suppose. Once you get used to them."
He'd sat down beside her, nudging Dolores off her arm so she could at least move, and grinned. Elena had lain back in the sand and let the heat that radiated from it soak into her, staring up into the sky far overhead. Dulce had settled on her chest, and she hesitated only a moment before petting the youngest of his rats. She looked content but for the little line that betrayed the downturn of her mouth. He had decided then what to really do for her birthday, even as he hoped she wouldn't read too much into it.
Dinner at the Guzman's went better than expected, all things considered. Olivia and Teodor had been surprisingly congenial. Bruno felt guilty at expecting the worst of them, but Sofia and Pilar hadn't left him with the best of examples, and he was happy to be proven wrong. Olivia, always even more sickly than him, was quiet but engaging at the table, and he caught himself grinning more often than not as Elena and her older prima caught up. Elena had taken Emilio into her lap, now almost two, and had insisted on spending time with him when he reminded her it was her day.
"I know it's my day, Bruno. And I want to hold my baby cousin. Look at him, how could I not?"
He couldn't argue with that. Emilio, Em for short, was a surprisingly happy toddler; fat with little sausage legs and arms and a head of riotous brown curls that he must have gotten from someone in Teodor's ancestry, the rest of the Guzman's hair pin straight. He clung to Elena and left sloppy toddler-kisses all over her cheeks as he took fistfuls of her hair and covered his own head with them, squealing "pittee like Leni!!"
Elena had spent the meal alternating bites of her food with Emilio, mostly avoiding her mother's pointed looks at her plate and opening up more than he'd seen her do in some time. He had to think it was because Teodore and Julio were busy distracting Pilar and her mother. Mariano shifted seats during the shuffle for the torta negra Hebér brought out, for whatever reason sitting between Bruno and Elena, taking his brother back. Bruno realized why a moment later, as Mariano, big for his age and nearly Elena's height already, went to push her head into the cake. He caught Mariano's hands mid-shove.
"Hey, let go! We always do a cake smash!" Mariano huffed as he squirmed. Elena gave Bruno a grateful look. She'd told him she hated the tradition on their way to the party.
"Not this year. Elena doesn't like it and it's a waste of cake."
"Sorry Nahno. But this way there's enough for everyone."
"I don't even like torta negra," her primo pouted. "It tastes like shoes."
"Stop licking shoes then, bobo," Elena laughed, before handing him a wrapped cocao roscone she'd had hidden in her pocket. "Share that with your brother, I know you don't like my ca--ack, Bruno!"
Bruno snickered guiltily as she swiped the icing he'd dotted her with off her nose. He hadn't wanted to spoil all of the fun, and accepted his fate when she paid him back with a swipe across an eyebrow. Teodor cut the cake and passed slices around as he chuckled and cleaned his face, giving Sofia a glare when she made a disgruntled noise at Elena's portion, the biggest piece. Bruno rolled his eyes at his suegra's dramatics. Of course the person who's birthday it was got the biggest piece. Or at least he assumed. He'd always had to split his cakes three ways, after all.
Olivia got up to take Emilio to bed, leaving Mariano with the adults. He was trying not to bounce in his seat, chatting back and forth between Elena and Julio about horses, trying to get Elena to agree to let him ride Ladrillo. Julio was all for letting him learn the hard way, now that Elena had a direct line to Julieta's healing food. Elena threw a papaya pip at him when their tía wasn't watching. There was a loud wail from the upstairs, Emilio clearly not ready for bed. A strange look came over Mariano's face, clearly just remembering something.
"Leni," he asked cautiously, looking between her and Bruno like he was puzzling out some tough math equation, "Leni, where's your baby?"
Bruno choked on his drink and Elena inhaled so sharply she began to cough as Julio cracked up, covering his face and excusing himself. Mariano just looked confused.
"What? What did I say? Aren't you supposed to have a baby?"
"Mariano what are you talking about?" Pilar simpered, giving Elena and Bruno an uncomfortably critical eye. Mariano shrugged.
"That's what's supposed to happen, right? They get married and then nine months later a baby shows up? It's been nine months!"
"Nah--Mariano, it...it doesn't work like that," Elena breathed, trying and failing to hide her severe blush. And to not strangle her cousin.
"Well how does it work, then? When am I getting a new cousin?" he demanded. Teodor finally stopped covering his laughter, clapping his son on the back and praying for patience.
"Come on, son, you and me should probably have a talk. Stop listening to your classmates. Sorry about this, Elena. Bruno."
Elena waved him off, shaking her head. Through some miracle Sofia didn't start in on them, likely because Hebér and Julio were still present. Bruno hated having to leave, but he'd wanted to surprise Elena. Hebér called him away, and he felt only slightly guilty about leaving her here with her mother and tía
"Where are you going?" Elena asked, sounding a little hurt. Her father shrugged. "Left my syrup at home. Bruno can make sure I don't cough my head off."
"Oh! Alright. Goodnight, Papá," she said, coming around to squeeze him. "And thank you."
"I'll be back soon," Bruno said, dipping away before pausing, only to turn back and press a kiss to the top of her head. That was something a spouse would do, wasn't it? He didn't know, but the reassured smile she gave him made him think it was worth it.
There was an awkward shuffling as Elena settled in to wait for him. Julio sat beside her on the couch as their Tía Pilar and her mother migrated to the kitchen for a final cafecito before her mother headed home for the night.
"Are you...doing alright, Leni?" Julio asked after a long moment, watching her fiddle with the little charm on her bookmark. She'd wanted to show at least one of them off. She nodded, still a little out of sorts from Bruno's little show of affection, trying to tamp down the floating feeling under her ribs again.
"I'm...good Lio. Still getting used to things but...good."
Julio ran his hands through his hair and slumped forward, looking into the middle distance. He sat like that for a long moment before turning to scrutinize her.
"You don't look it," he said finally. "You look like Tía did after Tío Salomón died."
"No I don't!"
"You do. You're all...covered up!"
"Julio, I'm married now. It's just...it's to be respectful."
"Leni that doesn't make any sense," he sighed. "Respectful to who? Him? What, is he making you dress like this?"
"No, Julio. It's...I don't know how to explain." She sighed, standing and making it clear she wanted him to go. "People...people barely took me seriously in the bibliotheca before. At least now with the degree and...this they look at me like I'm...Like I'm an adult. Like I'm taking my life seriously and they have too as well."
"Elena, you tried to sell Ladrillo. You were going to give up your degree. After marrying him. What am I supposed to think?"
"Bruno is the one that talked me into not doing that, Julio. I thought...I thought I had to...be like Mamá wanted to be. Like she wanted me to be."
"Tía Sofia wanted you to..."
"She didn't have to say it, Julio. You know she doesn't. Bruno...he pushes me, to be myself. I just...I'm just trying to figure out how to be myself and a good wife at the same time. It's hard."
Julio peered curiously at her, not quite understanding as he made his way to the door.
"But he's good to you? He's not..." he struggled with words trapped in his throat as he made a vague gesture at her. Elena sighed and rolled her eyes, punching him on the shoulder.
"No, you bobo. He doesn't even yell. He's never raised a hand to me. I don't care what Beatriz has told you, he's not chaining me up in the vision cave at night either, alright?"
Julio snorted, and Elena smiled to cover her insecurity. "We went into this blind, Julio. It'll take more than a few months to get used to each other."
"You can't blame me for worrying. You've changed so much."
"I know. I...I didn't mean to." She fell against his chest, letting him hold her tight, needing the support of her primo who may as well have been her twin. She stood and just absorbed his warmth for a long moment, pushing down the wish for it to be Bruno offering her this sort of comfort, before pulling away and shoving him.
"Didn't you have a date tonight? Why are you still talking to your boring vieja married cousin? Largarse! Vamo, vamo! Go, have a good night!"
Elena leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief after he was gone. She knew Bruno was coming back for her, he'd never be impolite enough to make her walk back to Casita on her own, but he couldn't come fast enough. She knew Olivia and Teodor were going to be busy with the boys for a while yet, and she didn't want to face her Tía or mother. She could hear them nattering away in the cocina, but couldn't make out the words. Curiosity got the better of her as she waited, and found herself sneaking through the house to hide against a dark corner, not wanting to be caught out. Her stomach sank to the floor immediately.
"...lucky, Pilar. Olivia took so much after you."
"Now, Sofia, Hebér is a handsome man. If I remember that's what drew you to him in the first place."
"And if our sons had lived they would have been handsome too," her mother agreed, Elena pressing her ear closer to hear, knowing she'd regret it but unable to stop. Her mother rarely spoke about los gamelos and she tried to absorb everything she could about her lost brothers, even if they'd never truly had a chance to live. She almost missed her tía speaking again.
"...sturdy, for sure, but she isn't ugly."
"She's as plain as the fields and pale as an uncooked roll."
"Surely Señor Madrigal finds something appealing about her. He agreed to the marriage easily enough."
"Easily? We practically had to drag an agreement out of him!"
"I thought the issue was her age, not her looks."
"After the way he spoke to me over...Hebér's mistake with the jewelry, it's clear he sees her as an adult."
"Then what's the worry?" Tía Pilar said, flummoxed. Elena felt her breath becoming shorter, but she couldn't turn away, her mouth wet and sour with dread.
"Pilar, we both had our issues afterwards, but neither of us made it past the first three months of marriage without conceiving. Neither did Olivia. Almost a year and nothing?"
"It could very well be him. You know the rumors around town. Even with his sister's gift it could be something that takes time to heal."
"He's barely in his thirties. I don't care if he does drink like a fish, he did with that foul Gonzalves woman and everyone knows they were about as celibate as rabbits!"
"Still, who knows what those visions do to him."
"Nothing but nosebleeds, according to Consuela Rivera. Don't look at me like that of course I asked."
Elena heard her tía huff as tears pricked at her eyes. She'd known they should have stayed at Casita. She'd known coming here was a bad idea, but she'd wanted so badly to see the boys on her birthday and now she had to listen to this. Her feet had grown roots and trapped her in place.
"Sofia, it seems unlikely still. Consuela and...Silvia are both...heavier."
"Consuela wasn't, when they were together, and Silvia had already had her children. Elena? She's built like she's had two already! And where does it come from? She just had to take after Hebér and his...disgraceful madre."
"Doña Pascual didn't seem so terrible growing up," tía Pilar said, but her mother cut her off as Elena bit on a knuckle to keep from crying.
"The woman ran away from a good life in the aristocracy for an illiterate field hand!"
"Sofia that's hardly fair with you and He--"
"Aht-shh shh shh! That is entirely different! And it doesn't matter besides. Pilar, you remember what we were like when we...after we were...introduced to love, lets say. I don't see any of that with Elena. None of it. It's like they're putting on a show. Like they're...solo amigos."
"They're both...a little odd, Sofia. Aren't you reading into this a little too much?"
"I am not. I thought maybe they were just...waiting to try for children. Elena said as much. But she doesn't even use Julieta's brevas con arequipe!"
"Elena told you this?" tía Pilar whispered, shocked. Elena put a hand to her chest, nausea rising. They didn't know. They couldn't know. Julieta was discreet about her contraceptives, she wouldn't tell anyone who was taking them. Would she? Elena slid to the floor. Maybe she would have, if the person asking was a concerned mother. She heard her mother's voice buzzing as the world closed in. They couldn't know. If they found out how terribly she was failing at being a wife she'd never live down the shame. Never live down the judgement that even Bruno Madrigal didn't want her. And that wasn't fair to him, but that's what they would say, what the town would say, dragging him further down when he was already floundering.
"She didn't have to. They brought the girls into the shops one day and let them roam around like hooligans. Dolores made it upstairs while I was making my own--you know they're my favorite--"
"Dolores told you? She's barely four!"
"And she lives in that house and has my daughter reading her to sleep some nights, eating across the table from her every morning. She asked for one since Julieta won't give them out at home and we...had a very interesting conversation."
"She's still so young..."
"Nothing inappropriate. Julieta is blunt about what her cooking does. Dolores knows it's 'so ladies can space out babies', and that's exactly how she phrased it."
"So there's no..."
"No contraceptives within a mile of Elena's mouth. If only that was the case for everything else."
"Sofia, don't be cruel,"
"She couldn't even wear my wedding dress, Pilar. It was too big for me even before I had to have it let out because of...well...She couldn't get it up past her hips to even attempt the waist."
"You really think Bruno is that shallow, that he'd ignore his own wife for her weight? He's no prize himself. He's so strange. And those rats! And that's before you even get to his looks. You can see his liver from a block away and that nose of his before that!"
"There isn't a man alive that doesn't think he can do better. And Bruno Madrigal is one of the few that actually could, no matter what he looks like. What woman in town wouldn't try for children with gifts? Even if they would come out half-looking like one of his foul little pets."
Elena clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent the hysterical laughter that threatened to betray her. Nausea and rage bubbled side by side in her stomach, and she didn't care if she was caught out as she ran to the baño.
She emptied her stomach into the bowl and wept furious, burning tears. They had no right, no right at all to talk about Bruno like that! They didn't know what he put up with from the town, didn't see the fear people had of him, all for something he couldn't help. She heaved again as the memory churned in her mind.
She'd seen the aftermath of his visions, the bloody noses and the haunted eyes. The occasional bruises he'd tried to hide before giving in and asking for her help. She'd go to Juli and return with a bottle of iodine and tweezers and a plate of food. The first time he asked, he went to the mirror of the dresser she barely used to pick shards of emerald from his scalp and dab at splits in the skin.
"It happens sometimes, querida," he'd said, flinching at giving her a nickname or at the sting she couldn't tell. "They get bad news, they can't handle it. And...I get a vision plate to the head."
"They shouldn't touch you! And Julieta knows?"
"They all know," he shrugged, "We tried to keep it under control. It...It's easier to just pretend it doesn't happen."
"The vision cave is forever away up those stairs, Bruno! What if you get hurt and we don't know for hours?" He hadn't said anything, looked like he was struggling with himself, before shaking his head.
"I usually have something on me, Elena. It's fine. Today I...today I forgot."
The next time it had happened, maybe a month later, it had been Joaquin Ruiz, and he hadn't used the vision plate. Elena had heard them coming down the stairs, Bruno trying to deflect and dodge punches as Joaquin dragged him by his torn shirt. Elena had dashed up the flight between them and kneed him between the legs before using all of her strength to shove him away, letting him fall the floor and a half to the sand below and hearing the satisfying snpp of his ankle. She'd gotten Bruno laid out on his bed before bolting down the stairs, ignoring Joaquin's swearing, shouting for Félix.
She hadn't watched as her cuñado dragged the man out of their room, hadn't bothered to explain what had happened. Let him tell the town she was crazy, half of them thought it already anyway. She'd taken the things that Julieta had given her and, ignoring Bruno's protests as well, manhandled him into letting her take care of him.
"I don't care that you can do it yourself, which you can't, because your hand looks broken, I'm doing it for you. You want to be my friend so badly, this is what I do. I take care of my friends. Now sit down and quit squirming before I get iodine in your eye!"
The strangest look had crossed his face, irritated and bemused and intrigued all at once, but he'd done as she'd asked as she sat beside him and daubed a split in his eyebrow.
"Que carajo did he ask that had him that riled up? Joaquin's an ass but he's lazy."
"Dating a Rosario never ends well."
"Paola again?"
"Claudia."
Elena nodded at the information and sighed, motioning for him to open his shirt. She hadn't seen it, but everyone knew Joaquin carried a knife, and Bruno was the particular mix of stubborn and stupid enough to cover it up. He had several sizable bruises blooming and a cut along his collarbone, but was otherwise fine, and she ignored the fluttering in her stomach at the smell of his cologne, amplified so close by his sweat and warmth.
"No more of this, Bruno. I know...I know it's not my place but...this can't keep happening."
"I can't just...not give visions. I have to do my part to help the community."
"When they treat you like this?"
"Well..."
"No well, Bruno! You just tell them what happens! You aren't going to go out there and sleep with Claudia Rosaria to make it a reality!" She kept the unbidden thought of 'I hope' unspoken. Claudia was certainly far prettier than she'd ever be, but she had to believe Bruno's aversion of real life drama would keep him away. Had to remind herself that he was a good man and tamp down the fear that she had come between him and someone he’d cared for but kept silent about for the sake of peace.
"Of course not, I have a...Well of course I won't," he soothed, sensing her silent anger and taking the plate of food she gave him. "But I still can't stop. Mamá wouldn't let me hear the end of it."
"Then take someone up there with you."
"I'm not going to let them go after you."
"I didn't mean me,” she said sadly, though she wished it was her that he would trust. "Félix, or Agustín. I can ask Teodor, he'd be glad to help if we had a schedule."
She watched as Bruno hedged on the point and ate, the bruises and cuts sealing rapidly. She could see again the puckering scar across his chest, and realized why it bothered her so much.
“You shouldn’t have that,” she said, gesturing to it. Bruno shrugged and adjusted his shirt. “Who…who did that to you? Over your heart?”
Bruno had worked his jaw for a long moment before taking her hand and placing her palm flat against the scar. Her heart banged against the inside of her chest and she was sure she was burning up. Bruno grinned ruefully.
“It…was a little bit of a team effort.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“Be careful with vision shards, chispita. They cut deep, and Julieta can’t heal them all the way.”
“This is…from a vision?”
He sighed and raised his eyebrows up, pointing at the opposite wall with his lips, to the three frames mounted their by the house. A wedding photo she couldn’t remember taking, A picture of her and Julio with their family, one of the few she had of her own, and the mounted vision plate, glowing the same gentle green as his eyes when upset.
“From tha--from our vision. Your father split the tablet but…I’m the anxious idiot that tripped down the stairs holding a chunk of it.”
Elena dared and stroked her thumb lightly over the scar before retreating, knowing he didn’t want the contact, knowing the reason for his fear, even almost four years separated from it.
“Because I was…Bruno I’m so sorry.”
He’d peered at her curiously before surprising her, pulling her into an embrace and holding her still for a tortuously, wonderfully long moment, whispering in her ear, “Not your fault. Never your fault.”
She came back to reality with the cold porcelain touching her cheek, her nose burning with acid and her throat raw. She felt lighter. The nausea was mostly gone, and her chest felt more open. Relief, she realized slowly as she flushed away her mess and rinsed her mouth at the little sink. This was relief. She felt…better. She moved too fast to the door and the nausea rolled again, but she was prepared. It was nothing to induce the reaction again and empty herself of the rest of her meals of the day. Her heart beat faster, but the gentle pulsing behind her eyes and the floating feeling in her head pulled her along gently, the pressing trepidation easing and letting her move without the twisting in her gut that had driven her into the baño in the first place.
She’d been trying to change the wrong things. Or not focusing on the correct things first. She could do this. She could follow through with this and make him see her. She wasn’t going to let her mother be proven right, and she’d be the one to throw it in her face. She could change. She had already. What was a little bit of hunger when she might actually earn real affection at the end of it? She’d even be able to fit into the skirt Bruno had gifted her.
She made her way back to the sofa to wait for Bruno with a new resolve strengthening her spine, a vine wrapping around each vertebrae and bolstering her into almost proper posture. She set about reading one of her gifts from her mother, ignoring the gorge that rose as she picked through the words, absorbing as best she could the advice on how to be a diligent wife. If she closed her eyes, shut out the sound from her ears, she could almost ignore the sensation of termites as they began to gnaw.
Bruno smiled to himself as he looked at his work. Masonry nails made new divots into the bottom of the stones at his room as ropes stretched across them, some frayed and graying and others fresh. An assortment of baubles and wooden toys hung from long hooks in the rock, dangling over the empty space he’d created in the divot. His hands hurt from the effort, but he had to hope that it would go appreciated.
He’d taken no time at all to take the ropes down at the Pascual’s loft, Hebér helping as best he could without setting off his cough. The older man had given him some insight as they’d worked.
“Should have gone out to you as soon as the honeymoon was over,” he said, cooing softly at the bit of feather perching on his hand, nibbling at the nub of his missing finger.
“Elena…said she was Sofia’s pet,”
“Oh, she would. But Chacha hasn’t been bonded to Sofia in years, not since Lenita was little. No, this ball of squawk is hers now. And yours again, I suppose.”
“Again?” Bruno had said in confusion. Hebér had laughed and startled the parrot, who flapped in aggravation.
“You probably don’t remember. You got so mad I married your babysitter you bashed my shins and ran off. Found you in a tree hours later with this ugly little thing with only half her feathers, blown away in a storm. You gave her to us.”
“I…en serio? I kicked you and then gave you a bird?”
“You were only four.”
“Still…”
Hebér began wrapping Chacha’s toys for travel. “Sofia had…she’d hoped you three would be friends with…with our boys. The bird was a comfort then but…well there’s a reason she loves Elena so much. She’s missed her, this last year.”
Bruno wound ropes, unable to speak. A connection he didn’t even remember. Sofia babysitting them all yes, but not the parrot, not the wedding or kicking the big man that was now his suegro. Disquiet had washed over him, the feeling of pieces slotting into place somewhere he couldn’t quite sense. He twisted his wedding band.
“I think…I think Elena has missed her too. She’s…” He didn’t know how to finish without incriminating himself, without letting free the knowledge he ignored, the truth that he was the cause for at least some of how Elena was acting. He knew that this wouldn’t help matters, bringing her beloved pet into Casita and trying to make her feel more at home, but he couldn’t bear seeing her absolutely miserable. He’d hated himself for it once he’d realized it, but he’d slipped into dangerous waters asking for friendship, childish as it had been.
He had come to look forward to seeing the gap in her teeth that she only showed when she laughed. He’d found himself longing to see her smile and for him to be the one to make it happen. He’d started leaving little things he thought she would like where she would find them, never in ways that he couldn’t blame on the house, though he’d received a hundred tile-pinched toes and more whacks to the head by the cabinets than he could count.
He hated himself so, so deeply that he couldn’t stop the dreams. No matter what he did or how much he tried to embalm himself with aguardiente. His hair had never been cleaner from how much washing it had gotten in cold showers taken at all hours of the night. He suspected, though for reasons that eluded him his once-feisty little wife hadn’t mentioned it, that he’d given himself and his initial lie to her away long before she’d agreed to compromise.
He didn’t deserve her. He’d come to that conclusion immediately, and the evidence of his failure as a husband continued to pile up. She treated him well in spite of himself. She was actually concerned when he came down from doing visions hurt and did her best to care for him, whether he wanted the care or not. She hadn’t done it much, but when something really rankled her she spoke her mind about it. She called him out on his idiocy when she could, when it didn’t concern their marriage, which after the incident at the teatro she showed no desire to rehash.
She was good to his sisters and amazing with his sobrinas. She even managed to avoid his mother’s judgement for her attitude. He took a guilty pleasure in watching his mother’s reaction to her pottymouth when she thought he wasn’t around. Not that she swore at his mother, but once she’d opened up a little to Félix and Agustín, or on the rare occasions her primo visited, or when some painful little inconvenience happened, she could make a whore blush. He’d nearly given himself away snorting when she’d turned Julio green after describing the anatomical knotwork she’d do if he even attempted pairing up with one of the Rosarios. And he hated admitting the swearing tickled the same corner of his brain where the dog lay sleeping but alert, waiting for it's chance to wake up and driving the dreams he couldn't escape.
She deserved more than whatever sad little life she thought she’d be able to convince him into. He hoped she’d see past the gesture, so late in coming, to the fact that a decent husband would have insisted she make herself at home before the ink dried on the certificate. Hoped that she’d see this as some patronizing, placating motive and get rightfully angry at him for it.
Hebér had let him get lost in thought, getting everything packed up before petting the bird one last time. “You’re going home to Elena, old girl. Keep an eye on these two, hm?” he rumbled before gently tossing her out the window to fly away.
Now Chacha was strutting through the sand and kicking up little plumes as she chittered happily, looking all too pleased with herself. He dusted his hands off before hearing the churchbell in the distance and flinching, realizing how long he'd left Elena at her tía's, bolting for the door and knowing he'd messed up. He was halfway out of Casita when he almost ran into her. She gave him an interminably hurt look before flashing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. He mumbled some pitiful apology as he took her things, following her as she made her way to the room. There was a slightly sickly pallor to her skin that he couldn't place, but from her eyes he suspected she'd been crying. She froze as she reached the stairs and was accosted by Chacha, who squawked and beat her wings before snuggling into Elena's hair, beaking at pins. Elena froze in shock, turning her eyes to him in confusion as she took in the new addition to the room, the ropes and toys hung across the stone wall.
"I...I thought maybe you...maybe you missed her," he shrugged, his hands too full to reach out. He grinned, but it fell as her lip wobbled and she darted up the stairs, bird barely holding on. He heard the distinct slamming of a door. He stood stupidly for a moment before making his way tiredly up the stairs behind. He didn't understand her, he never would, and this just proved it. He set her gifts down on the dresser beside his, groaning in aggravation as he found a bottle of tequila and poured himself a triple, trying to puzzle out what had just happen as he fumed.
Maybe she'd gotten scared. Moving in her pet could certainly be a sign he'd finally accepted she was staying. Maybe it was the shock back to reality she needed. Who wanted to be tied to some sad old man in his sad, dusty rooms forever? Maybe she would see sense now, with someone safe to bounce ideas off of--he knew well enough the parrot couldn't talk but was frighteningly intelligent for a few ounce ball of feathers. Maybe she was making plans right now, in the little room that only let enough sound out for him to still hear her sobs. Plans to leave, to tell him where to take himself as she did, plans to meet up with one of the young men in town that would actually be able to give her a life.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that this was for the best, burned the thought into his brain with the alcohol, maybe then it wouldn't hurt quite so badly.
Elena couldn't stop the flow of tears as she lay on her bed, Chacha now hopping around her head, still pulling out pins, but giving out an occasional worried coo now and then. Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt. She knew she should have actually said something instead of running off like a crazy woman, but she'd been so overcome at the sight of her pet she hadn't been able to keep it in.
She'd wanted to bring Chacha with her so badly when she'd come to live at Casita, but her mother had dissuaded her.
"Surely the man has enough little creatures running around, he doesn't need another."
"But Mamá, I've been caring for Cheech for years! You have so much trouble with your hands, it would be easier."
"Your father can handle what I can't. Por dios Elena, the man already needs convincing you aren't a child. How is it going to look if you come bringing a pet like you can't live without her?"
"She's my pet too, Mamá. It's not fair."
"This isn't about fair. It's about the image of it all. Alma has to drag him to the Pre-Cana as it is. Do you really want to give him more ammunition to bring to the Padre about how you aren't ready for this?"
"No!" Elena had pouted, knowing she was right.
"Good. Because you decided not to wait, and it was the right decision, no matter what Bruno thinks of you now. The vision is clear as day, and he'll see sense once you've moved to Casita. He can't very well ignore you in the same room."
It hurt, thinking about how wrong her mother had been. That Bruno had ignored her, for months. That he still was, to a degree. Things had been better since he'd stopped treating her like an sleeping pit viper. Since they'd been able to at least talk and laugh together. Her head was spinning. First the beautiful bookmarks. Not jewelry, but good quality gold and worth almost at least half of what they'd settled on her mother's account. And now Chacha. She turned and wiped her face, watching as her parrot flattened herself against the pillow and chittered, letting herself be petted.
"Oh, Cheech, I have so much to tell you." The bird quirked her head, curious. Elena never could tell how much she understood, but any bird smart enough to identify merchants by face to know which ones to harass for her favorite treats had to have more brains than the average bird.
"I really want you to like him. Don't look at me like that," she laughed, Chacha clacking her beak in irritation. "I'm happy here, Cheech. It's better than home by...so much. And Bruno is...he makes me laugh. He lets me relax. He doesn't mind that I read so much."
Chacha made a grackling noise and looked around, as if to say 'so why are you in a different room?' Elena couldn't help reading it that way, looking around herself and hating the little room Casita made her. It was little more than a bed, with a window on one wall and a little shelf and some hooks for her things. She didn't think about the little carved animals stuffed in a pillow case under her bed, hidden when she'd realized out in the open how childish they were. She sighed, rueful.
"He's...he's been distant, but it's my fault, mostly. But I think he's finally coming around! He...We talk now! I think he can...I want...I just want him to like me, Cheech," she finished lamely, sitting up and petting the downy feathers of Chacha's back. "I know he has trouble seeing me as an adult, but...It's been almost a year. I think he's coming around."
Chacha rolled her head and chittered again, and Elena snorted, taking it to mean an emphasis on the room, before Chacha flapped away and tugged at something in the pillowcase. The green negligee. Elena blushed in spite of herself, having forgotten she'd stuffed the thing in there as extra padding. Elena fell back on the bed, prodding hatefully at the softness of her stomach, swallowing down the slight burn in her throat and the hollow feeling under her ribs.
"There's nothing wrong with a man wanting a pretty wife. I just have to get rid of...all of this. I...can't do much about...about my face but...I can do something about this."
'Just help me stay strong enough to do it,' she thought to no one in particular. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Bruno's face, whenever in the future she could show him, that she'd dropped the unattractive weight, that she could put in the effort. She'd seen hints, when he was too tired, or too inebriated, to hide his gaze entirely. But his eyes, the gentle glow that told on him more than he realized, always guttered out before they'd swept over her fully. And Bruno never spoke of it the next day, likely didn't remember it. At least that's what she told herself. She didn't want to think about him purposefully not thinking about it.
She turned and ran her finger down Chacha's beak and smiled. He was coming around. He had to be. He wouldn't have brought her Chacha in secret on her birthday if he didn't have some sort of feelings for her. She could meet him halfway. That's what spouses did, wasn't it? Make compromises? She could compromise on this. She had to. She wasn't going to fail as a wife. She couldn't. She wanted that future she'd seen in the vision, no matter how far away it was. And the future didn't allow for failure.
Chapter 5
Summary:
Over the three months leading to their first anniversary, Bruno's health improves as he tries to give up a vice, and he makes a startling realization that might change how he sees his wife.
Elena has been suffering in silence, her mother's harsh words feeding on her insecurities and making things worse for her mentally and physically, and she's approaching a breaking point
Chapter Text
Bruno watched from the aisle as Elena read to a pack of young children. She had chosen one of the rainbow bound fairy books, and the little ones hung on her every word as she twisted her voice to that of an evil witch or tried to deepen it for a noble knight. It was a newer arrangement, set up with Señor Alvarez. They hadn't settled on a day, but the principal had noticed the younger children, even with plenty of play periods, tended to get antsy around lunch. He'd tried various other things before turning to the bibliotheca, but the children were rambunctious even after running energy off, and inattentive. The last two weeks of these little reads, and the weeklong threat of not being able to go if they misbehaved, had begun working. Bruno had been pleased. Elena loved reading to the kids, and if she half stupefied them with heavy hot cocoas afterwards, the teachers they returned to got restive, more attentive students.
Señor Alvarez, always old school even when his partner was the one to arrange and help complete Elena's illicit degree, had congratulated him on having such a clever wife, like it was Bruno's influence and not Elena's own brains that had gotten her there. He'd had to correct the man.
"It's all her, Cristobal. Most I've had to do with it is stay out of her way."
"Got the degree all on her own, eh? I taught you Bruno, I recognize your atrocious handwriting."
"All I did was proof-read. Every idea and word is Elena's. Don't make less of what she's done."
"Alright, alright, Señor Madrigal. Dios sabe I know her brains well enough. Where she got them is another question."
Bruno shrugged. A few months before he might have been tempted to say Sofia, but the fiasco of dealing with her debt and the resulting iciness he couldn't in good conscience bring it up.
He worried for her, in spite of himself. Something had been off since her cumpleaños, and he couldn't place just what. He studied her as she continued to read, trying to put his finger on it. He had noticed lately she'd gotten chilled more easily, and more irritable, though the latter could have simply been long overdue aggravation at him. He should have been, well, certainly not thrilled, but at least relieved that Elena was finally getting fed up with him, but in reality it just hurt. He hadn't deserved her when they'd first married and he certainly didn't now, after doing his best to drive her away for a year. She'd taken it all in stride, and for whatever reason had never given up on him. Nothing he'd done, nothing he hadn't done, had changed her mind that he was worth her time. And slowly, traitorously, some part of his mind had started to agree with her.
It had crept under his skin like an itch, easy enough to ignore at first, to set aside and distract his mind away from it. He'd meant what he'd set out to do. He'd never wavered in his belief that she should have run, should have refused. That she shouldn't have pinned her hopes on an old man who'd spent the last five years of his life trying to drink himself into the early grave he deserved. She'd shown more grace towards him than he deserved, and he'd never known what to do with that.
It had come to a head like it always did; after a vision.
One of the younger couples in town had come to him after seeing Julieta and Doctor Rivera, trying to find some sort of hope that they'd be able to have a family. They were healthy and honest people, he a field hand and she a laundress. Hard working but good people. True infertility was rare in the Encanto, nonexistent as far as he knew, some general gift of the Miracle as far as he could tell, but occasionally people had to wait and try for years or even decades to have a family. The vision had been terrible. He'd reached so far, too far, through time to see when they would finally, finally be gifted with a child. The migraine had bloomed harsh and immediately, the nosebleed following soon after. It hadn't helped put the couple at ease, both already nervous from his eyes and the nature of their question.
He had shown them loss after loss after loss. Shown them growing older. Shown them fighting and separating before coming back together. They were young, still in their twenties, but both had aged considerably, gray hair showing even through the vision before they welcomed a living set of twins.
The woman had wept, the man had been furious, demanding why he would show them such awful things, why he would curse them to years of pain, what gave him the right to doom their children like this? Bruno, too weary from the vision and trying to get his nose to stop fountaining blood, woozy and sick to his stomach, had taken the abuse until they'd left, the woman clutching the vision of her holding her twins like a lifeline even as her husband swore and guided her down the stairs, trying to sooth her weeping.
He'd been brusque as he made his way down the stairs, waving Elena off as she fluttered around him, trying to care for him. He was in no mood for being taken care of, and had chased her off stubbornly. He'd made his way to the bar, the first time he hadn't sequestered his drinking to home in months, and proceeded to make a colossal ass of himself over the hours. He had drowned down the abuse and the sadness for the couple. The anger over the husband's accusations. He only saw what was to come. He'd only ever seen. He'd no more caused them their pain than he'd caused the trench warfare in the Somme that the world had been so psychically aware of that even hidden in secret mountains in the depths of Colombia he'd been thrown into an involuntary vision of it at barely sixteen. With that memory, and the memory of the couple's sorrow, and especially the hurt look on Elena's face as he'd brushed her off, he made a mission of drinking enough mezcal that the burn of it numbed his tongue and he forgot how to count, only able to predict the next little tumbler.
He didn't quite remember how he'd made it home; snatches of memory. That alone told him how much he'd drunk, because he'd never before been so out of it he'd forgotten. Angry shouting. His feet stumbling as someone dragged him back to Casita. A soft bed and a warm cloth washing his face. A soft form beside him that he'd been unable to avoid wrapping himself around, his fried brain unable to remember why he was supposed to not want to.
He'd slept it off for two days, and had come to so ashamed of himself that he, after Elena had left for the shops, had found his little stashes, the bottles hidden in odd places, and taken them all down to the cocina. Félix had stopped constructing his torta to stare at him as he'd laid it all out.
"Are we having a party?" He'd tried to tease as he sorted by type, and he groaned.
"Félix I...I can't do this again. I feel like I've been trampled. What...how did I make it home?"
"You don't remember?"
"No. No I don't. And that...That scares me," He'd admitted, sinking to sit on the floor. Félix sat beside him, handing him a fresh arepa from the plate Julieta always left at the house.
"For your head. You're very lucky, you know."
"Why, because I managed not to break my neck crawling back?"
"Because your wife doesn't mind cleaning up after you."
"El-Elena had to...Clean up what? What did I do?"
"Besides lay in bed moaning like a leper for two days? Nothing but make a fool of yourself. Little Arturo had to come let us know you'd finished a fifth of mezcal on your own! You could have died from that, you idiot."
He hung his head, knowing he was right. Even at his worst, he'd never downed more than half a bottle of spirits on their own. He felt like, if he'd had anything in it, his gut would have been turning.
"And...Elena...?"
"Went and got you. Dragged me with her. Not sure why, the woman's a terror. Tore Jose a new asshole and dragged Esteban down to tear into him too. Hauled you home herself, wouldn't let me touch you. She stayed with you. Took care of you. She only asked me for help a couple of times."
He could tell Félix had wanted to ask something else, but his cuñado shook his head, almost sensing his hesitance. "She's very...respectful of your privacy, if that's what you're worried about. Why I don't know, you've been married a year almost."
"Her...her abuelos..." he muttered, the answer coming to him automatically. Elena hadn't intended to tell him, but one night, after she'd been the one to overindulge in a sweet wine they'd had over dinner, she'd admitted some fears about her parents and their health. The fear of them becoming both insane and invalids as their health failed. Afraid of the violent senility her abuelo Patrico had presented that had left both her and her mother with bruises and Sofia with a broken arm until Elena had taken over their care. The long practice in tamping down nausea at changing and cleaning a grown adult that could and often did fight against her, to the point even she'd given in and had Julio help her in Patrico's final days. He stumbled through an explanation and Félix nodded.
"Like Carlota with her abuela then, can't stand the sight of an adult like that. Poor thing."
Bruno buried his head in his arms and heaved a sigh before staring into the middle distance. "And I go and do this. I can't keep doing this. To her. It's not fair to her."
"It's not fair to you either, but nobody can blame you."
"She can," Bruno groaned, but Félix only shrugged, standing and leaving Bruno to sit on the floor as he went back to making his torta and starting on a second one, knowing Bruno would be starving.
"She doesn't though. I don't know if you've let her see a vision or not yet but...ah, she loves you. Might know what you've had to see. That drinking is your only vice? Understandable."
Bruno's heart flopped like a dying bird at Félix' assertion, but he pushed it down. Elena gave too much of herself, too often. From the outside it was an easy assumption to make, though he knew better.
"She's been through enough. Doesn't need to understand." Bruno said miserably. Been through enough, and he was the cause of half of it, recently at least. He hated the thought of the pain he might have been causing her, the pain he'd definitely caused her, he could admit to himself outside of the alcoholic fog. It was easier not to think about it at all. Félix held out his hand and pulled Bruno up from the floor, handing him a plate.
"You want help with it, you can always ask mi tío," he offered.
"Leonel?" Bruno asked, though he knew Félix had little family outside his own in the Encanto. Félix just nodded. "Oh si. He got the dog under control before I left home. Never told me why he had it. Figured he saw something when we were leaving el caribe. Too young to remember."
"I've seen Leonel drink though?"
"Ah, you know what the Encanto is like. But he's found a limit that works for him. You'll never see him drink more than three of anything at a time, and that's reasonable."
They ate in silence for a time, Bruno fighting against the itch under his skin to reach for one of the bottles he'd brought down. But he resisted the urge. It was a step. Maybe he would ask Leonel after all.
"How's she doing, by the way? Elena. Is she alright?"
"Why do you ask? She's...she's fine." Bruno asked, wary. She wasn't. He knew there was something bothering her. Elena had a tendency to slip and say more than she meant to, he'd seen her flinch in embarrassment at revealing things she'd probably rather have kept secret, but it was a minor mortification. Bigger secrets, however, she could keep under lock and key, rankling and banging against whatever bars she locked them behind in her mind until they broke free. He'd seen her anger only rarely, some secret shame or fear keeping it trapped firmly under her control. More often than not it had been turned towards him, a lightning flash of red rage across her face before she schooled her features. But he'd grown used to it, and more, he looked forward to it, whether it was turned on him or not. It reminded him that she was human, and not the carefully curated marble statue he found himself living with.
She had never pulled away as companionable affection bloomed between them, the gossamer lie of friendship, but while his heart had betrayed him and grown warmer the closer they came to their first anniversary, hers had begun to cool. She was kind, and sweet, and as far as he could tell, happy. The addition of her parrot had left her smiling for days. And she had begun teaching the old thing tricks with his rats, something to entertain the children that came to her reading days in the bibliotheca. But she refused his help in training them. She spent time away from Casita, arguably to exercise her horse and then go for a walk, but she rarely came home with the scent of the stables on her. She had become nervous at meals, and would disappear afterwards, for longer than what chores she said she was doing accounted for.
Part of him, the part still desperately clinging to the dying hope that she would grow tired of him, whispered that maybe his negligence had finally worked out. Maybe she had found one of the young men in town more appealing than an incapable or at least unwilling husband. The other part of him, in the majority now even as his logic tried and failed to beat it back, clamored that it couldn't be that. That Elena was too faithful even when she had no reason to be. That she took too much care of him, cared too much for him in spite of his idiocy. That whatever it was that had her shrinking away was nothing to do with a young man or an infidelity, and was likely some shadow of her own, souring and congealing in her mind. He wished he knew which side to believe. At least then he could focus on only one hurt, and know which way to go instead of living in every which way. Félix let him stew in his thoughts for a time before interrupting the churn of uncertainty.
"Are you sure? She's been acting...strange lately. Always cold. Turning food down. She's not preñada, is she?"
Bruno choked, throat instantly dry, fumbling to the sink for water. "Of course not!" he snapped, not giving voice to the thought that if she was, it certainly wasn't by him, before slamming the thought away angrily, furious with himself for entertaining even thinking about Elena so poorly. He could feel the dubious expression Félix was giving him, and swore internally, still keeping the pretense that no one could know.
"It's been almost a year, and even Juli's commented on Elena never getting any of the stuff she makes."
"There's more...more options than just that," Bruno grumbled, vague to avoid any accusations. He knew now that he'd crumple and admit his year of fantastical stupidity if pressed even slightly. Félix only laughed and punched his shoulder.
"Ha, you dog! I bet she's wild, that temper of hers." Félix mused. Bruno shoved him, not entirely friendly, the dog in his chest rearing up.
"Still my wife, pendejo. Cut it out."
"Okay, okay, didn't mean anything by it. She's young, might as well let her have her fun with you. Don't wait too long, the girls are getting anxious for new primos."
"That's...up to her," Bruno said, realizing then it was the truth. He'd given up control of his life to Elena, even if she didn't realize it yet. Even if he'd barely realized it himself. Félix nodded in understanding, but said nothing more, and Bruno was grateful. He shook his head and wandered away, leaving his food and the alcohol to sit. "Do what you want with it. I don't want to know."
He'd spent days miserable, after that. Sick, sweating, shaking, sometimes so strongly he couldn't leave his bed. He'd vomited every meal he'd ever eaten, and dreamt of wild things, his eyes burning as he saw futures branching out in fractals, cracking and splitting and recombining in the most unlikely ways. People he didn't know, people he'd never met, futures he'd never have, or had, or might have had if the past had been different, if he'd made a left instead of a right. Paths twining and combining and constricting and building worlds in his head.
And futures within reach. Futures with Elena. As she was now. As she would be in a few years, in twenty, in a world more modern than the one they lived now. He watched as themes and characters recurred and rewound and rewrote themselves into the threads of their lives. Watched as Elena suffered, as he suffered, as his, their familia suffered. As Elena's parents passed. Saw attacks on the road. Wondered at the sights of Bogota beside Elena.
Watched as children that clearly belonged to them flitted in and out of their lives, the only constants a dark haired little boy and his sisters, calm red and bold gold. Here another blonde with green eyes. There a stout, boisterous boy and a dark, sullen little girl. There another girl, not either of theirs and theirs all the same, sweet and quiet. Loses and loves and a life that he could have if he'd just reach out and grab it, all seen in the fever dreams of withdrawal. He was marginally aware of Elena on the periphery of his dreams, helping him up and down, helping him to eat. Helping him clean himself when he couldn't reach the bucket she'd provided. Cool rags washing his face and gentle fingers combing through his hair as she sang, her voice a surprising alto and soothing to his frayed nerves.
He cursed himself as his heart thudded in his chest at the swirl of sorrow soaked memories. He'd never felt it this strongly before, the worldwide and fatal weakness that ended any sensible man's lonely life and brought him into a new incarnation of himself. He'd done exactly what he'd set out not to do, what he'd known he was doomed to fall to no matter how he fought. He could only see the future, not truly change it, and the future had solidified into stone before him years before. He watched as Elena closed her book to the calls of "more, more!" from the little ones, laughing as the youngest and most enthusiastic in the gaggle of school children rushed forward to bury her in little hugs. He clutched at the little velvet box in his pocket, the evidence of his wonderful failure, and let the breaking, shattering feeling encompass his chest as he hung back, just watching.
She was so gentle with them all, even the bratty one that kept flicking the ear of the child he could only assume was his little brother. She sat the brothers apart and passed out cocoas and some of her friend Carlita's roscones. He listened as she asked questions, testing the children on what they'd listened to and how well they'd paid attention. He watched as her gaze followed them out wistfully when their teacher escort came to get them. And he saw, in the ghosts of his imagination, the images his fevered mind had created, of a line of little heads, each one smaller than the last, down the counter. Saw Elena as he'd seen her in the vision, a little older, a little heavier, and worlds happier than he was making her now.
He had stopped lying to himself, mostly, though he still, like a coward, clung to the hope enough that she would tire of him and his nonsense. Not for her sake, the lie he'd told from the beginning. No longer for her age, though he doubted he'd ever be truly comfortable with the years between them. But for his own cowardly heart. He'd known, the moment he had the vision, the moment it was discovered, and even now, that he was little more than a consolation prize of life. Knew his desperation had been to protect himself. If she loved him, but he hadn't cared for her, and chased her away, he could live with that. If he loved her, but she had never returned it and ran, he could have lived with that too, though it would have taken longer to recover.
But the overarching fear, that he could love her, could feel her love in return, and the risk of her realizing that she deserved a hundred, a thousand times better than a scrawny, heartsick, weak old man that couldn't even bear the thought of loneliness, that forced it upon himself as some measure of predictability and control. He feared now that it was the final option that was coming to pass, could feel lead beginning to gather in the chambers of his heart. The truth was he didn't know how to face his life. Had lingered too long in trying to convince Elena of something that her stubborn heart had fought him on at every turn. But even the mountains had a breaking point, and while Elena had a molten, stony strength under the surface, it hadn't yet solidified into the deep, worldly-rooted ferocity he'd seen in visions and dreams. Tied to him so early, it might never have the chance, and as it was now, may have cooled too quickly and become shale and flint and sand. Sharp and cutting, but easily crumbled.
It had taken a year of denial and warring against himself, and her. He wondered how long it would have taken with no fear, without the interference of their parents and the vision and without the inconvenience of a marriage neither of them were ready for. The ache where his heart lived told him it wouldn't have taken long. Time knew the paths it would take, and like water always took the easiest one.
He loved her, and it terrified him.
Elena sighed as the last of the little ones left, keeping an eye on Bruno in the aisle. He hadn't left, and she'd have to actually eat something for comida today. It was easy enough to cover up when he stayed at Casita for visions. Her mother would assume she'd stuffed herself with Carlita's experiments and wouldn't cook enough for her upstairs. She'd been careful. Wrapping a meal to go or skipping breakfast entirely wasn't unusual for her now, so no one suspected or noticed that what she took was less. A naranja for herself, the arepas or buñuelos given to her father. He could always use the extra healing, and claiming her eyes had been too big for her belly wasn't strange. Coffee, brewed strong and nursed all day could fill in the emptiness gnawing at her stomach. No one ever noticed the café girl drinking coffee, after all.
It had been hard, at first, and she'd found herself slipping away after meals to purge herself of them more often than not in the first days after the birthday dinner. She'd wanted to be angry at her mother, to storm up to her the next day or the next and tell her she was full of shit, but the nagging voice in her head held her back. Her mother had been right. Her weight was the first thing anyone noticed about her, before her ugly voice or her sickly pale skin or her stubborn nature. Bruno had had to drink himself stumbling just to face marrying her, aguardiente on his breath even as he barely kissed her at the ceremony. She'd begged Casita for a full length mirror, mounting it on her door once the house had found it. She'd hated what she'd seen.
She hadn't thought she was that bad, in the slivers of reflection she'd caught in smaller mirrors and windows, but having the reality of her body shown to her made her sick. Her wide thighs that touched down to her knees. The dimpling of her buttocks, too wide themselves. The pendulousness of her breasts. The softness of her stomach and the pink, ugly lines across her, everywhere weight sat. The baby fatness of her face, still making her look like a child. The pallor of her skin, not the rich bronze of her mother's or even the light caramel of her father's, but the pasty, pink, spotted hide of an axlotl. Maybe her abuelo Saúl had thought it pretty when he'd run away with her grandmother, but he had to have been a rarity. Her mother had always despaired at how she burned and speckled in the sun. She couldn't do anything about that. Even if she roasted herself in the sun she'd only speckle more. But she could stay quiet. She could submit like a wife was supposed to. She could lose the weight.
She'd seen Bruno's surprised look when she'd dropped enough to properly fit into the yellow skirt he'd bought her, and she made a point to wear it more often. Maybe he liked the color on her. She'd been too afraid to ask, and disheartened when she realized how much she had left to lose. She knew she'd never be as small as her mother, even if she stopped eating entirely. The bones of her hips were too wide, her shoulders and ribs broader, traits from her father. But she could try. She didn't have to look like she'd already had two children when she'd likely never have any unless she could succeed in turning Bruno's head.
She'd redoubled her efforts, taking long hikes in the mountains in the evenings, better to burn off what she couldn't purge, visiting Ladrillo as often as she could without Julio getting suspicious. She hadn't accounted for how cold and how tired she'd begun to feel. It was easier to simply drink another coffee and layer her clothes than deal with it, even though the extra layers hid any progress she'd made and the caffeine made her jittery after too much. A permanent ache had settled under her ribs. It was easy enough to tell herself it was nothing. All the better, she'd thought, one especially good day when the floating feeling had taken over and she'd lay in her lonely bed, too tired even to imagine some erotic escapade with Bruno. She could come to him with her new body and surprise him, and have no demands for him to turn away. Maybe it would be enough. It had to be enough.
She'd gleaned some information from her cuñados, about her husband's past loves. He was tight-lipped about them. She liked to think it was out of respect for her, but she knew she was just lying to herself.
She wasn't willow thin like Fernanda Vazquez, her mean beauty sharp but striking. She didn't have the gentle, soft curves or pretty skin or big doe eyes (well, eye) of Consuela Rivera. Or the usefulness or brains, the town's veterinarian educated by her own physician father and tío, now passed. She didn't even have the excuse of three children to thicken her dumpy frame. Silvia Gonzalvez was still beautiful in her fifties, if thick and sturdy. She was vibrant and proud and assertive, and it made her bigger frame make sense, her body adjusting, big enough to hold the force of nature that inhabited it.
She was just fat little Elena, easily teased and easily harassed, but not easily loved. Bruno had proven he cared for her, in some capacity, but it wasn't love. It couldn't be. Love took passion, took anger and lust and the initiative to act on them. She remembered that about her parents at least, before her father had gotten sick, before it became clear she'd be their only child. The wild arguments that would end with locked doors and noises she hadn't understood until she was older. The constant touches, the constant bickering. Her Tía Pilar had been the same with Tío Salomón. She'd learned not to watch so closely by the time Olivia and Teodor had married, but she suspected they were much the same, especially since they'd had two children even with their family history and Olivia's frailer health.
Bruno was...sweet to her, as a friend could be. Thoughtful. She'd caught him more than once leaving her things she'd needed or shown interest in. She saw how well he looked after Chacha even when she wasn't watching. But there was no fire in his eyes when he looked at her, no desire to argue even when she baited him. He was nervous and conciliatory, and from what she could tell, about as passionate towards her as a wet arepa. Between accidental observances and overhearing Silvia with her widow's club in the shops she knew he was capable. Just, it seemed, not with her.
He'd shown precisely no interest in progressing beyond companionship, no matter what she tried. No matter how often she stole his shirts and left her own scent on them. No matter how close she sat or how agreeable she became. No matter how much she tried to make it clear she was older, that she could be mature, that she wasn't some wild-haired, uncoordinated child. Her mother had been right, and this was the best solution. If changing her personality hadn't caught his eye, if trying to dedicate herself to him and their marriage hadn't worked, she could at least make the packaging he had to endure less ugly.
Her plans, nebulous as they were, came to a head as Bruno made his way to the counter. He was hedging, the tips of his ears red. She remembered what day it was and blanched in realization. An anniversary he didn't want, with a wife he'd never wanted. But he was at least keeping up appearances for her sake. He took her hand as he sat, accepting the espresso she made for him, still with the pinch of salt and cinnamon like he liked it, smiling almost shyly as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
"It's...our anniversary today," he said quietly, something low and wary in his voice, a hidden animal unsure of approach.
"It is. Thank you. For...for remembering," she murmured. She didn't know how to respond. She'd hoped to surprise him with her weight loss, but she was nowhere near where she needed to be. She swallowed nervously as he grinned.
"I did more than remember. Will you...you could close up early...there's a cenote pool I found years ago. I thought we could...I dunno, go up there, swim a bit. Watch the sunset?"
Elena tried to hide her panic. 'He can't see me! Not like this!' She blanched, her heart immediately hammering and hurting. Not while she was still the size of a horse. 'No nonono...' She took a breath and smiled, returning the squeeze he gave her hand.
"Oh, Bruno...that sounds wonderful but I...I can't swim."
He faltered at that, blinking his shock away before his face settled on confusion, and she prayed he didn't call her out on the lie. He hadn't paid attention to her before, can't have remembered. Of course she could swim, most children raised in the Encanto learned to, but she'd been so sheltered that maybe he'd believe her. Bruno gave a muted grin, laughing at himself.
"That's on me, I shouldn't have assumed. Time for plan 'B'!"
"Should I still...Let me go let mis padres know..."
"Already asked them, when you went over to Carlita's. It's fine, Elena. Will you come with me?"
She couldn't say no, not when he had that curious, boyish look on his face, his eyes wide and a little pitiful, an expression that seemed so strange on a grown man but fit Bruno perfectly.
"Alright," she said slowly, her mind reeling. He hadn't said what plan B was. But he'd wanted her in swimming things. Wanted to see more of her. Maybe he had noticed. But she was still too big, too much. She turned away to make her own tinto and hide the ugly flush she felt rising, trying not to let her trepidation show on her face as he finished his espresso and she regretted not making him a double to stall for time.
Bruno watched her curiously. She was hiding away from him again, like she had when he'd had to chase her off in the earliest days of their marriage. He wasn't sure what had changed. He found himself hoping she was still as stubborn as she had been then, and hadn't truly given up on him. Her long walks at night, her new skittishness at meals...He couldn't blame her if she'd done what he'd once hoped and found someone else and was being discrete about it. For her to balk at swimming, when he knew she could, made him wonder if he wasn't right, if she was hiding the marks of a lover to save him from seeing it.
It hurt, to think that he'd lost her to his own stupidity. It would be his fault if she had, and he couldn't even be angry when he'd been scoping out potential young men to push her towards with the first months of their marriage before Consuela had talked sense into him. He berated himself as they walked towards Casita, Elena tucking herself into his arm. Her smile was nervous, and he didn't think she'd ever seemed so small, though he couldn't place quite why.
'Of course she hasn't,' he berated himself, furious for letting his stupid imagination run away with him. She'd been the eager one, the one that had pushed for them to be close, even when he'd run away at every turn. She probably thought he was the one finding affection elsewhere. And he deserved that distrust with the way he'd treated her. He knew he had his work cut out for him, to repair the damage he'd done between them. That scared him almost as much as the possibility of having chased her away, the thought that they may not be able to close the gap.
Part of him was grateful for her little lie. The cenote pool was a good distance away, and while she'd been willing enough once, he didn't want to scare her off if his body decided a hotspring was the perfect place to lose control. It had been a persistent issue since he'd realized how he'd felt, since he'd allowed himself to feel it. He could barely be beside her without something stirring, and he would have been embarrassed if not for the knowledge that she was his wife, and if he couldn't feel that way towards her then what was the point at all?
It felt good to walk with her as he led her out into the valleys. Her little hand tucked into his elbow and the quiet presence of her beside him felt truly right for the first time. He wondered again down the tributaries of his mind, the breaking offs of imagined time that split from the moment he had performed the vision for her father and the moment that vision saw, rivulets breaking away and joining back, always leading to the same outcome, but different adventures, different pains, different difficulties all muddling together in a river delta of green and sand and thought. He'd long since shaken himself of the lie that he would have done something on his own. Before this had all come to a head he had been discontent but reserved to loneliness and the rare night of pity from an old love at the bar. He would have noticed her, for sure, likely some time in her twenties, remembering the fresh, expressive face he'd seen in the sands of the vision, vital and smiling. And he'd have done nothing, convinced as he had been until very recently that he was too old for her, that she'd have no interest in him, too strange and too outcast.
It was a bittersweet feeling now, knowing that he owed some part of his future to her mother and her harsh expectations and harsher accusations. He'd never admit it. But looking over at Elena and acknowledging the swooping in his chest at the truth of her being his wife was a reminder; of his own cowardice, of the reasons for it, of the still roiling unease at his wife's age and the growing admiration of her strength of character and determination. If she had been any other young woman, had there been no vision and this been a fancy of his mother, he knew now that he would have fought even harder, might even have been driven to leave. But for Elena...The longer he spent with her, truly spent time with her, the harder it was to deny what time had seen for him.
He stopped only briefly at Casita, leaving her to chat with his sisters as he gathered what he needed.
Elena sat awkwardly on the couch with her cuñadas, watching enviously as they did Isabela and Dolores' hair. She would have volunteered to do Luisa's if Agustín hadn't already had her settled between his knees as he did a complicated braid. There was an empty yearning under her ribs, and she gripped her hands tightly to keep them from fluttering. It would be a long time before she held her own child. Dolores and Isabela and Luisa would already be grown. Pepa and Julieta might go on to have more children while she was waiting. As much hope as she'd had from the beginning of more than just that little boy in the vision, she realized now that it was as unlikely to happen as she was to fly. Between her own family history and Bruno's reticence, well. Unless she could get Bruno to see her, to notice the effort she'd made, she wouldn't even have the consolation of her husband's companionship to ease the ache. She had focused so far inward she almost missed it when Pepa nudged her.
"So...are you excited?"
"Ya...about what?" Elena muttered, confused. Julieta and Pepa shared a look.
"It's your anniversary, cosa tonta! I heard Bruno's taking you to that secluded cenote pool." Pepa teased. Elena hid her face, hoping they'd read it as embarrassment.
"No he's not. I...can't swim."
"I don't think it's swimming he had in mind," Julieta laughed, bumping her shoulder.
"He's your brother, how are you teasing me about...about that?" Elena balked, which only made them laugh.
"Please, like we don't talk about it enough. You two are so buttoned up--so private. Honestly if I didn't know better I'd think Bruno'd married a nun. Or that you'd married a priest." Pepa said, kissing Dolores on her part and sending her skipping off, her hair redone in two big, boisterous puffs that bounced as she went. Elena watched as Félix came through and swept her up on his shoulders, and couldn't school the longing look off her face. Julieta sent Isabela off to play as well before patting her shoulder.
"It'll happen eventually, Elena. You and Bruno are both under more stress than you should be. You're young still, and I know there's issues with your family. It might just take a little more time."
"Oh, cariña, don't be upset!" Pepa said as Elena hid her face, trying to hide her sudden tears. She tried to stem the flow, but they fell fat and thick into her palms. She couldn't let them know. She couldn't, she couldn't! They couldn't know, or they'd hate her. Hate her for how badly she'd failed their brother, for how badly she was failing the family. Her heart twisted at their hands on her shoulders and the impression of shared sorrow. She wanted to sink into the floor.
"Is everything alright?" came Bruno's voice, and much as she was dreading whatever outing he'd thought up she dreaded spending a second longer thinking about impossible children.
"We got a little carried away teasing. We're sorry, Elena," Julieta said.
"Not that carried away," Pepa snorted before Julieta elbowed her. "But si,si, lo siento. Get out of here, go have fun. Goodness knows you need it."
Pepa watched them go suspiciously. Her memory had never been the best and had gotten worse after Dolores was born, but if Elena had been telling the truth about being unable to swim she'd eat her shoes. There was a strange stiffness to her cuñada's movements. The same avoidant, pained posture she'd seen Julieta using after Luisa had been born. Actual pain wasn't likely, but the guarded way Elena stood beside Bruno made her wonder.
"You think they're fighting again?" she asked Julieta as Luisa scampered away from Agustín and he had to chase after him. Julieta sank into the couch beside her, groaning and pushing back her fallen hair.
"I have no idea. Probably. I swear I've never doubted a vision before but..."
"It's so strange. When they're just...together they're fine but...any big thing and...boom! They're all tense and touchy. It's driving me loca!"
Julieta fanned away her sister's cloud and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If he weren't our brother I'd wonder if...if there was something else going on but..."
"Bruno'd cut of his own hand first. But they have to be fighting! At least arguing. Why else would they be so...so..."
"Highstrung? I wish I knew. Bruno doesn't talk to our husbands. Elena doesn't talk to us. I thought...I thought she would. She..." Julieta trailed off, not sure how to describe the last year of changes she'd seen. Bruno had, if anything, grown more withdrawn, though he did seem to at least be interested in spending time with his wife. Elena was a different story. It was like watching a flower lose all it's color in the sun. The bright-faced girl that had walked down the aisle had been replaced by even more of a stranger. Both of them were present at meals, spent time with the girls and took them on outings so often that Julieta and Pepa often had to wave them off if they wanted to spend any time with their own daughters.
"She's sad now. I don't know why but she's so...sad. It was getting better but then..."
"Her cumpleaños? I noticed that too. It's like someone just knocked the wind out of her."
"She did go see her mother and Pilar. Those two are..."
"They're definitely something. But she was so different before and she lived with Sofia. Before. What is it about this house? What is it about Bruno? Something is going on."
"Juli, should we...should we say something? What if we're...wrong about things? Should we ask her if Bruno's..." Pepa whispered, though even the house seemed upset with the suggestion, the tiles chattering around their feet.
"I don't--don't think so. It's hard enough already to get her to open up. She'll just clam up again. Maybe it's just...another adjustment. Bruno has slowed down on the drinking, and that has to be a good thing."
"Maybe," Pepa hedged, looking out into the distance, "But you and I both remember those men that had to leave. Bardales got meaner when he sobered up."
"Pepa! He's our brother! You know he's not like that!"
"I know! I know, Juli, but something is wrong there. Not just the fact that they haven't gotten preñada yet but just...remember, there was no honeymoon? Félix and Agustín had something to go back to as well but they didn't just wave it away?"
"I know. I...I have to hope they just needed a little more time. She's still so young and Bruno...he was so upset about it. I don't know. I just...I don't know."
*****
Elena sat a short distance away from Bruno on the hillside he'd chosen. It was nestled on the far eastern side of the valley, just before the mountains rose jutting up into the sky. It was quiet, sheltered under a copse of heavy, overhanging cedros that formed a natural shelter. She took in the view of the landscape, the tiled roofs and treetops spanning out in the distance, blue shadows stretching out towards them as the setting sun painted the fronts gold. She could see Casita in the distance, watching Pepa's clouds gather above the dancing tiles. They were white and fluffy still, no sight of a storm, but they hadn't been present at all when she'd shown up at Casita on Bruno's arm earlier. She went over the brief conversation with her cuñadas again and again in her head, but couldn't place what she could have said to upset anyone. But she must have overstepped again somehow, or the clouds wouldn't be there.
Bruno had been quiet for the most part. Asking her the occasional question or pointing out where the shops were from where they sat, but he seemed content to simply sit and share the food between them. Elena felt sick. He'd been watching for longer than she'd thought, paying more attention than she could have hoped for six months before. He'd packed all her favorites. Crispy pan de yucca and a savory posta negra Cartegena, enough arepas con queso to soak up all the rich sauce left over. Sticky sweet cajeta with obleas to nibble on and a fresh, rich papaya that he sliced for her carefully with a shiny new pocket knife, a joking gift from her father, so Bruno would never find himself at the wrong end of a knife again. Elena still hadn't shaken the guilt. She'd barely had time to work on anything for Bruno as an anniversary gift outside of her weight. She'd hoped to surprise him, but she hadn't lost enough by half, and didn't want to come to him still spilling sloppily out of her clothes like a pile of dough. She'd made her apologies, but couldn't help feel they'd fallen on deaf ears as they'd gotten settled.
"I feel...Oh I feel so silly. I got caught up with the shops and then the girl's birthdays and I just...I started it too late. I promise I'll get it done soon!"
"Elena, it's fine, really," Bruno had laughed, helping her up the last rise before the cedro grove. "My old ruanas will do in the meantime. I know how long weaving takes. Honestly I'm surprised you'd go through the effort."
"Well of course! You...you're my husband! I just...can't manage my time very well."
He'd shaken his head and spread out the blanket he'd brought with him, getting settled.
"If you managed your time any better I'd say you were the one that could see the future. I don't know how you're doing it. Especially not with...taking those long walks every night." There had been something questioning there, but Elena didn't know what he could be wondering. She'd been open about her going out.
"Meme lets me use the loom at comida. I just take a shorter break," she'd answered, flinching and realizing her mistake, hoping Bruno didn't notice the mention of her cutting meals short. She berated herself. Now he might ask, might go to Remedios Rivera and find out the truth that she'd been in there, an hour each day, weaving on a borrowed loom in a back room to build up a reserve of material to make up for all the things she'd have to have remade when she lost the weight, trading labor for goods and keeping her hands busy through the hunger pangs howling inside her after hours of nothing but a lone orange and black coffee. They'd started getting less severe recently, and it made her work faster. Bruno had given her a concerned glance and said nothing, only gesturing for her to sit beside him. She'd obliged, and had spent the last two hours in slow stewing misery as she choked down the food he handed her, portions equal to his own.
The sunset had painted the sky a brilliant cerise, and Elena found herself mesmerized by the play of the slate blue clouds sifting across the sun and breaking the light into rays, following to where they scattered gold and rubies across the roofs of the town. She jumped when a hand brushed through her hair. Bruno was studying her face as he trailed his fingers through her curls, wearing a curious smile.
"I have something for you," he said, pulling free. He reached into the basket again and pulled out a slim package, the crushed velvet box of the joyeria. Elena swallowed.
"It's...It's nothing special, but...I think we've established I'm sorta awful with gifts."
With shaky hands she opened the box. An emerald pendant sat, near glowing in the light and heavy at the bottom. She let it fall into her hand and studied it. Two stones in an hourglass shape. There was a flange of tiny rubies behind it, set into an imitation of flame.
"I know...I know it's kinda silly, but I--uh--I was looking up name meanings and I found yours and it means torch and I just...It made sense?"
She didn't know what to say, her heart pounding. It was soon. It was too soon. Why was he looking up name meanings? What was he thinking? How else could she take this but a romantic gesture, especially after all the trouble they'd gone through to deal with her mother's debt.
"It...Bruno this is..."
"Can I put it on you? If you hate it I'll have Gustavo do something else but..."
She turned and lifted her hair, shivering at the slight brush of his fingers against her neck, a memory a year gone of deft hands undoing tiny buttons flashing through her mind before reality crashed back down. He hadn't wanted her then. What made a year so special?
"You've been quiet lately. Is everything alright?" Her heart squeezed, and she wanted nothing else than to lean into his hand, but she held back, for both their sakes. She couldn't waste her opportunity before she was ready.
"I'm fine, Bruno. It's...I just haven't had much to say, you know? What is there to?"
"You know you can speak with me, right? I won't judge you. I...I miss you."
"Bruno we live in the same house."
He didn't answer, but ran his hands slowly up her arms, and she had to suppress the shiver that went through her as he pulled her back gently, her back against his front, warm and smelling so strongly of that spicy cologne he favored her eyes crossed before she fought to regain her senses. She failed spectacularly when warm lips were placed high on her neck, the only bit of skin exposed in her newer, more staid wardrobe. The gentle lick of flame it stoked raced through her body, and for a moment she wanted to sink back against him, tilt her head and let his lips wander wherever they would. As the soft, tentative kisses moved from her neck to her ear, she quivered, before shaking, her mind going down the inevitable path months of playing at house had sparked. What if it moved beyond kissing? It was still too bright out, and regardless of the light, Bruno still had hands enough to feel the slack looseness of her body and the lack of a shape, the dimples and the stripes and the too-soft belly. The thought of him seeing her, of him being disgusted as he had been those first awkward months, turned her stomach. She needed more time! As a hand carefully squeezed up her arm, almost seeking permission, her fear turned to anger.
What right did he have to do this, to tease her with kisses after pushing her away for so long? To bring her to some random hill to try and seduce her outside like an animal? To say nothing, to acknowledge nothing, to just expect her to fall into his arms, grateful for some pitiful scrap of affection after a year of insults and denial? Her stomach boiled with indignation and too much forced food, furious with the man she'd been calling husband for a year, balling up her fists as he switched from one side of her neck to another. Furious more with herself for almost letting it sway her anger away. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair! She had worked so hard, so damned hard to get him to see her for a year. Was she not worth the same effort? Had she miscalculated, and he was arrogant enough to think she'd just fall at his feet and his ministrations like some bar-night slattern after the way he'd treated her? She howled in frustration and sprung away, leaving Bruno sitting on the ground blinking like an owl, with a stupid look on his stupid face.
"How dare you? How dare you!" she shouted as he struggled to his feet, thinking something was wrong.
"Elena I...I don't--"
"Damned right you don't!" She cut him off. "You've ignored me for a year. A year, Bruno! Do you think I'm an idiot? A whore? That I'll just bend over for a few kisses and something shiny because it's you?"
"--I--Elena I--"
"You don't get to do this! You don't get to drag me up on some hill for a quick fuck after leaving me to suffer for a year! Fuck you, Bruno."
"I wasn't....Elena, please I wasn't I swear, I just--"
"Just what? Finally got lonely enough to hold your nose and deal with me? Don't act like I'm wrong. Don't you dare, Bruno Madrigal. I'm still your wife. Just like I was six months ago. A year ago. You didn't want me then, don't lie and act like you want me now!" She watched as he panicked, taking a cruel satisfaction in the shame she saw in his eyes, before her heart began to flop sickly in her chest and her rage died with it, leaving her empty and feeling faint.
"I'm not an idiot. I'm not. I can't do this. Not now. Not...not like this. Just....just leave me alone, Bruno."
"Elena, please," he begged, taking her elbow. It took more strength than it used to to shake him off. "I'm sorry, cariña. I'm so, so sorry. I thought...I thought I should...that you'd want to...What can I...what can I do to make this right?"
"You needed time? Well now so do I. Just leave me alone. I'll tell you when I'm ready to deal with you. After all, what's good for the gander is good for the goose, isn't it? Let. Me. Go." The last came as a final, dangerous hiss, and he released her like she burned. She took in his mournful expression before turning away, not sure where she was going but knowing it wasn't back to Casita just yet.
"You can't ignore me for a year and then expect me to just roll over like a dog because you showed me the bare minimum of affection, Bruno. If you want more...after throwing...throwing it away? After playing at friends? You can't just string me along like that! You can't just--just suddenly decide to..." she trailed off, shaking her head. Let him struggle. She was. She was twisting herself into knots for him. He could do the same, if he really wanted a wife. "I tried to be a wife to you, and you threw it in my face for months. If you want a wife now, you have to earn it."
She walked away, leaving him to struggle on his own as tears coursed down her cheeks. She let them, refusing to let him see her wiping them away. She didn't know how to feel, fury and elation and fear swirling in her belly. He'd shown interest, but too soon. And with the date she couldn't believe him, couldn't believe it was genuine affection. She'd asked him to play along, and maybe he'd gotten swept up in doing so. But he couldn't just spring that on her cold. No discussion, no assurances. He'd taken a liberty she once would have given freely, but she couldn't bear to now. She felt...cheap. She knew she wasn't the wife he wanted, but damn it couldn't he at least give her the respect of asking after denying her very presence for a year?
She let out a sob when she was far enough away to not be heard, sinking to the ground as fear won out. What if she'd overplayed her hand? What if he had been genuine? She knew he was awkward! 'Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid fucking child!' she berated herself. 'Now you've chased him away! You'll have to try even harder now!' She let the tears come, thick and ugly and turning her stomach. If she made herself sick crying she could deny it. Say it was a fluke if she got caught. She rose on wobbly legs and voided her last meal against a tree, still sobbing. Her hands were shaking as she wiped her mouth. Her heart was hammering painfully against her ribs, and she felt like eyes were on her back. Not knowing what else to do, she ran. She ran until her lungs burned and her legs shook. She hated running, but hated the possibility of having to face her mistakes even more.
Pepa watched suspiciously as her brother came back, hangdog and crumpling into himself. He placed the basket he'd taken on the counter and drifted away without even acknowledging her, and she knew then that something was very wrong between her brother and his wife. She wouldn't pry while he was down. She fully planned on swooping in and finding out what was going on from Elena, but her cuñada was nowhere in sight.
Félix tried to get her to come to bed, but she was on edge and wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. It was well past midnight when Elena finally showed up, looking no better than Bruno. Worse, if Pepa was being honest with herself. Paler than normal and sweat-soaked, looking like she'd been crying. Elena dodged her questions and bolted into Bruno's room before Pepa could get a word out of her. She was going to get to the bottom of this. She had too. Bruno had been shrinking away from them since well before the wedding, and now Elena. Pepa wasn't about to lose family just because they hadn't figured out how to treat each other. They had to be better than this, if she was ever going to see her brother happy and with a family of his own like they'd seen in that vision. The implication that he might have been wrong frightened her more than she could put into words.
Chapter 6
Summary:
Bruno realizes he's neglected his young wife too long, and that his plan to give her a chance to be free of him had backfired spectacularly. He can't be completely upset at his failure however. Put a man in a room with the woman he's fated to be with for long enough, and eventually his heart will override his brain and fall in love with her. Now he just has to do his best to make amends.
Elena has become so clouded by her goal to make Bruno see her that she can no longer see him, or herself. She has become drifting and lost, going through the motions and losing trust in the person she'd pinned all her hopes to. Determined still to make Bruno see her and still smarting from the poor timing on their anniversary, she's grown suspicious of any affection. Part of her still hopes, and where there is hope, there is possibility.
Notes:
Had to chop this in half, since it was getting too big. More to come soon
content warning: eating disorder mentions and descriptions, self worth issues, Emeralds canon Carlos bastardry.
Chapter Text
Bruno watched from the foot of his bed as Elena shuffled around the room, her movements slow and her eyes unfocused. She'd been having trouble getting up at her usual early hour of late, and he worried. Something looked different about her, a drawn quality to her face that made him uneasy. He sighed and buttoned the shirt she'd chosen for him, shoulders slumping in defeat. She'd made it clear he'd hurt her on their anniversary, and he'd spent the last few weeks trying to make up for it. He'd left his pride at the door, if he was honest with himself. He'd brought this on himself. He wasn't sure how he could patch up the rift he'd purposefully wedged between them, but he had to try.
He'd lain awake long after he should have, waiting for her in their room. He knew he was in for a tongue lashing, but accepted that he deserved it. He hadn't known what he had been thinking, holding her that close, kissing her neck out of nowhere, like he'd earned the right to do so. She'd been right to be angry with him. It had felt right in the moment, but the longer he thought on it the worse the decision seemed. He hadn't even spoken to her, just assumed taking a shot would land. He didn't know why he'd thought that. He had ignored her for months. Danced around her and chased her from his bed--the bed that should have belonged to them both. The little room still existing proved how wrong he'd been, and he had waited in regret and frustration.
The spice rich smell of her that he'd found himself following unconsciously when she passed, that he'd found trapped in his clothes, haunted him at the juncture of her neck, and he'd been unable to stop himself reaching out and giving in, just a little. And his weakness had infuriated her. He couldn't blame her. He'd have been angry too, to have been ignored and brushed aside so long only to have attention resurface out of nowhere.
He'd apologized, or tried to, when she'd come in well past midnight, looking like she'd run the mountains and back. She hadn't been able to look at him, had barely let him speak to her before closing her door with a decisive click.
"Elena, please, let me...let me explain."
"What's there to explain? I don't...I don't want you trying to...don't pretend you want me just because it's our anniversary."
"But...Isn't that...isn't that what you...I thought you wanted me to--to act like your husband?" he'd sputtered, confused. She snorted derisively and shook her head.
"I wanted you to be my husband, Bruno. Not to act like it. I don't need your pity."
"It's not...it wasn't..."
"If it weren't you wouldn't have waited for an important day. Good night, Bruno."
"But--"
"Good night," she'd repeated, a hard edge to her voice that tangled in his nerves, tangling harder along his spine as she continued, adamant and aggressive. "End of the conversation. We aren't talking about this in the morning. I'm not talking about it with you. It's done. If you...if you feel anything for me at all, maldita sea Bruno, figure out how to say it on your own!"
She'd closed the door in his face, and he'd slunk back to his bed, mournful not for the first time that it was empty. He had a vague memory of being wrapped around her once, while he was fighting off the alcohol sickness, and the memory of how soft she had felt under his hands wouldn’t leave him now that he’d gotten so close to her and driven her so far away in the same action. He pulled at his hair in frustration, trying to get the thought out of his head, the faint memory of her skin from his lips, but the more he tried to ignore it the more the cursed dog in his mind dug up memories. The heat of her under his hands, the fierce spark of her anger and the brightness it gave to her eyes. The dip and curve of her in that scandalous scrap of green silk she’d tried to entice him with for months. The teasing, covered up peaks of skin she’d limited herself to in the last year, hiding herself away and all the more tantalizing for it.
“A la mierda, she’s my wife!” he groaned as he unbuttoned his fly. He couldn’t even dredge up the bare minimum of guilt as he took himself in hand, aching since she’d shoved him away and fueled by the flashing brilliance of her anger. She was his wife, and whatever else was between them, however stupid it had been to think it, he had hoped, on the hillside. A faint hope, but a hope regardless. An illusion of how she’d react, a glimmer of a dream that she’d be angry at first, but accept his affection.
He jammed his ruana between his teeth to muffle his groan, not wanting her to know, knowing if she walked in on him then he would die of shame and never be able to face her again. He saw her in his mind’s eye, the fantasy he’d been pushing down for months; she’d corner him in a chair, his or at the bibliotheca he couldn’t care less, but shove him down into the seat and straddle him, those strong thighs squeezing him almost painfully as she pressed him into the chairback and told him exactly how badly he’d screwed up, exactly how angry she was with him, and exactly how she planned on punishing him for it.
It was ridiculous, he knew. Elena was bold but not by that much, and especially not now, but the image of her, the suddenness of dreams throwing her into that satin negligee that haunted him. He’d woken up aching so many nights to this exact dream, her over him and taking what she wanted with no protest from him, making herself his wife with no thought to his own pleasure, reaching her own climax and then leaving him cold to struggle, frozen to the chair in the logic of dreams. It was more than he deserved and not enough at the same time, and he wanted nothing more than to see it made reality, but he couldn’t if he’d made her hate him.
He shoved his face into his pillow to muffle his moan as he came, draining into the empty night in the same lonely pattern he’d lived in for years, knowing it was truly his own fault this time. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling and hoping as his mind floated in the clarity of release, that she’d be able to forgive him. That he’d be able to earn that forgiveness, though he didn’t deserve it.
*****
He spent the next weeks trying to figure out how to rectify things. She barely spoke to him for the first week, and he found himself being pulled aside by his sisters and mother, all of them demanding to know what he'd done. He couldn't bring himself to admit his idiocy, too afraid their ire might turn to Elena. He had half the family angry at him, but at least he'd kept any pressure off his wife's back. He felt like the least was all he was capable of, and while he was used to the feeling, something about it in relation to Elena made him want to sink into the floor.
Even the house was irritated with him. He'd found himself clonked on the head by spindles, spun into rooms with her and held there fumbling through apologies until she asked Casita to please let her leave. The house opened the door for her and slammed it closed on him until she had finally been ready to speak with him.
He hadn't seen her all day, up before he'd been dragged from sleep and busy at the shops. The weight of guilt had stuck to his skin, and he'd sat in his bed for far longer than he'd meant to running thought after thought through his head. He knew an overt romantic gesture would likely find him on the bad end of a tongue lashing at best, and he'd always been awful at them anyway. Even if he hadn't been, something about it felt wrong still, up against the bulwark of her age. He looked around, scrounging for something, anything to prove that he wasn't just trying to get up her skirt. That part of married life was so far down the list of things on his mind he may as well have been celibate, but there were other things. Closeness. Help. He could be useful at least. Elena worked too hard, and too much, even when she was assured time and again she didn't have to. He truly admired it about her, her ability to somehow juggle two dozen things at once and still be the bright, congenial person she was, even if the attitude wasn't particularly aimed at him any longer.
It had even managed to impress his mother, whom he'd feared would dislike her at the start. If anything, his own indifference had endeared Elena to his mother through some odd transmutation, and he'd never found a reason to question it, and wasn't about to start now that he had reason to want his mother and his wife to get along. Julieta worried about her, having found Elena up all through the night before balancing ledgers in the cocina when she hadn't wanted to keep him up, and Pepa had routinely called him an idiot for letting her work herself to exhaustion. Not that he let Elena do anything. She did as she pleased. Or, he was beginning to worry, what she thought might please him. It worried him more now knowing he in no way deserved the effort. What to do had come naturally after realizing that.
He tended to sprawl and clutter up a space, and Elena had always left his things alone. It rankled, the realization that she, rather than joining with him in the space, had simply filled in the gaps in such a way that she could easily unslot herself, with little evidence of her having been there outside of an additional chair and a bureau drawer that had been all but taken over by his three rats, no matter how he chased them out.
He had tied his hair back and set to work, doing what he should have done long before. Paco and Dulce and Provoleta would have to find new places to build their nests, or start bunking in the sand with Chacha. The house had produced the bureau for her and he was going to see her using it rather than continue to make her feel unwelcome. He scrubbed it clean and oiled the wood until it shone. He swept, knowing it would be a losing battle but feeling the need to do it anyway. He found every article of clothing that had made it to hidden corners of the room and thrown it in the hamper, surprised when they were all his. He couldn't organize his papers, knowing he'd get sidetracked if he did, but straightening them all and placing them in a crate by his books to handle later made more sense. He even stripped his bed, ready to take the lot down to wash when he stopped.
He tried the little door. The knob stuck, and he had to assure Casita he just wanted to clean for her. Reluctantly it swung open, and he swallowed. The cinnamon and clove and tamarind of her perfume and the shampoo she favored stuck to the place. More than that what struck him was just how very small it was. Little more than a cell, the narrow bed the house had made for her, the wardrobe and her sewing machine left her with little room to even walk. One of her skirts was on the sewing table, halfway through repairing a seam. He left it alone, not wanting to give away that he'd been in her space. He wasn't snooping. He wasn't. If he told himself enough he might believe it.
He closed his eyes against the wardrobe, shutting the door before he could peer inside. He tried to ignore the glint of gold that he saw in her sewing box. He saw enough to know that she'd stored away the bookmarks and the necklace, and the knowledge of it formed a strange pressure in his chest. He bent to collect the hamper and caught sight of a bundle of fabric under the bed. Thinking nothing of it he pulled, yelping when over a dozen wooden animals had tumbled out, one glancing off his foot.
She'd hidden them away. He couldn't imagine why. He was relieved she hadn't sold them. One by one he took them back out to the dresser and placed them in no particular order. They were well made, and reasonably realistic. If her tío Sébastien had still been alive, Bruno could see him making a small side business of his hobby. Collectable trinkets were popular gifts, especially ones of animals, and especially among...the town's children.
The shoe dropped then, why she'd hidden them away, and he sank to the floor. He'd thrown so many petulant fits about her age, had chased her away so much with the harsh barking that she was just a child...of course she'd shrunken away and hid anything that even hinted at that. He looked back over the months as he sat there, trying to parse together just who his wife was and what he'd chased away from her.
He'd only seen her reading non-fiction, many times that book she'd received on her birthday, something about keeping a home. He'd met her friends, sure enough, but they never came to Casita, and she hadn't gone and done...anything with them since...He honestly couldn't remember. Elena asked his permission to do most things, even now, and of course he'd given it...but he realized with a sick slosh in his gut that he'd never told her she didn't need to ask. And likely was keeping away from anything that could get deemed even remotely childish to keep from giving him the impression she was just some silly little girl.
'But you never really thought that, did you?' the voice in his head, the dog that reared up at the worst of times whispered. His stomach didn't settle, but the voice was half right. He'd seen her as far too young, dreaded being one of those old men that chased after girls almost young enough to be their daughters, but he had never seen her as silly. Had a hard time seeing her as her own age the longer time wore on and the more the gentle green glow of their shared vision haunted him. He remembered, too vividly sometimes, the woman she was rapidly becoming from the sands of that same vision. The young woman weeping at twin graves. The same one, beaten and bloody but triumphant from the road. Without him beside her. The ghost of her wrapped around him nearer to forty. The final inclusion, the woman he was confronted with every day morphing into the one sitting serenely waiting for him and their son in the vision. He was the worst kind of coward, and as much as Elena hated him then, he was sure he had her beat.
He sighed and retrieved his burdens, not enough energy to push the sights and realizations away. Not enough strength to deny any longer that, like everything else, he'd been the one to completely foul up his own life. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, if it had just been him. He was used to it. The constant screw-up. Bad Luck Bruno. But he'd dragged Elena into it, and that...that was unforgivable.
So he sat, and he scrubbed until his hands chapped and reddened, taking at least this tiny burden from her. Her clothes puzzled him, all of them some strange configuration of double knitting or almost reversible, some clever trick of stitch work. and heavy. He knew she'd begun feeling cold more frequently lately. He pushed down the fear that sprang up from the realization that it had become such an issue that she'd altered her clothing, seemingly all of it. She wasn't sick. She was not. His visions, for all they didn't show everything, showed enough. Exposed or not, she'd avoided the illness that had killed her abuelos, that was slowly killing her father. She would be fine. She would be fine. His vision would not have shown her hale and healthy in her forties if she'd caught tuberculosis in her late teens. Still, the oddity stayed with him, though he didn't know what to make of it.
He asked Pepa for help, admitting enough to get her to agree, sunlight and heat concentrating enough to dry their things even as she called him the world's biggest idiot.
He'd asked Julieta before disappearing to the bibliotheca with food, wanting to surprise Elena. He'd found Hebér behind the café counter, giving him a baleful eye as he cleaned.
"She's helping Nina across the street. Won't be back in time to finish this. Won't talk to you anyway," his suegro rumbled, looking for all the world like a bear roused from slumber. Bruno had only hung his head.
"Did...did she say why?"
Hebér snorted. "Said you'd know why. Your nose is still in one piece so it can't have been too bad, I guess."
"I… " Bruno hedged before finding an answer that wouldn't get Elena's parents to force her hand to an end he no longer wanted. "I let my mouth run away from me again. I'm...I'm trying to make up for it."
"For a week?"
"Never said I knew what the hell I was doing."
His father-in-law snorted again. "Look, Bruno. I'm old. My lungs are going to kill me one of these days, sooner rather than later. I know that well enough. I am tired of this. I agreed to let Elena marry you rather than make her wait because I thought you would take care of her. Seems to me all my daughter has been doing lately is taking care of herself."
"I...she's...very good at that."
"She's nineteen. She's already having to do too much. If I thought for a second she'd have agreed to it I'd have set her up with that Garcia boy in the city just to get her out of here. She doesn't listen to me to slow down anymore. She works like a mule. And you and Sofia are letting her."
"Hebér I...I can't stop her. I'm not going to yell at my own wife because she...I dunno, doesn't have an off button? What do you want me to do? She'll just think I'm thinking she's a child again and then we're even further back from square one!"
"And that's your own fault. Cristo, she's doing the work of three women just for you to see her!"
"Hebér, I do see her!"
"So I am in danger of actually meeting a grandchild then?"
Bruno's reddening ears betrayed him as he tried to stutter out a lie, and Hebér crossed his arms over his chest, leaving Bruno with no false impression of just how much pain he'd be in if he couldn't get Elena back on his good side. Hebér leaned in, glowering.
"Quit fucking around and make sure she knows you see her, you son of a bitch. I am tired of seeing her in here looking like I sold her to Peru! I'm old, not dead. Figure out whatever stupid mess you have in your head, or your family won't be able to keep you safe if you keep hurting my daughter!”
Bruno hung his head, knowing Hebér was right. He let his eyes wander out the picture window, Elena’s whitewash letters of Café de Libros only blocking part of his view. Nina and Carlita were busy on the ends of a trolley while Elena stabilized the middle. Boxes were stacked precariously and stamped with the Panadero’s business name. He didn’t spare a thought for who might possibly be getting married or buried because he never paid any attention anyway, but he did see an opportunity.
“Take the food, let Sofia take a break from cooking,” he threw over his shoulder as slipped out the door, leaving Hebér to stand flummoxed and shaking his head.
Elena’s smile dropped as she saw him, ducking her head as he offered his help. Nina didn’t notice, and accepted, but Carlita gave her a significant glance. She shook her head and gritted her teeth as the four of them jostled the cart across the cobbles towards the church. She couldn’t spare much thought for the funeral. Roberto Hernandez’ mother had been a kind woman, but she hadn’t known her well. She stewed as they wrestled the street, refusing to look at Bruno. He kept popping up over the line of boxes like a jack-in-the-box, looking at her pitifully. Any time he opened his mouth she hissed at him, shaking her head.
“Elena…”
“Ksst!”
“Querida, please…”
“No.”
“Elena…”
“Bruno I said--”
“Why don’t we just…let you sort this out?” Nina laughed as she squinted between them. “Come on, Carlita, let’s let the lovebirds squabble in peace.” She took a load of baked goods and waited for her daughter to follow, a knowing smile on her face.
Elena tried to slip away, but Bruno was right beside her. She groaned and stormed off, her alpargatas clacking down the cobbles as she tried to lose him.
“Elena, let’s just talk? It’s been a week.”
“I said no. I’m not talking to you until I’m ready!”
“Querida…”
“You are not buttering me up now, Bruno!”
“Elena please, would you just look at me?!” he shouted. She spun on her heel, rounding on him. She crossed her arms, refusing to move out of the street and casually flipping the fig to Ozvaldo Ortiz as he had to steer his donkey around her.
“Well, go on then. I’m looking at you. Now what?”
She watched as Bruno shrank back from her anger, and took a grim sort of satisfaction from it. He sagged under her scrutiny and shook his head. She squared her jaw as he moved towards her, but he passed her, flopping down on the nearest stoop. He looked…defeated. More than he had when she’d run. More than he had during the Pre-Cana when he’d been near silent until the Padre had forced him to answer the questions. In spite of herself, the burn in her chest, the anger that had been bubbling over began to cool. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hate him. The vision had never left her mind, and the far off hope of them together and whole and happy hung over her head like Tantalus grapes. And Dios la ayuda he was handsome when he was upset.
If she hadn’t known him as well as she’d learned too over the last year, she’d think he did it on purpose. But Bruno was magnetically polarized against anything that put him in a good light to other people. It was that more than anything that moved her feet to sit beside him. Whether his stunt on their anniversary had been done under obligation or some sense of duty, she couldn’t think he’d done it maliciously anymore.
She jolted when he took her hand.
“It’s not worth a lot, but I am…I am sorry, Elena. I should…I shouldn’t have…made any assumptions. Especially not after…so long.”
“No. No you shouldn’t have.”
“I…don’t want to push. So I’ll…you have the reins here. When…if… Well. It’s up to you.”
She swallowed down her disappointment. An obligation then. She hadn’t expected much more, but she’d hoped. She ignored the gnawing ache in her stomach, looked at her hand in his, the slight looseness to her wedding band proving that she was making inroads. But she was young still. She still had time. She wandered how long she’d resent him, for giving her control when he’d long since proven she had no ability to control him, even unconsciously.
“What’s there to control, Bruno? Our future is set in stone. I can’t control time. Not even you can do that.”
“No but…but that’s way ahead of us. You…you have…in the mean-time…”
“In the mean-time I still don’t want to talk about it. Not yet. I’m still angry with you.”
“I know. And I deserve it.” he nodded, looking forlorn. He perked up suddenly, eyes following two girls laughing and dancing down the street. Elena pushed down the hurt at that, but he didn’t seem to notice. He turned to her, the awkward grin she loved and hated in turn back on his face.
“You aren’t going to get any less angry with me in the next little bit…but that doesn’t mean you can’t blow off some steam.”
“I can’t…what are you--”
“When was the last time you went dancing with your friends?” He asked. The realization that she didn’t actually remember struck her, and she thought back. Not her cumpleaños. The wedding? Maybe he could read her mind, though she hoped not.
“Our wedding doesn’t count. Go out tonight. With your girlfriends. No...no husbands, no novios. Just…go have fun for a few hours.”
“If you want me out of the house you could just say.” She snapped. He sighed, taking her anger with no complaint of his own.
“Of course I don’t want you out of the house. I mean--I don’t want to lock you away--I just…you deserve time to yourself.”
“I sleep alone, isn’t that enough?” she hissed, glaring at him, and he wilted.
“That…isn’t time to yourself. Not…it’s just…you deserve better…better time than that.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. He twisted his fingers, looking around for something wooden to knock on. Everything was too far away, and he resorted to cracking his skull. ‘Blockhead.’ She almost giggled. The thought was certainly appropriate for the hole he’d dug for himself. And it wasn’t a terrible idea. She’d missed dancing, couldn’t believe she’d gone over a year without anything more than tiptoeing around with the girls at Casita.
It would have been comical if it weren't so sad, she thought as she looked through her wardrobe. She'd long since gotten rid of her bright, flashy clothes. The closest she had to them anymore were a flowing black skirt and a long white shirt. She looked like a nun. But it would have to do. She'd set her bun low and buttoned her collar. She spared a thought to the necklace on her sewing table, but decided against it. The only bit of jewelry she'd allowed herself was her wedding band. Angry as she was, she didn't want anyone to get any ideas at the dance hall. She'd had too many men get bold after a few drinks, before she'd gotten married, and couldn't imagine they'd change too much just because she had a new last name.
She didn't miss the curious looks her friends gave her when she showed up looking like a condor among parrots, but they were all so pleased to have her to themselves for a few hours that it wound up not mattering anyway. They'd met up with Julio and his date, one of the widow Gonzalves' twin daughters, and Rodrigo at the hall. Julio dodged sharp fingers when he tried to swing her around. It was the development between Beatriz and Rodrigo that surprised Elena the most. Sometime in the past few months they'd begun seeing each other, and it looked serious. Something settled in her chest at the thought of no longer being the odd one out in her group of friends, and the night had become easier. She dodged questions and flitted between people on the floor, giggling with Miranda and Carlita as they waltzed to slow bambucos before the band changed to faster cumbia and bachata beats.
She was lighter than the last time she'd danced, and her head spun after four of Jose's strong drinks where before it took her that many just to begin feeling tipsy, but it felt good. It felt right for the worry to slip away and for her blood to pound in her heart and ears and for everything to whirl together into light and sound as she canted and flitted between her friends.
At some point she found herself getting spun around by someone to a blinding tempo as she laughed, twirling on her toes over and over before she overbalanced and landed in a strong set of arms. For the briefest second she thought maybe Bruno had joined, but the chest she'd landed against was too broad and belonged to someone too tall, that smelled of stone dust and copper.
"Memo?" she laughed, peering up at whoever had saved her from meeting the floor, and a laugh rumbled through her as he led her to the bar.
"Got a little wild there, Lenita. Are you alright?"
"Oh, si, si. Just too much to...too much all at once, is all."
He gave her a curious glance before ordering a plate of buñuelos. "Eat, before you have to replace my shoes."
"I'm murding--murdering Julio for telling you about that."
"As long as you leave the Castillo twins alone, murder away." He gave her an easy grin before tossing a handful of buñuelos into the air, catching them one by one in his mouth. There was an odd ache in the middle of her chest. He'd become a frequent patron of the bibliotheca in the last few months. A friendly enough man interested in gardening outside his work at the quarry, preparing to take over the family farm from his mother. In another life, Elena could have seen herself gravitating towards him, but with Bruno in her life the only avenue they had was friendship. He reminded her of her father in a way, more of a gentle giant than he let on.
He'd danced with her at her wedding, and congratulated her. "At least one of us gets the Madrigal we were after," he'd teased. She'd caught him mooning over Pepa on the occasions they were in the shops at the same time and understood some of his heartache. Pepa had a string of flings and half-loves in her past, and most of them were still enamored with her, despite her obvious and undying devotion to Félix. Elena couldn't help but envy her cuñada. The stain of regret over her own choice to marry so young when she'd had the time to wait still stung. She shook her head to try and clear it, and thanked Guillermo for the snack, something solid in her stomach settling it slightly from all the alcohol. She could even accept that she'd eaten, since it was the first solid thing she'd had all day.
The night air was cool as she leaned against the wall of the dance hall, her eyes closed as she listened to the muted music play. She felt lighter now. Loath as she was to admit it, Bruno had been right. Blowing off steam had been exactly what she'd needed. She still wasn't ready to talk to him about his stupidity, but she couldn't hold on to the fury anymore. He was awkward and kind of a dumbass, but he was her dumbass, for better or worse. She had to hope that he could shape up after everything.
When he'd stopped drinking, she'd done her best to hide her elation, not wanting to send the wrong message. She'd seen how people treated him. She remembered the stories people told about involuntaries during the World War. She couldn't begrudge him his vice given all of that. He'd been in better health since he'd put the bottle down, and she was glad of it. A wave of guilt hit her for her own indulgence, but four drinks after weeks of nothing wasn't a habit, and she did her best to shake it off. She was about to push off the wall when she heard a voice, far too close.
"Well hola, princesa. What's brought you out here, all alone?"
She opened her eyes to see Carlos Bardales and his friend Joaquin Ruiz looming over her. She turned to go, but was blocked by Carlos' thick arm. A chill ran down her spine. Joaquin had a mean little grin on his weasel's face, and everyone knew he answered to Carlos. The unspoken secret that the young butcher was just as bad raced through her head.
"Ah ah ah, have you lost your manners up in that big house? We just want to talk."
"And I don't want to. I'm going back inside."
"It's too hot in there. Stay out here and dance with us."
"I'd rather not, thanks. Let me by, please."
"I don't think you understand," Joaquin snickered, picking his nails with his knife. "We weren't asking."
"That's not funny. Let me by. Now."
"Mm, don't think I will," Carlos drawled, pinning her in with both arms and pressing her close to the wall. "Saw you in there slithering around Gonzalves and Cortez. If you're gagging for it so bad, here we are."
"I'm allowed to dance with who I like, thank you. It doesn't mean anything more then dancing."
"Married to that rat and you think we believe you?" Joaquin snickered. She saw red.
"Bruno's a good man, you leave him out of this!"
"Everyone in town knows he's impotent. Might as well do you a favor."
The butcher's mouth was on hers before she could stop him, his breath foul with cigarette smoke and cheap beer. She beat against his chest, but he only laughed, pulling away and turning to Joaquin. "Get lost for a few. Get some of the good booze." He turned back to her, his hands roaming down her front and dragging nausea with them. "Come on, what's the harm? Señor Mandria's little wife gets her feathers ruffled and maybe there's a new gift in the bargain. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it..." he hissed in her ear, a hand rough at her skirt as she squirmed. She tried to shout but her throat had betrayed her. "It's just a bit of fun. Don't think I haven't seen you watching me when I'm working."
She shook her head and glared at him. He'd seen nothing of the sort. At best her irritation for how long he made her wait when her mother sent her over for something or it was her turn to pick up the shopping for Casita. He dropped the fistful of skirt in irritation, unable to get her how he wanted her with alcohol numbed fingers, and she didn't think about anything else as her fist met his nose.
He reeled backwards holding his face and swearing, and she bolted, shouting for her primo. She was jerked back at the wrist and her vision spun as he struck her across the cheek. Her ears were ringing too badly to hear what he said, but she was shuffled away by a flock of arms, her friends circling around her. She saw Joaquin sprinting away into the trees, Rodrigo hot on his heels. Her hearing cleared up enough to hear Julio and Guillermo shouting and fists pummeling something, and let herself be escorted back to Casita with her face smarting and sick to her stomach.
She didn't remember much once she'd made it into Casita's walls, but she couldn't forget that once she'd made it across the threshold she felt safe.
Bruno had been dragged from his room and pitched down the stairs late in the night to be dumped unceremoniously in the cocina. Elena sat at the table with Julieta daubing her bruised face with a cloth.
Without thinking he was at her side, his hands on her face, careful of the rapid swelling under her left eye. "Aye por Dios, are you alright? What's happened?"
"Carlos got after her at the dance hall," Miranda said, Bruno noticing Elena's friends for the first time. An alarm went off in his mind. The butcher was twice her size and a nexus for trouble from what he'd heard after Consuela had talked sense into him.
"Elena, are...what did he...what did he do?" he asked. She winced as he took her hand, and he saw the bruising and cuts on her knuckles.
"I'm alright, Bruno. He just slapped me. My own fault, I shouldn't have hit him."
"You broke his nose. Should have broken something else," Carlita said savagely.
"Julio and Memo broke the rest of him. Maldito hijueputo."
"He shouldn't have even touched you." Bruno fumed, ignoring Elena's shrug. He waited as Julieta handed over the arepa she'd made and let Elena heal the damage. He watched the fight drain out of her, and she reached out to him, looking exhausted. He flinched at her admonishment.
"You should have been there."
"I should have. I just…just wanted you to have some fun. I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch the punches." She snorted before falling into his arms, her face buried in his shirt. He brought his arms around her and rested his chin on her head, feeling like a fraud. He'd only wanted her to enjoy herself, tired of dragging her down. It was an easy thing, to hold her there and shoo her friends away after they'd told him what had happened, saying she needed to rest. He would worry about the fall out and consequences later. With at least six witnesses, three of them well respected young men who would be bearing the evidence of defending her, the young butcher and his friend would be dealt with well enough.
Carefully he led her to their room. He was at a loss for what to do, but letting her go didn't feel right. As soon as the hidden door to their actual living area closed she broke, falling to her knees and crying. Bruno sat beside her and gathered her in his arms, letting her cry against him, listening to her quiet condemnation.
"You used to...to scare them off. They...It's stupid, I know you aren't but...but they think you're cursed. They...They used to leave me alone...when you were...were around..."
"I know, querida, I know. Lo siento, I...I only didn't go because I thought...I thought you'd want time away. Time to...to be young again." He flinched even as he said it, knowing it was the wrong thing even before Elena's heavy sob.
"I am not a goddamned child, Bruno!!"
"I didn't mean...Elena I know you aren’t I just...I don't want you to...to isolate yourself for my sake. I...I know you aren't a child. But you're married to a boring old man, and..." He lost what he was going to say as Elena flapped his hands away, moved away for air before glaring at him. He was dragged forward by the collar as she pressed her lips to his forcefully. He froze as his mind raced, trying to figure out what to do next. She'd just been harassed and accosted and he was floundering. He had just begun to thaw when she pushed him away, looking hurt.
"Elena I...what...."
"Dios you can't even pretend, can you?" She hissed, angry tears coursing down her face. "Some other man just…molestada sus esposa and you can't even..." He gaped at her. Did...did she want him to be jealous of some creep? Did she want him to act like a bastard? He couldn't. He couldn't bear to. He'd already hurt her enough and he was a weak, soft man.
"Can't even what, Elena? Hurt you worse? No. No I can't. Por el amor de Dios why would I want to?"
"Jealousy? Passion? Anything? Jesú Cristo do you even care!"
"Of course I care! You're my wife! Why wouldn't I ca--"
"Because it should have been you!" Elena cried, her raw shout echoing against the walls as she stood. Bruno felt his heart zipping through his chest, unable to speak as she railed at him.
"It should have been you out there. You dancing with me! Not maldicion Memo Gonzalves! Should have been you hitting that pendejo! Should have been you pushing me against a wall to begin with! Anything! Anything to prove you aren't made of fucking stone!!"
She sank to the ground again, and he gathered her up, knowing she was right. The floor was cold, and his bed was closer, and it made all the sense in the world to sit her down and hold her as she wilted, her hands clawed weakly in his shirt.
"I don't...I don't expect...I'm not asking for...for a romance novel, Bruno. I'm not stupid. I know...I know by now that's not going to happen but...por dios how can you be married to someone for a year and not care about them?"
"I do care about you!" He shouted, flinching at how harsh it had sounded before hanging his head. "I know I'm piss-poor at it but I do. One day...one day I’ll be able to make...to make this all up to you. To...to earn your trust back." He wanted to hold her close, tell her the truth, but knew she wouldn't believe him. She was still unsteady on her feet from drinking and he knew from experience that while he rarely forgot anything after binging, she did. And he couldn't bear the thought of how she might react to it now, too keyed up from everything and rebounding hard from the ill treatment she'd received thanks to that damned Bardales boy.
She looked up at him through red, swollen eyes, and she may as well have punched him in the gut. How often had he brought her to tears? How many times had she cried because of his own stupidity? Carefully he took her face in his hands, thumbing the tears away, knowing she'd still be angry with him in the morning if she remembered anything at all, knowing no matter what he did she had every right to be furious with him, to hang him out to dry and leave him for someone more deserving. The ache in his chest where his fear used to live stretched as he regretted how long he'd hoped for just that. The other ache around it swelled and squeezed the remorse into submission, and he admitted as much as he could without giving everything away, terror that even this would send her back into her fury or chase her away entirely.
"I do care, Elena. I'm...terrible at this and that's no excuse, but I do. Please just...don't hate yourself because I’m a failure of a husband."
He swiped his thumb over her bottom lip before leaning in, pressing his lips to hers. He felt her soft sigh against his skin and wished he had the spine to swallow it, but she had begun shivering with latent nerves and he feared anything more would tip her over the edge they'd been dancing for months. It didn't stop the mingled smoky scent of the dance hall and the warm bite of her perfume from curling into his senses and coursing down his spine. The rush of blood to his groin made his stomach clench, caught between trying to will it away and the mad thought she’d actually believe him giving him hope
They broke apart slowly, Elena's eyes drooping, and it was easier than it had any right to be to guide her down to the covers and help her climb under them. She made a disappointed, sleepy mew as he slipped between the quilt and the sheet, keeping a layer of separation between them. His only answer was to find the back of her neck, dust a kiss to it and gently stroke the soft space between her blouse and her hairline until she fell into a deep, still sleep.
He hadn't slept so well in years, but she was gone by the morning.
*****
He sighed, shaking his reminisce away, standing and offering his hand to Elena. She gave him a tired smile and accepted, walking with him, content to chat while they took the stairs.
"Are you still doing that vision for Guillermo?" she asked. He nodded.
"Moved it out by a bit, but yes. I--uh--I've got more important things to take care of. Silvia's son can hold his horses."
"More important thing?" she cocked her head to peer at him, and the strange wan-ness seemed highlighted for a moment before passing. He paused on the step and reached for her, brushing her elbow. "I've got this stubborn little wife..." he teased, but no smile came, and his own faltered. He knew he couldn't confess how he really felt, not yet, not if he didn't want to scare her off. He cursed his past self for a coward and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. She shifted away from him, and it stung. He felt his grin quirk, but tried to keep things light as he shrugged, slipping his hand down to hers. She didn't pull away, and he took it as a good sign. "Well, anyway, she likes reading to the little gremlins at the bibliotheca. I thought maybe 'Hábil Jorge' could give her a hand today. Keep them busy."
"'Hábil Jorge'?" she squinted at him, he grinned wider and snagged a bucket and trowel from the girls' play chest as they reached the bottom and sand pit, plonking the bucket on his head, throwing out in a silly, bubble-throated voice "Hola, belleza Señora. I'm Jorge, I...trim the jacarandas!"
"With...a trowel?" she chuckled, and his heart did a flip. She hadn't been in much of a mood for most of his attempts at reconciling, though she hadn't outright pushed him away either. Mostly she seemed resigned to it, but not receptive. But making her laugh, even a little, felt good. He hopped away, brandishing the trowel like a sword, swishing it to and fro but careful not to snag the new ruana she'd made him.
"Si, it's a very handy tool! Let me demonstr-AAh!" He shouted as he tripped his foot catching in Chacha's rope enclosure and landing hard on his rear. He felt his ears go hot, but was rewarded with the sound of the old parrot grackling hoarsely and stifled laughter. He peeked out of the bucket and saw Elena covering her mouth and giggling fitfully. She swayed over nothing and had to catch herself on the stairs, looking dizzy. He was beside her in a second, but she waved him off.
"I'm fine, fine. Just overbalanced. I suppose...Señor Jorge can come today. He can show them how to fix that squeaky door in the café."
He removed the bucket and grinned, taking her hand back. She looked away, and he didn't press, unwilling to push his luck. A peace offering was better than nothing. 'No,' he thought, knowing that if he wanted her to actually believe he'd changed he'd have to put in more effort than doing the bare minimum of helping her at work. He halted just before his door.
"We're going to be late, Bruno," Elena said flatly, and he shrugged, not caring.
"Breakfast isn't going anywhere. I...wanted to thank you."
"For what?"
"For letting me tag along today. For letting me help. I know I've been...hard to live with."
She gave him a wan smile and shook her head. "Not the worst. Still better than living at home...I mean, with mi madre."
That hurt. Not just the low bar of being marginally better than living with Sofia, which could have been accomplished in a stable for all he was concerned, but he hadn't missed that she still called the loft home. It struck him then that she'd never referred to Casita as home, and a pulling sensation opened in his chest. And how could she feel at home, when the person that was meant to tie her to the place had neglected her for their entire marriage? He hung his head.
"Elena...for what it's worth--and I know that's not much but...but I am sorry. I don't know what I'm doing, but that's...that's not an excuse to just..."
"Bruno it's fine," she huffed, fanning him away and turning her face from him. He could see the heat rising in her cheeks, and he wanted to run his thumbs across them until it dissipated. He didn't want her to be embarrassed around him, though he knew he was far too late on most things.
"It's not fine. We're not fine. I just want to...What can I do, to make it better?"
She gave him that same rueful smile, the one she'd given him when he'd asked, stupidly, to play at friendship all those months ago. He knew her better now, knew her tastes in books and interests in learning and her nightly habits. Knew she hated her father's handwriting and her mother's cooking. Knew she took on too much responsibility because she saw so many things as 'just what people did,' not realizing that not everyone was their own personal and highly exacting taskmaster. And had they just been companions, just still been friendly customer and merchant, he could have been content with that. But they hadn't been just anything for a long time. Part of him, the part that had finally taken his idiotic reluctance, strangled it and buried it deep in his skull, feared he was too late. He didn't know her at all.
He'd lost the ability to make her laugh, to draw a genuine smile from her. She was just as tense around him as she was any one of the men that gave her too long looks when they were out. He'd lost the shy blushes and gentle care he'd seen glimpses of. He knew he deserved it, deserved her anger and more. But for the first time in his life he didn't want to just roll over and accept it. Time had seen something between them, and much as he could dislike his gift, he'd never outright denied it's truth. He no longer wanted to.
Elena never answered what he could do. She never did, though the question had become almost a daily ritual between them. He stroked the back of her hand, watching light play on her wedding band before bringing it to his lips to dust a kiss on her knuckles. He pressed his luck and leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek as well, grinning as her pretty blush returned.
"You...you didn't have to do that," she murmured, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She was still wearing the drab bandanas, and on a whim he plucked today's from her hair. She reached for it, but he tucked the cloth in his pocket and shook his head.
"Didn't have to. Wanted to. Let your hair see the sun, dorada."
She gave him a strange look as she ran a nervous hand over her hair, unused now to having it uncovered outside the house. "Is...do you like that better?"
"It's your hair, cariña. I just...don't think you should live in a shadow because you married one."
She gave him the same strange look, her hand coming up to his face, thumb careful at his chin, the little patch by the corner of his mouth that had started to gray. He’d leaned into her touch, and her hand disappeared. It was replaced with a tentative kiss that vanished just as quickly. He saw the briefest hint of who she had been before he’d dragged her so far down, and he pulled her back right as she reached the door. When was the last time he’d seen that girl? When was the last time she’d seen herself?
“Bruno, we’ll be late!” she reminded him, but there was a smile in her voice this time, and he shrugged.
“So let’s be late. Cold arepas aren’t the end of the world.”
“My madre’s boot certainly will be.”
“She can try. Might find herself with a loft full of rats and minus every shoe she’s ever owned.” It was a playful threat, but he was not above picking the lock on Elena’s old window and stealing his suegra’s shoes to shut her up if it would make Elena happier again. He was rewarded with a huffed laugh as Elena reached for the door.
She darted to the baño once out of his room, and he shook his head, knowing she was fighting the losing battle against the sand that seemed to accumulate around them and setting her hair. That took her longer these days too, and he worried. No one asked about the bucket, used to his unpredictable habits, and likely just glad it wasn't full of his rats. Chacha had followed them out and had made a home in it though, and he sighed, feeding her a long strip of mango before she started yanking his hair again. He made his plate, thought better of it and set it in Elena's place to his right. She didn't sit to eat with them often anymore, always busy now that Ben Aguilar had decided to move his legal archive down to the newer basement of the shops, larger and better suited for the town's record keeping. He hadn't liked that she'd agreed to helping the old juez reorganize and catalogue things, she was already overworked, but he couldn't argue she was the best person for the bibliothecaria job and then tell her not to do it.
He watched as Elena picked at her breakfast, looking green. He tried to avoid the pointed, pondering looks his mother was giving them, sure he'd be fending off pregnancy rumors again. Elena's fatigue had gotten them both questioned more than once already, but she chocked it up to long hours at the café and helping her parents, for some reason keeping up the lie that they were actually intimate. He still didn't understand why she hadn't ratted on him, especially not now that she had actually gotten fed up with his idiocy. Maybe she was holding out hope, like he was, that they'd figure each other out enough to not lead to disaster before much longer.
"Elena, is everything alright?" his mother asked, his thoughts summoning the devil. He tensed as Elena shrugged, taking a mouthful.
"Everything's fine, Doña Alma. Ben smokes like a chimney and the smell stuck to his records turns my stomach, better to not get too full beforehand."
"I...see. You know Elena, you've been in the family for over a year now, you can just call me Alma." Bruno watched as whatever wind Elena had in her sails fled and she sagged in her seat, the meek hunching in deference stoking his anger at Sofia's mistreatment once again.
"Lo siento. It...it's hard to drop it after so long of hearing mi madre talk like that. I'll try to do better if...if it bothers you."
Even his mother was startled. It wasn't often the rest of the family saw Elena's slip-ups, the strange and sudden changes of mood that spoke to having anything said swiftly ridiculed or worse.
"You're family, Elena. It's not about bother. I want you to feel at home here, especially given...your rough start." His mother glared at him, but he just stared, unsure how any more judgement from her could be any worse than how he already felt and was trying to rectify. Elena only nodded, going silent and taking another small bite of calentado before picking up a roaming Luisa and putting her on her lap, sharing her plate with her. Still small for her age, the family tried to encourage Luisa to eat as much as she wanted, when she wanted, and Elena had picked up the habit quickly as well. It wasn’t lost on Bruno how often he saw his wife with his youngest sobrina. Elena was enamored with all of the girls but Luisa was often the odd one out. After finding out both her age-mate and the child that would have been Julieta’s third had passed before they’d been born, something tender had taken over Elena’s face and she’d found ways to have Luisa nearby as much as she could without Julieta and Agustín protesting.
He knew the rest of the family had noticed too, his cuñados both teasing him, telling him he better hurry up and have a baby of his own before Luisa started calling him papí. He’d taken to siccing Chacha on them in revenge, until Elena had shouted at him. He hadn’t realized in her guilt over her pet’s new targets she’d been washing the bird shit out of their shirts and was getting tired of doing so. That particular domestic fit had earned him more teasing and a commiserate round of drinks. He’d been wary, but surprised himself when he began to feel nauseous after one and stopped on his own.
He’d taken to sneaking through the house at the late hours, if only to hear Elena on nights she volunteered to put the girls to bed. She sang and told them silly stories, and was prone to falling asleep in the rocking chair in the nursery. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in the doorframe and watching her, picturing her with a baby in her arms. She was still young yet, but her constant caring for their sobrinas and the longing looks he’d caught her at in the bibliotheca when young mothers came in made it perfectly clear that she wanted a family of her own.
He endured the teasing again as he helped Félix and Agustín with the dishes, promising he’d meet Elena once he was done.
“Well,” Agustín sighed, stacking plates, “at least the name won’t have to change on the adoption papers. I don’t envy whichever one of you has to fight Juli, though.”
“Ehhh, perdóname?” Bruno laughed as he rinsed the glasses. Better him than Gus.
“Well you and Elena are having too much fun to have your own, and it’s not even. Makes sense,” Félix chuckled. “Pepi might be pissed she got out of all the hard work though…”
“Ay por favor we aren’t adopting ‘Sita!”
“You wait any longer Elena might do it herself. Just zzizz, plaff, gone in the night.”
“I will knock up my wife on her schedule, thanks,” Bruno grumbled, scrubbing a bowl harder than necessary and covering his face with his hair to hide his blush. Agustín laughed.
“Think you might have missed the appointment on that one, amigo. Juli thinks it’s sweet, how close she is to the girls, but we do like putting our own daughters to sleep some nights.”
Bruno tossed the dishrag at him and grabbed his bucket, shooing Chacha towards his cuñados as they dodged.
“Ay, where are you going, we still have half a sink!”
“To check my calendar, now shut up, would you!” he shouted with a confidence he didn’t know where it came from. He ignored their rowdy cheers.
Elena shook her head as she watched Bruno--or Hábil Jorge rather, lift one child after another up to the squeaky corner of the café door, each one giving a heroic effort at sanding the swollen wood flat enough to stop sticking.
He’d introduced himself by flipping down from the pergola, clinging by his knees and the bucket holding on under his chin.
“Hola, chicitos!” he’d called in his silly voice. Señora Contreras squawked in surprise as the children squealed and giggled, and Elena had found herself trying not to laugh as she explained, ignoring Bruno as he monkeyed around on the pergola and trimmed the wisteria…with the trowel as promised. He'd given her a silly grin when she accepted the ragged bouquet he'd made, and she couldn't help but return it.
“Señora, niños, meet…Hábil Jorge. He’ll be helping me with the reading today. And teaching you all some handy life skills!”
The teacher, not much older then Elena herself, gave her a strange look. She let Bruno usher the children in at a comical march step, and shrugged.
“Señora…I know he’s your husband but some of the parents may not be pleased with this.”
“Bruno is wonderful with children. Anyone with eyes knows that. If they have an issue, they can come to me with it,” she said firmly, staring the teacher down as best she could with a few inch height deficit. Señora Contreras shook her head.
“Do as you do, Señora Madrigal. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Elena shook her head and went inside. Bruno had wrangled the children all into the reading area, and was occupying them with some silly story that seemed to involve at least one of his rats. She’d talk to him later about bringing them in, knowing her mother would throw a fit. She swallowed slightly at a sudden wave of hunger pangs and shook them off, pulling herself another epresso along with Bruno’s usual. She'd lost count of whether this was her third or fourth. She downed hers faster than normal, letting the heat and caffeine slam into her gut and warm her. The extra layers weren’t working as well as they had been and she couldn’t get warm today. She watched him for a few moments longer, until her heart settled down from the coffee, grinning at his antics, before knocking a tamper to the counter.
“Alright, Señor Jorge, I’m sure the niños are fascinated by ‘The Rat Cook of Paris,’ but you need your fuel for the day and they have a planned read of El Dorado. Shoo!”
She couldn’t help but smile back at him when he lifted the bucket marginally to grin at her before taking a grateful sip of his coffee. ‘He’s at least trying,’ she thought as she got settled. The children seemed disappointed, but as she began to narrate about the legendary city of gold, they calmed down and snuggled into their cushions to listen. She watched the little line of faces, knowing she’d soon see her two oldest sobrinas among them. She wondered, as she sent the children off on a potty break, if she would ever see her own child in the crowd. She started as Bruno came up to her, sans bucket for now, sitting beside her and handing her a warm mug of cocoa.
“You’re so good with them,” he said quietly as he leaned against the circulation desk. She flushed, trying to hide it as he leaned against her slightly. The cedar of his cologne and the sweetness of the wisteria still clung to his ruana, and it made her dizzy in the best way, though she tried to deny it.
“Thank you. I--well I try. I always loved listening to Olly when she…when she worked here.” ‘Shut up, what are you doing, talking about your cousin! They’re the same age, shut up you idiot!’
Bruno didn’t seem to notice. He grinned and took her hand, resting it over the leather cover of the book. “Eh, Olivia was consistent, but…you’re just better. At this. The kids love you.”
“The kids love an excuse to not be at school.”
“Well that’s true. But the fact that they get to listen to you, doing all the voices and making the stories fun? That’s great! Oop!” he started before plopping the bucket back on his head, scurrying away, “Speaking of, your audience awaits, Señora!”
She missed him as soon as he’d left, trying not to worry over what he’d said as she finished out the story and got the children herded over to him for whatever he had planned. She hid, spitting out the ever present mouthful of chicle she'd been using to stave off hunger pangs and dumping out the cocoa, quickly filling the mug with another cafecito and draining it for Bruno to see.
He’d explained the issue with the door with a comical routine, opening the door and having Provoleta, who was “hidden” at his feet, run around him and hide. He’d spin around at each squeak of the door, making it squeak worse as he opened and closed it, sending the children into giggles. Eventually he started asking questions, waiting for one bright girl to point out the door might be too big before cheering.
“A-ha! She’s figured it out! Good job Señorita…?”
“Rebekah!” the little girl grinned. Bruno knelt to her level, holding out a hand.
“And what do we do with things that are too big to fit?”
“We make them smaller!”
“That’s right! Who wants to help me?”
Elena watched as a wave of little hands raised, tacking a smile on her face as Bruno peeped at her under the bucket and shot her a sly thumbs up. She returned it before letting him go on with his plan and slinking to the baño. ‘What do we do with things too big to fit?’ He couldn’t have known, but the words struck her as surely as if he’d landed a half dozen slaps. Make them smaller indeed. She flushed the toilet to cover the sound of her retching, bile and coffee and a scant few bites of calentado swirling away as she cried. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. She hadn’t wanted him to know, not until she was ready. She could see the increasing interest, fleeting as it was, and knew he must have picked up on something, but no one had said anything about her weight. The doubled and tripled clothes and the fact that her face was still stubbornly bloated hid enough that no one thought to look twice. She just had to hold on for a little longer, stay on course another month or two.
The cool porcelain felt good for a moment before it chilled her, and she had to stand, dizzy. Her heart thudded against her ribs stubbornly, but she ignored it, determined to stand.
She opened her shirts and looked at herself in the mirror. Under her stosen she saw the sag and wrinkle of flabby skin. The bulge of an unrepentant stomach and the ugly silvering lines of weight. Her mother was right. She looked like she’d already had two children. She envied her mother then, still slim and smooth skinned and lovely after one successful pregnancy and another that, though it had ended in tragedy, had promised two sons. If Elena hadn’t been her daughter, she would think Sofia had never even been pregnant. Elena ground her teeth and twisted her hands into the sickening flab of her belly, twisting angrily and letting her tears fall into the sink. She twisted until she felt bruising start, the burning drag of her nails, and then stopped. She was buttoned up, fluffing her stiff blouses to keep up the illusion, and back out behind the counter in a moment, her face cooled in the sink and no one any the wiser in an instant.
Bruno was in his element entertaining the children. He stood straighter, his stutter was nonexistent, and she couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen him smile quite so much. Watching him lift each of the children, listening as they laughed and paying a little too close of attention to the play of the thin muscles in his forearms had her blushing, and she did her best to cover it, darting back and forth between the counter and the circulation desk as patrons came in, ignoring the constant fluttering in her chest. Of course her heart was going silly now, she thought. Her husband was taking up space at her work and showing a modicum of interest and oh she was pathetic.
Bruno caught her attention as Señora Contreras came to gather them, the bucket once again off his head and the faint scent of his sweat from using fifteen children as weights for half an hour sending her head spinning. An obligation for a vision, one he’d forgotten about until one of the children asked about their tía, and he was out the door. She missed him as soon as he left, berating herself for being pitiful but watching fondly out the window as he left. She couldn’t help stroking her thumb over the tiny red luck knot he’d woven at some point and left hidden in the napkins.
The lunch hour and reading hour taken care of, she settled in with another double espresso, allowing herself a small spoon of chocolate to flavor it as the next wave of customers came in. The day passed in a blur from then. She was aware of her father making his way down to man the bookstore for a few hours when the post comida crowd came in, but whatever they said to each other went in one ear and out the other, though she was grateful for his presence. She forced herself to tease him when he asked after how she was feeling, knowing if she didn’t give him a little guff for being nosey he’d suspect something, and she had been successful so far in fending off any questions.
As the evening closed in, her mother made an appearance. Elena found herself shrinking away, hating herself for it. The instinct was deep. Sofia did a good sweep of the shops, sniffing as she rubbed liniment into her crabbing hands. She struggled to sort a pile of on sale centavo novellas and Elena rushed to her side, sorting them for her. Before she could finish with that, her mother had found the return pile.
“Elena, have you put any of these away? The pile is as big as your father! Come sort this out before people start thinking we’ve denuded the bibliotheca shelves.”
Elena moved to the pile of returns. Several dozen books, Señor Alvarez and Señora Reyes setting their pre-holiday projects and sending students scrambling. She sighed before grabbing a stack, struggling under the weight. She pushed down the concern at that. She’d reach an even keel soon enough, temporary weakness didn’t mean anything. She was fine. The fine sweat she broke and the tightening bands around her ribs as she approached the end of the piles didn’t mean anything. Maybe if she told herself that enough, ignored needing to stop for breath at the ends of the aisle enough, she’d believe it.
Her mother found her as she shelved the last, her hands shaking slightly.
“If it’s that much trouble on you, have that husband of yours help until you get into shape to do it. He may as well be useful for something.”
“Mamá,” she tried to protest, but Sofia pressed a note into her hand.
“Bah, never mind that, it’s done. Later than I’d like but they’re your shops now too, I suppose. Your padre isn’t feeling well enough to go out and I am not calling on Julio for this when I’ve got you right here. Pick these up for me, please.”
Elena sagged against the counter as her mother made her way back up the stairs, a thermos of coffee under her arm. The week’s shopping, and Mamá had run out of a lot of the basics it seemed. Elena swallowed nervously. One sack each of rice, potatoes, cassava and corn flour, not to mention the orders of sundry vegetables and fruit and the slab of beef her mother wanted for the week. At least fifty pounds of shopping, and Elena felt the weakness in her arms and worried if she’d be able to make it back without embarrassing herself. She spat out her chicle and slipped fresh pieces into her cheeks. She still had weight to lose, and being caught out now would ruin her plans.
Julieta leaned against her table and yawned, nibbling on one of her own treats. She'd made too many again, and would have to deal with listening to people grip about stale empanadas again. It irked her, but she'd long since learned you couldn't please everyone. She chatted with Lucia Constantino, teasing her friend gently at having caught pregnant again. Lucia had laughed and waved her off, gathering a small baskets of empanadas for her own sore back and the ruckus her other four children had probably gotten up too. She'd begun teasing Julieta back about when she was going to try for her third then they heard shouting.
"Señora Julieta! Señora Julieta! Come quick! Señora Madrigal, she's passed out at the market, no one can wake her up!" Young Lili Medina's voice had Julieta up and grabbing her syrups in a shot.
"Mamá?" She panted as she ran. Lili shook their head. "No, no, Señora Elena! She fell and hit her head!"
Julieta's stomach sank, knowing from experience a bad fall or a head wound was tricky territory at the best of times, and Elena hadn't been at her best in months.
Chapter 7
Summary:
Julieta and Bruno discover the truth of Elena's strange behavior, and the house of cards falls down.
Elena and Bruno make several confessions, and Bruno grows a long overdue spine.
Notes:
Second half of the out of control chapter. I am abjectly incapable of writing anything short it seems. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
Chapter Text
Julieta had to press through the crowd to get to the center, holding her tongue in irritation at rubbernecking busybodies. Rodrigo Cortez and Carlita Panadero were crouching between the stalls. Silvia Gonzalves stood by, fanning a large palm frond into the gap between.
Elena lay at an awkward angle, Rodrigo holding her up as Carlita held a dishcloth to her head, half soaked with blood already. Julieta squeezed between Elena's friends and took her head in her lap, delicately lifting the rag. The gash below was still slowly oozing dark blood into her hair, a sharp angled cut that started above her brow and trailed into her scalp. Julieta could see the concern in her friends' eyes, but reassured them that even minor headwounds bled profusely.
"What happened?" Julieta asked as she pulled a bottle from her apron pocket, swiftly lifting Elena's lips to rub the sticky lulo syrup into her cheeks. She had to pause, fishing out two chunks of chicle tree gum. Elena's face, always wide and expressive, was half-sunken without them. Julieta held back a gasp and administered the lulo syrup in the soft skin. It was slower acting, but as the head wound sealed relief filled the air. Silvia spoke up, clearly shaken.
"She was just doing some shopping for Sofia. Had a couple of sacks balanced on her head and another in her arm. I...she was having trouble and Rodrigo left his stall to help her. Sweat all down her back like she'd run a mile. She grabbed another sack and just...crumpled. I'm so sorry, Julieta, I wasn't fast enough to break her fall and she cracked her head on the corner. Will she be alright?"
Julieta nodded distractedly, using the water someone had handed her to rinse some of the blood from Elena's hair and tapping her cheek lightly. That she wasn't waking up worried her, but Julieta knew sometimes knocks to the head took longer to heal internally. She felt the sweat down Elena's back and began unbuttoning the top few buttons of her high blouse, only to find a second underneath.
"Que en el mundo...?" she whispered. She knew Elena had been running cold lately, always wrapping in a shawl at home, but doubling up on clothes seemed excessive. She opened that blouse as well. Using the little pocket knife she always carried, she nicked Elena's skin and then her own palm, making it easier to sense anything going on internally. She didn't need her gift to feel the off rhythm, too fast beat of Elena's heart. That wasn't right. The syrup should have calmed down the adrenaline. Julieta took Elena's hand in hers and pressed on the nailbeds, watching as they took too long to re-pink. She took a closer look. The baby-fat of Elena's face had begun to melt away, and while she and Pepa had thought it was just signs of maturing. They'd both lost a little roundness in their twenties. Julieta realized now with this and the trick with the gum it was something much less innocuous. Elena's hands were almost bony, and her wedding band was held in place not by her own flesh but a hidden strip of leather tied underneath it. under the long, concealing sleeves of her blouse, the bone of her wrist stood out. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
Julieta stood, orders given without thinking. She had Carlita run and get a cart, got someone to deal with Elena's purchases so she wouldn't have to deal with Sofia, sent another person off to straighten out her own table and have it taken to Casita. Once the cart arrived she had Rodrigo take Elena to it and get her settled. The big man froze as he stood, Elena huddled limp in his arms.
"Se--Señora Madrigal? Something isn't right."
"I know, Señor Cortez. We'll get her sorted out at home."
"No I mean...Elena...I've picked her up before...picked up dead weight too...She doesn't weigh anything..."
Julieta nodded grimly and thanked him. "We'll get this figured out, Rodrigo, don't worry." She thought a moment, looking around not seeing the one face she should have in the crowd. "And would someone find my brother?"
Julieta was thankful that Agustín and Félix were home when she made it with Elena in the cart. She paid the driver and had Elena brought to her room.
"Dios mio what happened?" Pepa startled as she wrangled the children, all three squabbling to see their tía. Julieta didn't stop her determined march across the courtyard, shaking her head and stopping Pepa in her tracks.
"She fainted in the market. We'll figure the rest out once she's woken up."
Julieta reached for her smelling salts and supplies as her husband and cuñado got Elena settled onto the bed.
"Where's Bruno? He should be here with her." Julieta asked.
"Doing a vision I think. I'll get him." Félix said, tuning for the door
She shooed them away before administering to Elena. She rubbed another dose of syrup into her cheeks and wafted the ammonia odor of the smelling salts over her until she began to stir.
She came to with a start, shrinking away in confusion as she looked around.
"Julieta? What...what happened? Why am I in your room? What's going on?"
"You tell me, Elena. You fainted in the market. Cracked your head open pretty good on the way down, too."
"Oh. I...I haven't felt well today, must have gotten carried away," Elena shrugged, looking away. Julieta sat beside her, taking her hand. Elena pulled back, but didn't have the strength to yank free, and Julieta wrapped her fingers around her thinning wrist.
"I'd believe you if it wasn't for this. Elena you're wasting away. What is going on? What is this?"
"Nothing! It's nothing. I just...I just made a mistake, that's all. I'm fine."
Julieta watched Elena's eyes darting, could feel her pulse still skipping and fluttering, could see the sickly pallor her pale skin had taken, and shook her head.
"Elena this isn't a mistake. You've lost...Dios I don't know how much weight. And you've been hiding it! Doubling up your clothes? Padding them? I can feel your bones! I knew you weren't eating as much at cena but I don't see you half the day. I just thought you were eating at work. But now....when was the last time you actually ate?"
Elena looked away, working her jaw. In the dimmer light the shadows under her eyes and at her cheeks were more prominent, and Julieta realized the only reason they hadn't seen the weight loss sooner in her face was her high cheekbones and sturdy jaw and the last baby-fatness of youth masking the hollowness with the natural width of her face. Julieta squeezed her hand before her instincts kicked in. She pulled Elena up and in a flurry of buttons and feeble protests had her down to her camisole and bloomers and bundled under the cover once she saw the extent of the damage. The sallowness of poor nutrition. The sag of skin being hollowed out by starvation. The strange bruising showing through thin material everywhere, inside wrists and thighs and stomach. Finger shaped bruises. Elena sniffled and tried to get away, but Julieta had her wrapped in a thick quilt in an instant and back in the bed.
"Elena, please. I'm not angry with you, I just want to understand. What is this? When was your last meal?"
"...Sabado?" Elena muttered, uncertain and wiping her eyes. Julieta reeled. Three days?
"Elena, you can't go that long between meals, of course you'll faint!"
"I know. I know, I made a mistake. I...It won't happen again. I just..."
"Just nothing. Elena, it takes more than three days to get into the shape you're in now. How long has this been going on?"
“Not…not that long…”
“Elena you had at least forty pounds on Bruno when you married him. Now if he doesn’t outweigh you by that I’d be surprised. How long?”
Elena mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘mi cumpleaños,' and Julieta reeled.
“You can’t just drop seventy pounds in four months! Elena that’s…Por Dios what were you thinking?”
"Julieta I'm fine! I just miscalculated a little is all. I just--uuhnn" Elena protested before wincing. Julieta still held her wrist, and hadn't stopped monitoring her pulse, the thready beats skipping erratically as Elena paled, sweat on her brow.
"Fine, hm? Elena, I don't know what this is but you are not fine. I have seen how much coffee you've been drinking lately. Too much. Far too much. Between that and the not eating? You've damaged your heart."
Elena's fearful eyes filled with tears, and Julieta's own heart twisted as she watched her break down. She had been so focused on her children and her duties to the town that her cuñada often went unthought of outside of when they crossed paths in the house. She hadn't paid attention, hoping Bruno would step up and make sure his young wife integrated into the family. And in some aspects she had. The children loved her, and she was easy to get along with when she did feel like talking, and she took her turn at things around the house quietly and efficiently.
As Julieta looked back she realized that quiet and reserved and obedient were not words she would have associated with Elena before she had joined the family. She'd been bright and loud and a bit of a wild child, always causing a ruckus with her primo and her friends. A hard worker and a hard partier. But in the last year, only one thing had really changed, and it made Julieta sick to think of it. Bruno was her brother. He was a good man as far as she knew, but he had been so, so against this match from the start, and so beaten down by the town. She had thought it was only because of Elena's age, but they were so exceptionally quiet about themselves that she couldn't know for sure. Getting out from Sofia's cruel treatment should have let her bloom further, into some vibrant, hardy creature, but she'd withered on the vine instead. And Julieta couldn't ignore the disparity any further. What she had to do hurt, but for her cuñada's sake, she had to know for sure.
"Elena...Why are you doing this? Is...Is this something....did Bruno want you--"
"No!" Elena cried, shaking her head fiercely. "No. Bruno...Bruno doesn't know. He...I just...wanted to surprise him. I...Juli I know what I look like. I know he didn't want to marry me. If I can...I can't do anything about...about my face but if I can get my weight down at least I'll be...I'll be...He could...I know how ugly the weight is and..."
Julieta gaped at her, unable to process what she was rambling about. She couldn't believe her ears. She'd assumed Elena had changed her habits and her dress to seem more mature, because Bruno had raised an unmitigated stink about her age, but this was extreme. Elena had always had a distinct look, blonde curls and freckle-skinned, unable to be lost in a crowd, but she was by no means remotely ugly. She had stronger features than her mother's pinched, fox-like face to be sure, but she'd always been full of life and a lovely, feisty character and rough charm that enhanced her open, handsome face and solid frame. She didn't look right thin. She'd always had more personality than seemed to fit her, and Julieta could see both of them shrinking away before her eyes. And how could a woman surprise her husband with such a drastic change to her body when they shared a life and bed.
Julieta jolted in realization. Elena had never come to her for contraceptives. She'd discounted it until now as newlywed fun and inherited issues making things more difficult. On the rare occasions she'd overheard Elena talking with her friends, she was vague. She had never spoken about her physical relationship with Bruno outside of letting people assume things. The other shoe slammed into place when Julieta remembered Bruno's recovery from that stupid escapade at the bar. Elena asking Félix for help to change his clothes. Elena and Bruno's complete lack of physical affection outside of the most perfunctory gestures. The little door Julieta had seen in Bruno's room the few times she'd ventured in to retrieve one of her daughters and the absence of a honeymoon period for them. She had to be sure. Her brother was the exact right type of idiot to think something like this was a mercy when it was nothing more than a slow cruelty.
“Elena...what do you mean ‘surprise him?’ How long has it been since…since you were together?” Elena’s mouth made an admirable imitation of a fish for a long, painful second before she crumpled, whatever tears she’d been holding back choked out of her in violent sobs. She was shaking her head, trying to deny something Julieta didn’t want to acknowledge herself, but she had to press, had to prod at the wound she’d been presented with to find out how deep it went.
“Cariña…is everything alright between you and Bruno? Is he…is he cruel to you? Has he caused these bruises?”
“N-no! He-he’s never hurt me! He never would, never. He’s just…he’s doesn't…That’s why I…I just thought if I…if lost the weight…if I was prettier he’d…want to...to be with me but he’s never…he can't…” Julieta gathered Elena into her arms and let her sob on her shoulder as she fumed.
"He can't...what, Elena?"
"I know I'm nothing to look at...but I'm his wife. I'm his wife and he won't..." Elena covered her face, shame dragging sobs from her. "Am I really that awful that even my own husband won't touch me?"
“You and Bruno have never...you’ve never slept with him?”
Elena shook her head, a cracked, hysterical laugh breaking through her sobs. “He…He said he was too drunk on…on our wedding night. And…and the next few months. I thought he was…thought he was sick but…but I know he’s not. He barely even looks at me...never... He just…he just kept…kept sending me…away!”
“Away? Where?”
“My…my room. I have…it’s a little door.”
“Oh, Elena.”
“The only time I’ve…been in his bed was when…when I got roughed up at the dance hall. He…I guess he felt…felt sorry for me. I tried, Juli. I tried! I really did! I thought I could...I thought we could be happy. I...if I just tried a little harder or did a little more or did what he asked but it... I tried so hard to be a good wife and nothing…nothing I do is right! I’m just…I just live here…we aren’t…I have to try harder! I’m sorry! I’m so so-sorry!”
Julieta shook her head at the quiet desperation in Elena's voice. The clear fear of failure, when nothing that was going on was her fault. She had a good suspicion why Bruno would act this way, but understanding didn’t make the knowledge any easier to swallow. She let Elena cry herself out before making her a thick, sweet avena and leaving no question that she wanted her to finish it.
“Look at me, please. We can fix the damage to your health, but it will take time and you will have to eat. For the rest…you are beautiful, and my brother is a gigantic, blind idiot. This ends today.”
“Julieta don't, please don’t! I’m alright, I’ll be alright! I’ll figure it out and he’ll--”
“He will come in here and apologize for treating you this way immediately. If he has any sense in that fat head of his he will beg you to forgive him. You haven’t done anything but love him, and he’s been throwing it in your face for a year. Drink the rest of that, please.”
Julieta didn’t stay to watch, only pulling a curtain around the bed, the fear Elena had shown when she’d told her about her heart enough to ensure she’d listen. The hallway was quiet, though a storm was beating down into the courtyard, and even Mamá wasn’t saying anything because she’d been just as alarmed when they’d brought Elena in.
“Casita, I don’t care if he’s doing a vision, bring Bruno out here, now.”
Bruno had just sent the elder Señor Castillo down when he heard the tale-tell sign of thunder and the house on the move. Before he could straighten up and grab something to settle his stomach the sands around him reared up and trapped his legs.
“Casita?” he asked aloud, looking for answers. His shouts echoed throughout the canyon seconds later as the sand dragged him out of the vision cave and down the sheer canyon walls, the floor coming up to greet him so fast he shielded his head in his arms to avoid seeing the splattering death the house had assigned to him.
He’d barely had time to verify he still had all of his limbs before he was jerked out of the sand and through the entryway to be dumped unceremoniously into the hall only to be snatched up at the ear by sharp, punishing fingers.
“Ow, Juli what the hell? The house just threw me off a cliff! Are you trying to kill me?”
“Don’t tempt me, Bruno! How could you? How on earth could you? She’s so sick!”
“What…what are you…"
"Your wife, you pendejo!"
"El--Elena? What’s wrong? What do you mean sick?”
Julieta glared as if to say ‘like you’d care’ and Bruno’s stomach dropped at the fire in her eyes.
“She’s been wasting away under our noses. She’s been hiding it! For you!”
“Wasting…” his eyes went wide, the fear combining with his stomach on the floor. “What do…wasting away…not like…not like her padre…”
“She doesn’t have tuberculosis, you idiot! She’s been starving herself! For months. For you!”
“What? Juli, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“It did to her! Four months she’s been at it and the only reason we didn’t notice is her face doesn’t show it much and she’s been hiding it! Because of you!”
“What do you mean because of me! I didn’t ask her to do that! I'd never want her to!”
“You didn’t have to!” Julieta hissed, steering him into her room by his ear and slamming her door shut. “What were you thinking? What the hell were you thinking? You marry the poor girl and never touch her? Of course she’s going to think there’s something wrong! Between that and all the bullshit Sofia puts in her head, of course she’s going to think it’s her fault! Jesú Cristo Bruno I knew you were upset about the age difference but this is just cruel! If she leaves you over this I'll be right behind her in support! What the hell were you thinking!”
Bruno stumbled before falling into a chair, the implications of what he'd done in his indifference making him sick. He went back over the last few months in his mind, trying to parse out what he'd missed, trying to find any fragment of sense in the situation. Elena's strange perpetual chill. Her more recent tiredness, the gray pallor that had begun to take over her skin. Her distance now, when he'd begun getting close. Had she not wanted him to know? He slumped and held his head in his hands as guilt crashed down on his shoulders. He hadn't meant for this. He had never meant for this. She was supposed to get tired of him. Supposed to shame him for being a useless husband. He squashed down the part of him glad she hadn't. Clearly it hadn't been to her benefit.
"Juli is...is she alright? I don't care if she...if she's done with me I just...Please tell me she's alright."
"She will be, after I'm done with her. But you need to try and fix this. I don't even know if you can. For some reason that poor woman loves you, but that might not be enough. What the hell were you thinking, Bruno? How could you be that hateful to her?"
"I wasn't! I wasn't trying to be, I just..."
"Just what? Because anyone with sense would think you couldn't stand her!"
"Of course I can stand her!" he groaned, knowing Julieta was right. He slumped. "Elena is...she's a wonderful person. She's so good with the kids. She's bright and caring and I..."
"If she's all that to you why on earth wouldn't you show her! What man doesn't sleep with his own wife unless he hates her?" Julieta pressed, words spearing him in the heart.
"I don't hate her!" he insisted, but Julieta wasn't done.
"What sort of man drowns himself in liquor to hide from his wife? Lets her do this to herself because she's under the impression you think she's hideous!"
"The kind that doesn't deserve a wife in the first place!" Bruno shouted, standing. Julieta blinked, looking at him. He laughed humorlessly as the lump in his throat swelled up.
"Look at me. Look at me, Julieta. I was a worthless drunk when she married me and now I'm just useless. I've ruined her life just by being in it. She doesn't deserve this." He fell back into his chair, pushing his hair from his face. "She shouldn't be stuck with someone that doesn't even want to face the future. Any of them."
Julieta looked at him keenly, but he ignored her, shame at his admission silencing him. She squeezed his shoulders before crushing him in an embrace. Then she pulled away and slapped him so hard his head hit the winged side of the chair and his ears rang.
"You stupid man. We're right here. You've got me and Pepa and...and everyone to talk to! Why on earth wouldn't you tell us?"
"And have to listen to Mamá lamenting what a failure and disappointment I am? You know how she'd take it. If she didn't disown me she'd have me locked away in the church 'for my own safety.' Pepa? She'd act like everything was fine and flood the town. I wouldn't put that on you or Gus or Félix either."
"Then ask your wife! Ask the Padre! But por el amor del dios pull yourself together!"
"I'm not...Juli I'm not worth the trouble, don't you see I--" She twisted his ear with a snarl.
"You are not what the town thinks you are! You aren't! You think we don't know what they say? What they do? Of course we know, but you shove us away any time we try to help! Prove them wrong instead of just--just wallowing in the abuse for once!"
"HOW!?" he roared, surging up and away from her punishing hands even as he earned them. "How the hell do I prove anything! I can't help my Gift! I can't help what I see! They think I'm cursing them!"
"And you're proving them right!"
Her words locked him in place. "What...what are you talking about?" Julieta muffled a scream in her hands before rounding on him again.
"Those stupid rumors died down after you got married. People started coming around. 'He can't be that bad if his wife's happy!' Elena was out there shutting people down and telling them they were wrong every time they started up. She's thrown more people out of the shops and lost more customers since she married you than I can count! She's been telling people how sweet and how clever and how creative you are, how good you are with the girls, puffing you up like you're some...some Príncipe Encantador! And all you've done in return is shit in her hands!" Julieta paused for breathe and glared at him when he moved. He didn't dare speak.
"People noticed when she stopped. They noticed when she got quiet. When she started dressing like a nun. I didn't say anything because I thought she was just...figuring things out with you but now this? If you weren't my brother I wouldn't doubt the nasty rumors people keep repeating."
"Por dios, I do not chain up my wife!"
"Not physically." Julieta hissed. "Not with chains. But the way you've acted has destroyed her. Even the house acts like you don't want her. Gave her a separate room. You tore that girl down every time you sent her away. Every time you threw a fit about her age."
"She's not a child. I know that. I know that, Juli!"
"Then treat her like an adult instead of acting like you know what's best for her!"
"---please stop fighting," came Elena's quiet sob from behind the curtain, cutting off whatever Bruno had been about to say, the words vaporizing on his tongue.
Bruno rose in a daze, pulling the curtain back slowly, afraid of what he might see. Elena sat, huddled in the blanket in her underthings, and he could see the cost of his stupidity written clearly across her skin. Bruises in odd places, places that made no sense until he realized the finger print shapes could have only come from her own hand. She had withered away, a shriveled succulent. Her body without the weight didn't have the same strength to it that Pepa or Fernanda Vazquez did, that coltish energy that made sure people knew them. Her stomach had sunken in, flat as she huddled, and the softness of her hips and breasts had all but melted away. Some women were built to be slim, but Elena, strong of shoulder and generous of hip, had never been one of them. A ghost of his wife peered up at him, shame faced, and he slid in beside her, taking her hand. That she didn't pull away spoke volumes. He sat, morbidly fascinated by how dainty and faint she'd become. Sick to his stomach with it that he had never noticed. Ghastly impressed with how complete her deception had been. And disgusted with the truth that he'd pushed her into the lie of it all in the first place.
He couldn't bring himself to speak at first, overcome with disgust for himself, for the confirmation in front of him that he'd never deserved her, never deserved anyone. That he ruined everything he touched. In spite of that, he couldn't let go of Elena's hand, clasped between his own as she let her tears fill the silence. Slowly, cautiously, he thawed and cupped her cheek, brushing tears away, his voice quiet and halting.
"I...Is what Juli's saying true? It's my fault...I've driven you to do this?"
Elena shook her head fiercely, but couldn't meet his eye. He sighed.
"Please don't think I'm angry. Or--or disappointed. I'm just...I'm worried and I'm confused. I'm not worth all this trouble."
She was quiet for a long moment before covering her face, turning away from him. "It's me. It's me. It's all my fault! I t-t-tried to be better! I tried to be a good wife! I don't know how. I don't know how. I don't know anything!"
"None of this is your fault. None of it. Please don't...don't..." he said, pulling her close as reality came crashing around his ears. She seized up at his embrace and another wave of disgust at himself rolled down his spine. Where had she gone? Where had the sparking, spirited young woman that had smiled and teased him in those first awkward days gone? He didn't need to be told he'd been the one to snuff her out and bury the coal of her alive. It crashed into him and battered him to pieces against the mountain of her sorrow. He held her closer, close as he should have been holding her all along. He knew it from the sharp ache that formed in his chest, the ache that branched out and speared every part of him as she broke into sobbing against him. He let her. Let her cry and rage at him and beat her little fists against his chest, so weakened now it didn't even hurt his thin frame, where once she'd been able to wrangle that giant horse of hers and hold her own against her primo at his ranch.
Bruno sagged, holding Elena close as she cried, his own heart being scooped out of his chest and dashed to the floor with each sob. He'd done this to her, with his distance and his lies and his cowardice. His idiotic insistence of pushing her away. Of course she'd broken against the stony walls he'd built around himself. Anyone would. He'd nearly broken himself and he was the one causing the damage. He pulled her closer and pressed a desperate, tearful kiss against her hair. His voice was heavy as she pulled away, peering at him in confusion.
"I don't expect you to forgive me for what I've...what I've put you through. I just...I thought..." He sighed, scooting away to give her space, though he kept her hands in his.
"I...your age when this began...I thought...I thought you deserved better. Better than an old man and a shabby wedding and your reputation ruined by association."
"B-Bruno I--"
"Please, let me explain. You can do whatever you want once you...once you know why." It hurt to look her in the eye, those bright, honey brown eyes that had haunted him since he'd placed the ring on her finger.
"I...I didn't realize it until...until just now. I should have seen it before. But I never...I never stopped treating you like a child, and that's...that isn't fair to you. Just...just assumed I knew what was best and that was never me. I made decisions for you rather than talking with you...figuring things out."
"I...I don't understand."
"I thought you needed someone else. Someone younger, better than me. But...But you're so--determined. So driven. I knew if I just told you that you'd dig your heels in. That you'd try to prove me wrong. I thought if I was...if I was a terrible husband you'd get tired of me and leave. If I hadn't....It would have been so easy for you to get an annulment, if people thought I wasn't able to...well..."
"You...you thought I'd leave because of that?"
"People have left for less. And if you went to the priest for an annulment because I couldn't...perform...there wouldn't have been any fault for you. I was...I was prepared to take the ridicule. I'm sort of used to it."
Elena stared at him, a hint of color rising to her cheeks as her brows knit together.
"All you did was...was string me along for months! I knew--I saw! Why would you lie to me? Am I that awful? Por dios do you really hate me that much? You could have just hit me! At least that I understand! Not this...this."
Bruno looked at her, horrified. He remembered how flinching she had been, the few times he'd risen his voice in her presence. The constant beating herself up over any perceived slight. The way she'd slowly diminished herself around him until she was barely even noticed, sifting and disappearing like fog. he pushed down bile at her words and took her face in his hands, stroking way tears as they fell.
"I would never hurt you. Not...not like that," he ended lamely, realizing he'd hurt her even worse with his neglect than he ever could have with his hands. "I'm a lot of things, but I could never, never do that. You didn't deserve anger just because I'm worthless. I...you were kind to me, before. I liked you. And even if I didn't I...I'm not some brute. I would never--"
"No. You'd just...just ignore me. Lie to me. Forever. You could have just told me the truth. I know what I look like. I know I...I know I'm ugly, alright. You've made that clear. You could have just told me and I would have gone. You wouldn't have had to pretend you cared so long. Played at friends. Got my hopes up. You could have just left me alone."
"Elena..." he balked, but her anger was leaving her, her voice growing weaker as she went on, vomiting her rage into him.
"What was it? Was I right? Don't lie to me, Bruno. I know, alright? I know you aren't...I know I'm not...not what you wanted. What anyone would want. At least if I looked different you can...can pretend. Could that...would that work? If I just...If you can just...pretend I'm someone you could...I just wanted to be a good wife to you!"
"Elena, please stop. You aren't ugly! You are a good wife! Better than I'll ever deserve! It's not a question of wanting you it's just--"
"What haven't I done? I can't help how I feel, Bruno! I can't help...I can't help that I f-fell in love with you. Dios sabe I wouldn't have if I'd known we'd end up like this! I wanted you to be happy. The town and your visions--I know they make you miserable and I just...I wanted to make you happy. Even when you were...were horrible I...I still wanted to make you happy..."
Her words lanced at his heart, and he fought past the lump in his throat, trying to reassure her, pushing down the poor timing of the elation in his chest at the admission that she loved him. He couldn't focus on that when she was falling apart in his arms.
"Elena I...please querida, don't blame yourself. I know I've been...I was wrong, I was so wrong and I don't have any excuse for it besides being a coward. I didn't mean for things to go like this! I didn't want you to hate yourself! You were supposed to hate me! I didn't want to--" He was cut off by a keening sob as she fell against his chest again, hiding her face.
"What do you want from me? I've tried everything to make you see me! To be...to be a good wife and...I can't. I can't do this anymore. What do I have to do? What do you want from me?" She cried, unable to stop her tears as she clutched at the blankets, her hands twisting and pulling. Bruno felt like she was twining them into his chest, fingers buried into the muscle and sinew of his heart. He swallowed before answering her, knowing if he wasn't clear with what he said she'd only spiral further, and he pinned his hopes on one word.
"You."
"What?"
"I want you. Just you." he clarified as he held her close and rested his cheek against her curls. She was shaking.
"But..." she stuttered, silencing when he took her hands in his.
"You spent...I made things so hard and I...I was wrong. I just...I just want you, Elena. I have for...I should have told you the minute I realized how I felt. Should have begged you to forgive this stupidity months ago." He paused to wipe her tears away, wanting, needing to see her face as he finally admitted the truth. "You deserve so much more than me, but...but you've been nothing but devoted to a lost cause for more than a year, and I never did anything to earn it. But you stayed anyway. You stayed and I don't think I'll ever understand it, but you stayed beside me, even when it was tearing you to pieces and I was too stupid to notice. You are so much more than some idea of a wife, so much more. And I want to know that person. I want to know you. Not this...not who you are with all the burden I've put on you. Let me take it back, let me carry it. Be yourself again, the real you."
"I don't even know who that is. Not anymore." He could feel her tears redoubling, soaking the shoulder of his shirt as she huffed, trying not to sob.
He knew the truth of it, knew she'd lost herself trying to please him. He thought briefly of her from before. Her bright, gap-toothed smile greeting him at the café. The righteous fury she'd shown hopping down from the bookshelf ladder to break Joaquin Ruiz's feet. Or thrown the same man off the stairs to defend her reticent husband. The way she'd always given Abuelita Ximena and Señor Geraldo her full attention when they needed help, one beginning to weaken with age and the other becoming forgetful at a frightening speed. The echo of a boisterous laugh as hoofbeats erupted past. The gentlest of hands showing little girls that even the most irritable of nature had it's place and purpose. He smiled.
"I do. She's loud and stubborn," he murmured, stroking her cheek when she whimpered, "And she's beautiful. She's smart and she's funny and she's amazing with our sobrinas. She rides through town on a giant campolina and tears up the dance hall with her friends. She helps people find exactly what they need when they need it and she breaks men's noses when they fuck up. She comes to a husband that doesn't know her with an open heart and tears herself to pieces trying to please him when he's just a coward. That's who you were. And who you still are. Before I...made things so hard."
"Bruno you didn't...it was...I..."
"I did. It was never, never you, Elena. I denied so much because I was afraid. Your age scared me. I knew the night, the minute I saw the vision that...that I was doomed. Doomed to..." He swallowed as she wilted, but he didn't allow her to fall into herself for his own lack of eloquence. He took her face in both his hands and kissed her, long and slow and tenderly, waiting until she melted into him to let her go and not wanting to.
"I knew I was doomed to fall in love with this...wild, fierce, kind woman I'd never deserve. No matter what I did. You deserve so much better. You always have. You always will. Better than a man that runs from his own future."
"But I don't want better." Elena said quietly, taking back his hands. "I decide what I deserve, what I want. Not you. Not mis padres or your mama or the future. Me. And I just...wanted to be a good wife to you. I wanted you. I...I still do."
His heart swooped as she spoke, coming to rest where it was meant to in his ribs instead of living in his throat or stomach as it had taken to doing in turns for months. He still had time to undo this mess, or do his best to try. He was both amazed and worried about Elena's capacity to forgive him, knowing some of it had to do from the constant harassment her mother had subjected her to, and he had his own plans to confront that unpleasantness brewing. For now he had more important things in front of him. He was a jealous man, and if she wanted to remain tied to him, he would do his best to ensure she wouldn't regret it. He bowed towards her as best he could, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands, trying to press his sincerity into her skin, squeezing her tight and hoping she could draw some strength from him, drain him to replenish herself.
"Can we try this again? I...I know I messed up. I've...I've caused so much hurt...and I...I...Elena I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. If you'll let me."
Elena nudged him to look at her, blinking away tears and nodding, trying to pull him to her by his shirt, but how easily he was able to resist brought to light just how much she had twisted herself to try and fit some illusion of perfection she'd thought he wanted. He held her at bay, pressing a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the rapidity of his heartbeat as she bit back a whine.
"Not yet. Not like this. I am so...so sorry I missed so much. I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't!" she tried to assure him, but he turned her frailing wrist over in his hand and traced a vein, highlighting her newer weakness.
"Elena...whatever I did to make you think I wanted you to...waste away...I don't. I never did. I'd never ask you to do this to yourself."
"I just wanted to...to...I thought if I...if I lost the weight you'd...Mamá said no man wants a woman that already looks like she's had two children and I..."
"Elena, please stop. Your mother is an idiot, she doesn't know what any man wants. You were beautiful before. You...still are, because you're still you...but you look...now you look sick. Por dios you passed out at the market carrying groceries. I've seen you sling sacks of coffee and book crates like they were nothing. Straining under your mother's shopping isn't you."
"But I...I just made a mistake, I can still...I can get my strength back and...and stay thin too, I can! I just have to--"
"No," Bruno said, rising and snagging their vision from the table where Casita or Julieta had brought it. "Elena look at you here. Look. You're so happy. You look strong! You look like you could fight off a bear if it threatened our son!" Both of them froze at the acknowledgement of the little boy in the vision, but Bruno pressed on. "I didn't hate that frilly thing you wore on our wedding night because of what was underneath it. I hated it because it made me see you. I'd never really looked at you before. It just...it never crossed my mind to. Yes because of you age, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for never seeing you. And then I...Then we were at the Pre-Cana and getting married and the world didn't stop long enough to let me...I never got used to the idea."
"What...What idea?"
He sighed and sat, handing her the vision. "The idea that you weren't just little Lenita that I babysat sometimes anymore. That you were a grown woman running businesses and learning and becoming this beautiful person in the vision. That maybe time had--had known more about me than I did and that we...that we were meant for each other."
He paused, studying her hands and where she'd lost so much weight her wrists were thinner than his own. "The...the only objection I had to you when we married was your age. I...you hadn't had any time to really live your life on your own. And...I was...I didn't want the town to think...didn't want you to think I was some dirty old man."
"Bruno I never thought that. I never--"
"I know, Elena. I know. But I...I couldn't help but think it about myself. I know other people thought it too. Even your primo thinks it, still. It was the one rumor I managed to avoid and I was a coward. I couldn't face that. I thought if...if people said it that...that my sisters would hear and believe it and I'd lose them and my sobrinas too and I...I made so many mistakes."
"Oh, Bruno...I've never thought that about you. Isn't that enough? The town...I don't know why they're so awful..." He shook his head.
"It wasn't just that. A lot of it was, but...I was so sure I'd be a disappointment to you, that I'd ruin you...I was so afraid I'd bring you down...but I did it anyway."
"I just...Bruno I don't understand..."
He sighed, forcing himself to speak, the truth of it sharp in his chest and cutting.
"I was scared. If neither of us really came to care for the other, I could have lived with that. If...If I loved you but you never returned it...that--that I could survive that too. It would be hard, but I...I'm used to being alone. Or I was. It was...it was your part that terrified me. If you loved me and I wasn't able to return it or-or-or if...if we fell in love together and then you saw how awful I was...If I failed you so badly I lost your love...I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't stand hurting you so badly." Elena gawked at him, a tear spilling slowly down her cheek. He wiped it away.
"I...I knew you'd refuse if...if you figured out what I was really doing. Trying to get you to leave. I...I see the future but most of the time it terrifies me. I'm never sure if I...If I'm strong enough to stick around for it."
"Oh, Bruno," Elena whimpered. He shook his head. "I didn't think I had enough to hang on for. La familia all have each other and I'm a loose end. But I can't do that now, can't even...If I...I couldn't do that to you it would...I have to try and be strong for you now. Face the future. It was...It's been hard, coming to terms with that. Part of me still thinks...if I'd told you 'hey, you should annul this whole mess because I'll never be good enough for you...' But I know you would stay."
"What...was that it? Do--do you still want an...an anu--anullment?" It was a hiccup, and his heart broke at the fear in her voice, proving him wrong for the hundredth time that day, proving that he was the worst sort of idiot.
"No! No. Not if...not if you don't. Though...I couldn't blame you if you did...after everything..." He sighed. Elena squeezed his hand and shook her head fiercely, too choked up to answer but making it clear regardless. She urged him to continue weakly, and again he was struck by how much she'd faded away. Por dios he hoped she'd recover.
"I thought...I thought I knew what was best for you. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...shouldn't have treated you like a child. I thought if I...If I just...let you twist in the wind you'd get fed up and...and beg for an annulment. Who'd want a useless old man?" He knew he was talking in circles, his mind too busy to keep his thoughts straight, but he had to make sure she understood that the issue had never, would never be her. If repeating a lie could make you believe something, maybe repeating the truth could make someone see it.
"You're so stupid." she laughed, and Bruno jerked away, startled by her blunt words. She laughed, long and loud and a little mad, and he couldn't blame her. It was...it was a good sound. She took the vision in its frame and shoved it into his gut.
"You idiot. It wasn't like there was a vision showing us married with a family or anything." He couldn't help but chuckle at her bluntness.
"I know. I thought...I thought maybe it was...if it was me I could...I could change it. I know. I hope our kids get your brains." He flinched as it left his mouth, a chill going down his back at the thought of how she might react.
Elena stilled, staring in shock. "Ki--kids? Plural?"
He shrugged, tired of resisting, tired of ignoring the dog in his brain, tired of hiding the desire for a family that had haunted him for months. "We know we have the one but...well clearly my visions don't show everything. There's nothing to say he's an only child..."
Elena blushed furiously, and he had to smile, shaking his head. "If you want, that is."
"I...I mean...you'd be...I sort of...need you for that."
"But is it what you want?" he pressed, "To stay? To stay with me and...maybe have a family. One day, anyway. Is it what you want?"
She gave him a hopeful smile, nodding as she swallowed back tears. "I wouldn't have married you if I didn't want that with you, silly man. Why are you so worried now?"
"It's just...It's so much to ask, to put on you, especially now. We should have...I shouldn't have fouled things up so bad we're only talking about it now. You'd be the one doing all the work to...to give us a family...I...You're in control of when that happens."
"But you..."
"No, Elena. Not me. There's no risk for me. There's...so much for you. So I'm giving you control of when it happens."
"But...you...want it to happen, at some point? Right?" He saw the uncertainty, felt it drilling down into his bones, knowing he had his work cut out for him. He'd caused her so much hurt, even simple assurances and the bald truth would take time to make themselves known.
"I do. But I want to know you first. Earn back your trust. So not yet. With the-uh-with the kid thing, y'know? I don't want to put you at any risk and right now...Elena I just want you to get better."
"Put the weight back on, you mean."
"Partly, yes. More, if that's where you're comfortable. But...but the things that make you think so poorly of yourself too, I want to...to help you forget them. Forget what your madre says. I've seen pictures of your abuela Pascual, and you're practically her twin. It's not your fault you take after your padre's side of your family. There's nothing wrong with it. You can't stop being who you are just because your madre doesn't like it. She's lived her life. Don't let her live yours too."
"You...really don't mind?" she said shyly. He studied her face, pushing down the anger at her mother for making her think she was anything other than beautiful. He brushed his thumb down her cheek, his heart swelling near to bursting in his chest when she leaned into his touch.
"Would I be talking to you about children if I did?"
"N-no. I don't think so."
"I wouldn't be," he assured her. "It isn't something to mind. You're beautiful now, because you're you, but you're even more beautiful when you're happy and healthy and yourself. I'm sorry I ever made you think otherwise."
"I...I'm not...some of it is my fault," she whispered, fording ahead before he could stop her. "I believed those ugly things Mamá said. I let her make me think you...weren't as good a man as I know you are."
"I'm not a good man, Elena. I'm barely--"
"Yes you are!" she exclaimed, glaring at him. "Yes you are! I wouldn't have said yes if you weren't! I've seen what happens when two people aren't right for each other. I'm--I'm the end result of that. You're a good man, and if you say you aren't again I...well I don't know what I'll do but I'll do something!"
He grinned at her fierceness, squeezing her close when she flinched and rubbed at her chest. "There she is. The real you. Feisty little thing." She snorted weakly.
"I'm sorry, Bruno. I'm sorry I got so mixed up. I didn't mean for..."
"You have nothing to apologize for, amor. Nothing. Please. Let's start over."
She nodded, smile breaking through. It felt natural as breathing to lean in and tilt her face to his, to slide his lips over hers, to let the tingle of connection burn down his spine and settle in his bones, filling in the gaps and holes that had formed over the last year, beginning to heal the damage he'd pressed into his frame every time he'd run from her. He let his arms wrap around her as she trailed hers up his chest, the reality setting in that he was hers, that she was his, that they truly did belong to the other and that fighting against it any longer would be as futile as trying to empty the sea. Elena wrapped her arms around his neck slowly.
He was shocked out of the kiss by the solid thwaack of a paperback to his head, whirring around to see Julieta, her arms crossed and her smile barely contained as she glared at him in exasperation.
"Don't go riling up my patient in my own bed, mierdacilla."
"Were...were you in here the whole time?" he asked sheepishly as he rubbed his head. Julieta had one hell of a swing. She rolled her eyes.
"Believe it or not the house still respects your privacy, for some reason. Or maybe just Elena's, I don't know. So no. But it looks like you managed to apologize well enough to avoid an awkward trip to the padre."
Elena giggled before wincing and rubbing her chest again, and Bruno felt the guilt sweep over him again. He took her hand and turned to Julieta, pleading.
"She's done that a few times. I don't understand, what's wrong?"
"Too little food for too long and too much caffeine to make up for it. It can damage the heart muscle, and in her case it did."
"What do I need to do? What can I do to help?" he asked, his mind frantic at the thought of permanent damage. Julieta sat on the end of the bed, taking each of their hands before they could fall into another cycle of apology and lament.
"We'll work on that together, the three of us. It's early enough that it can be reversed, but Elena you have to do what I tell you and you have to eat. No more of this. No more of handing off your leftovers to your father, and no more listening to your mother's nonsense. I am not above stuffing you like a goose to get the point across. Can we agree on no more of this?"
Elena nodded quickly, before leaning into Bruno, whose arm was around her immediately, longing already for the day she no longer felt so small under his hands. "How did you know?" she asked quietly.
"Hmm?"
"About the...the leftovers? Who--"
"Your parents made their way here not too long ago. I can tell them to go if you'd rather not-"
"I'll deal with them," Bruno spoke up, surprising both women. Elena looked startled. "Bruno you don't have to--"
"Yes I do. Yes I do, Elena. I carry most of the blame, but your mother does too. When did she say what she said to you?"
"She didn't...say it to me. I overheard her and Tía Pilar talking on...on mi cumpleaños."
Bruno's fists curled. While he'd been gone. While he'd been bringing her pet home to try and see her happy again, and her mother had torn her down to one of the few relatives she had. Any remaining fondness he had for Sofia dried up instantly, leaving only a cracked desert of anger. He asked Elena to tell him what she'd heard and grew angrier with each word she whispered to him.
"She shouldn't have said it at all." He grimaced once she was done. "This has to stop. I don't want to keep you away from your parents but if she keeps acting like this...Julieta, can you get Elena to our room without her parents seeing her?"
Julieta gawked at him, but he didn't have time to worry about why. He was off the bed and halfway to the door before he stopped, realizing he couldn't just storm off like a madman. He went back to Elena's side and kissed her carefully, not caring that his sister was sitting right there or that this was the worst and stupidest way to declare the truth.
"Te amo. Lo siento, pero yo manejaré esto"
He swept out as she blinked in shock, and missed her blush and Julieta's disbelieving laughter.
Hebér sat slowly sipping on the refajo he'd been offered by Pepa, who was pacing back and forth in the cocina, kicking up a frustrated snowstorm as she, Agustín, and Félix worked on the evening meal, Julieta nowhere in sight. He knew she was in the upper level of the house, caring for Elena. He sat, suppressing his cough and stewing in anger wondering where his yerno was, thinking up some way to make Bruno regret his life if he wasn't up there with Elena. He watched Sofia pace back and forth, lost in speculation. He knew where her mind was going, could tell from her barely restrained smile that she was assuming this was a symptom of early pregnancy and that they would be greeting a grandchild soon. He knew better.
Bruno appeared at the entryway and waited for Sofia to turn around and notice him before speaking.
"Oh, why didn't you tell us at the last dinner?" Sofia preened when she saw him. "It certainly took you long enough, but you don't have to hide the news forever!"
"What are you talking about?" Bruno grumbled. Sofia blithely overlooked his tone, her smile wide.
"El bebe, por supuesto! Oh if I'd known she was expecting I would have handled the sorting and the shopping myself. She'll be like me and need to rest, no wonder she fainted!"
Hebér averted his eyes at Bruno's sharp look, and finally Sofia realized something was amiss.
"She didn't pass out because she's pregnant. She passed out because she's been starving herself for the last four months!"
Sofia stopped her pacing and squinted at him. "Of course she hasn't. She looks no different."
"Because she was hiding it. From all of us."
"Ha! How does a woman hide anything from her husband? Surely you've seen her. Unless the rumors about you are true." Bruno glared at her sharply, working his jaw at her bluntness.
"What I do or don't do with my wife and when it might be happening isn't any of your business, Sofia." It came out slowly through gritted teeth. "I'll accept my fault in this too, but you're the one that made things this bad. The constant picking and nagging and running at the mouth!"
"I've never said anything but the truth to Elena. If she can't handle it then she should be working to fix the issue!"
"There isn't any issue to fix!" Bruno shouted loudly enough for Sofia to startle and fall into a chair.
"I share the blame here, I know that, but running at the mouth to Pilar Guzman? Again? You had her mind so turned around you had her believing I thought she was hideous!"
"Well don't you!" Sofia shouted back, standing again and jabbing a gnarled finger in his chest. "Over a year married and no sign of children? Acting like nothing but friends at best? And now this, her being able to surprise you? I'm not stupid and I'm not blind. Either you can't get it up at all or you can't get it up for her. So which is it? Did my daughter marry a broken man or do you just have working eyes?"
"My eyes work fine. It's yours that can't see what's in front of your face. Elena is beautiful. You're the only one that can't see it, just because she doesn't look like you!"
"She looks like a peasant! Like the same sort of desperate fool that runs off with a field hand!"
"Sofia! That's enough!" Hebér thundered, holding back a cough. Rage was bubbling up in his chest, sharp and painful. He'd known his wife disliked that their daughter took after his mother, but this was too much. He'd barely opened his mouth again when he was interrupted.
"Get out," Bruno hissed, glaring at them both.
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out. Get out of my damned house." His voice was low and quiet, a viper in the sand, turning and laying it's gaze on each of them in turn. "Between you beating her down and you coddling her like an infant no wonder she's all mixed up. I know I'm to blame too, so don't start! I know what I've done, I know I'm a damned coward!" His voice rose as he tore into them, and Hebér had to acknowledge the odd spark of pride in seeing him at full fury, seeing a man that actually could take care of his daughter. Bruno's hands slammed flat into the table.
"I let her doubt, I left cracks for the poison to get in, but you two..."
"Don't you speak to me like this! If Elena's simple enough to lose her mind over some poorly worded facts that's--"
"Don't you ever call my wife simple again." Bruno hissed, glaring at Sofia. "She got a degree in less than three years all the way out here in the middle of nowhere! She's running the shops better than either of you ever did. Ben Aguilar is trusting her with all the legal records for the entire town! Not you, not Hebér, not his son Luis, her. You don't get throw out all she's done just because you never could!"
"If you see that much in her then why haven't you--"
"Because she deserves better! She shouldn't be stuck tied to the town's bad omen, but for whatever reason she wants to stay. I'm tired of fighting against the future. I'm working to make up for how bad I've screwed things up. But Elena would never, never have fallen for your bullshit if she hadn't heard it every day of her life."
"Well I neve--"
"Don't act like you're surprised. I've heard how you talk to her. The little pinch bruises on her. Enough. Enough of this. She wouldn't have beat herself into a woebegon mess if you hadn't been feeding her your poison her whole life. What happened to you? What the hell happened to you, Sofia? You never even put her down when she was little! Now this--this! Por Dios she said she'd rather I hit her! Because she'd understand that! Do you not understand how fucked up that is?"
Hebér looked from his wife and son-in-law, the air between them crackling. He caught Elena on Julieta's arm slipping away on the second floor, appalled at how small she seemed. His heart sank as Bruno continued.
"--can't keep doing this to her. I won't let you. So get out, now."
"Bruno Madrigal you do not order me around like--like some sort of servant!"
"In my own house I do. You're lucky the house herself hasn't thrown you out yet. Let me be clear. Leave now, and once Elena is better we'll figure out the rest, with her present." Sofia tried to protest, but Bruno stopped her with a slicing gesture of his hand.
"Enough. If you don't leave now, if you come here to harass my wife or I hear anything negative about her that can be traced back to you, when Elena decides she'd ready for children, you will not be in their life. You've done nothing but be cruel to her, trying to crush her into some stupid mold you made for her in your head. She isn't some scatterbrained slip of a Moscote! She is Elena Madrigal, and she is my wife, and I am tired of the way you treat her. Take care of the shops for yourself for a while, and see how much she actually does for you, and leave her the hell alone. Now get out."
Sofia went to speak again, but Hebér had already risen to leave. He shook his head as she rose and harumphed away, flouncing angrily towards the door. He stood toe to toe with Bruno for a long moment, glaring down at him to see if his yerno would break, but he stood firm even as he had to crane his neck to compensate for the difference in their heights. Wordlessly, Hebér gripped his shoulder and thumped it hard enough to shake him, and made his way out after his wife. He had a long night ahead of him.
Bruno sat down shakily and put his head in his hands. He was still vibrating with anger. Anger at himself, at his in-laws, at anything and everything in general. He couldn't go to Elena like this, he knew. It would ruin what little inroads he'd made. His skin rippled with cold before Pepa appeared at his side. He hunched on instinct, still sore from Julieta's pointed browbeating, but while the barely restrained rain chilled him, Pepa's arms around him only filled him with warmth.
"About time you figured things out, pendejo," she said, shaking him gently as she took her seat. She was flour dusted and damp. "You aren't the only one that's been worried about things, you know."
"Then why didn't anyone say anything?"
"We...well we thought you'd both figure it out eventually. Hearing all that I...I'm sorry Bruno. This...I don't want to say I don't want her here, she's been so good to us all, but...It would have been better for everyone if things had...waited, to come to light."
"Well it's too late now and I've gone and fucked it all up, like always."
"You did," she agreed, smiling at him as he glared. "But you can always fix it. I know you will."
"And what makes you so sure? What's to say she won't just get fed up still and leave?"
"Just because the two of you were too stupid to realize how you felt about each other, doesn't mean the rest of us can't see it. Go talk to your wife. We'll send food up in a bit."
Bruno stood, knowing Pepa was right, but stopped before leaving, looking back.
"Can...can one of you run to the Panadero's? I think...well...Elena's favorite is torta negra and I..."
"We'll take care of it, bro, go. Vamo vamo." Félix chuckled, waving him off. Julieta passed him then, and he took a moment to pull her and Pepa to him, forcing his tongue to work as he drew on the comfort of having his sisters nearby. "Thank you. Thank you both. I...I don't know if I can fix this but thank you. For making sure I try."
He was cautious as he opened the door to his room--their room, he corrected himself. Chacha came at his head squawking and flapping, sharp point of her beak pricking his scalp hard enough to draw blood before he caught her and tried to talk sense into her. He could have laughed at himself, justifying himself to a few ounces of avian aggravation, but the bird had always been too smart for her own good. She gave him a healthy nip to the finger, taking a chunk with her before flapping up and away into the canyon, and he sighed, resigned to well deserved scar and trudging up the stairs.
Elena wasn't in the main area, and it hurt when he realized she'd gone to that damned little coat closet the house had made for her. He fiddled with his shirt cuffs as he roamed aimlessly through the room, looking for some inspiration of what to do. He straightened her little line of animal figures, smiling that she'd noticed them, and put the mark in her book from the night before, setting it on the side table. When he couldn't ignore his skin itching any longer, he forced himself to knock.
The door opened on its own, and he found himself staring at Elena across the distance. it was only a few feet, but it may as well have been the canyon gap far above their heads. She had changed into her nightgown, and had been studying the vision. He could see her fingers tracing the corner that held the image of them and their future son.
"Can I...Can I come in? Please?"
Elena started at his voice, but nodded. He sat beside her gingerly, watching as she traced the lines of the vision's image. Carefully, knowing how new the gesture was, he put his arm around her, heart fluttering as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. A teardrop landed on his arm, but she was smiling. She set the vision down and took his free hand in both of hers, fiddling with his wedding band idly.
"Did you mean it? What you were saying to Mamá?"
"Which part? I said...a lot."
"Any of it. All of it? I just..."
"I meant every word. If she keeps this up...after a point it's not even up to me. Casita's not above throwing people out."
"I wish I knew why she was like that. Why Papá is. I...I'm sorry you're married to such a mess." she muttered. He chuckled and squeezed her closer.
"That's my line."
"I guess it is," Elena laughed quietly before turning in his arms. "Can I see it?"
"See...what?" he asked warily. She jerked her head back, indicating the vision.
"Papá didn't trust me enough to show me. It...It's changed my life and he never showed me until things were already moving. I know...I know there's more than just the final image. Can I...Is it possible for you to do the same one again?"
Bruno thought, unsure. No one had ever asked for a repeat of the same vision, but since most of it hadn't happened yet, he didn't see why it wouldn't be possible.
"I might be able to. Never tried, but...but for you? Sure." She beamed at him, and for that look alone he'd try. She'd opened her mouth to speak when the door opened again, a wave of sand skittering a covered basket to their feet before ebbing away.
"Pepa did say they'd send food up soon," he shrugged, watching her war with herself, the instinct to get better struggling against the disgust at food she'd trained into herself, and Bruno realized she'd need encouragement to not fall back into the compulsion. His stomach growled obnoxiously loud, and he realized what to do even as he apologized. He knew enough from his own troubles that an empty stomach could be just as painful as an overfull one, and rather than piling her plate high in hopes she'd resolve things quickly, he set out tiny portions, little more than he'd give his sobrinas if he'd been cooking for them. Elena still went green.
"I know you're probably not...all that hungry, but Juli did say you needed to eat."
"I--I know. This is just...it's..."
"You don't have to do the whole bit. Just...just half for now. I'll eat once you're done, hm?"
"But that isn't fair to you!"
"Not about fair, not about me. It's about you getting well again. Aaannd...maybe we can split this later?" he cajoled, holding up the small torta negra someone had managed to acquire. He hid his grin at the way her eyes lit up.
"Alright. I'll try. I know I need to. But I still want to try the vision."
"Of course."
He did his best not to hover, scooting away to give her room. She ate slowly, each bite chewed so long he wondered if they'd liquified, but the force she had to exert to swallow proved him wrong. She'd made it to maybe a quarter of the plate gone before her gorge rose and she had to force herself to swallow. Bruno set his own plate aside and took hers before folding her into his arms. She'd started crying again, and all he could do was hold her, rubbing up and down her back as she sobbed.
"Shhshhshh, it's alright. It's alright."
"I can't even...how am I going to..."
"It'll take time. It took time to get here. It'll take time to get past it. We'll get there, lo prometo amor. Lo prometo. How are you feeling?"
"Queasy. I do now. After I eat. I...can my body just be used to throwing up?"
"It can be," he nodded, familiar enough with it from years of punishing his liver. "It takes a while to...to learn to ignore it. You'll get there."
"You sound so sure."
"Perks of being able to see the future."
"I suppose," she smiled, pulling away. "But you need to eat too."
Bruno looked at his plate, everything on it good hot or cold, and he shrugged, setting it aside on her sewing machine. "I do, but I can wait. Right now...well my wife has asked me for a vision, and it's a long way up those stairs."
He stood and pulled her along, giving her time to slip into her shoes before leading her down the stairs. She made a confused noise, but he grinned and squeezed her hand, feeling around the canyon walls past Chacha's relocated enclosure and pushing his hand into a crevasse. He yelped, pulling out Provoleta, smiling when Elena offered a pocket for her to ride in. He reached in again, jerking something inside. The sound of grinding stone rumbled the ground under their feet, and he led her around a clever optical illusion, similar to the one that hid his living space from public access. He couldn't hide his grin as Elena gasped. His secret lift. He didn't take use it often, the pulley system too much effort and the stairs gave him time to think, but he wasn't going to force her to climb a mile of stairs when she'd passed out carrying the weeks shopping.
He opened the little door for her and stepped in, turning the winch to get them moving. Elena yelped, and he took her hand.
"Might want to sit down if you aren't steady. It's safe, just...swingy."
He concentrated on getting them up to the top, and helped her to step out. She was shaky, and he wound up catching her when she stumbled. He let her catch her breath before leading her into the vision cave.
Elena couldn't keep her eyes still as they walked. The friezes of what could only be Bruno's process looked ancient, the whole place giving off the chill, slightly ominous feeling of a relic, a tomb from some bygone era she couldn't quite put her finger on. The canyon below, when she dared take a peak, was so steep it made her dizzy, and she found herself folded into Bruno's embrace as she swayed. She watched as he tugged open the huge stone door, the grinding sound it made hinting at its immense weight. He waved her inside with a patient hand.
The inside was a yawning cavern, barely lit until the strike of a match. A line of fire lit up around her, spiraling up into the ceiling along a hidden trough, smelling of herbs and woodsmoke and the ashen scent of heated stone. She turned to see Bruno tucking his gilded matchbox into his shirt pocket and gathering a small pile of things from another of his cleverly hidden shelves. Without prompting she sat on the sandy floor, and waited.
She watched as Bruno built four little herbal fires and a larger central one in front of her, sitting close on the other side and closing his eyes. His breathing was metered and slow, and his brow knitted in a stern expression she'd rarely seen. She smiled to herself, knowing enough from listening to him over the months that he was trying to calm his mind enough to open it up to his gift. He looked handsome like this. Something about putting down the slight mask he wore in public, the silly or the sad expressions he was prone to, changed his face. Seriousness didn't suite him, if she was honest, but it was a welcome change now and then.
She waited as he prepared, his silence letting her focus fall back into her own body. She felt nauseous. And slightly dizzy. And cold. But under it all she felt so, so very stupid. She didn't know who or what to believe, and her head was spinning. She wanted to believe what Bruno had said. Some of it made sense. He had begun to show her more attention, and even their anniversary hadn't been wholly terrible, if she was honest with herself. She was still angry that he'd decided that that was the day to begin actually acting like he was married to her, but she'd blown up at him as well. She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. She'd asked for the vision not thinking. That he'd brought her up to this place immediately, the vision cave she'd never seen, eased some of her fears.
She smiled nervously as Bruno opened his eyes, glowing faintly as he summoned his Gift. He held his hands out to her.
"It's going to get windy, hold on," he warned as she took them. She watched in awe as his eyes blazed to full glow and the sands around them began to sift and then fan up into the sudden breeze. The sand rose up and up and spun as the wind became a gale, and Elena huddled to avoid the wind before she realized it was moving around them instead of blowing across. Bruno squeezed her hands, his eyes blank as he stared into the winds.
"It's okay, you're okay. It'll come up soon." It was hard to hear him, but she scooted closer, the fires out. Images began to filter across the near screen of sands, Bruno's grip growing stronger as they did, wincing.
Elena watched versions of herself in green. Bookkeeping at the shops. Helping her parents unload the carts after a trip out. Then her and Bruno, flicking dishtowels at each other behind the café counter. Bruno made a pained noise, but the vision continued. Herself, older, her hair cut short, standing at a headstone with her mother, and then at two, together. Huddling into Bruno's arms. Her again, riding into town with a black eye and a broken arm, Bruno rushing to her to make sure she was alright, handing her something to heal the damage.
Her face blazed as the images changed. Her and Bruno twining together on her parents hideous couch. His hands cradling a large, pregnant belly. And finally, Bruno carrying their son to her as she sat at the shops. She felt Bruno flinching beside her, shaking his head as blood trickled from his nose, but he held steady just a little longer. The image she'd known on the broken emerald slab shifted. Two tiny girls ran to either side of her as she watched, and just barely in the frame, a much older girl, somewhere in her teens. Elena gasped, covering her mouth as Bruno stumbled and stood, catching the vision plate before sinking down beside her. He was shaking, staring at the plate.
"Bruno, what's wrong? What's happening?"
"It...it changed," he stuttered, his voice shaking as strongly as his hands. "It changed. I'm...I wasn't there before. Not...not until the end. Just the...the couch and the shops not...I don't understand..."
Elena looked at the emerald slab he held. The little boy's face she knew, but the girls were all strangers. And who was the eldest? Her features weren't easily placed, and Elena ran a hand over her stomach, wondering if it was possible she was theirs, or if they'd run barren for years and adopted an older child. It didn't matter either way. She held in her hands the evidence of Bruno's honesty and foresight. A family, a happy one. She held the plate to her chest and let herself cry for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
"Elena! What's wrong? Please tell me?"
"You--you really were being honest earlier, weren't you?"
"About what? I mean, yes, I was, but what-what bit? I said a lot."
"You called me 'amor.' Said you'd...said you'd fallen--fallen in love with me."
"And you didn't believe me until now." It wasn't a question. That he'd read her so easily made her smile in spite of his words.
"I...it's hard to believe, after everything but...but I can. Now. I wouldn't...I don't think I could be this happy if we didn't...I mean..."
Bruno smiled at her and took the slab from her hands, setting it aside. He cupped her cheek, never taking his eyes off her.
"I'll say it as often as you need to hear it to believe me. I love you, Elena. I know I haven't given you any reason to believe me but..."
"But you did!" She said, shaking her head and pointing at the vision. "You did. Now and before. Things...Things went all to shit but...but we're---we're on the same page now. And I can...I can believe it now. Or I'll be able to, soon."
"Then I'll say it enough you never doubt."
Elena took a shaky breath, trying to get her heart under control. The raging flutter made her faint, and she held onto Bruno for a long moment as she focused on not passing out again. He realized what was going on and held her steady, his bottom lip gnawed in worry as he watched. She shook her head once it had passed, clearing it. She knew then she had to tell him the truth, had to clarify it all and put everything out in the open. The reality of how she felt had been smothered and hidden and beaten down too long.
"Are you alright?"
"I will be. Bruno I...I'm...My head is still swimming. I...I don't think I'll be alright for a long time but...but I know this, even if the rest is all mixed up. But you deserve the truth. I love you too, Bruno. Thank you, for showing me."
She dabbed the blood from his nose and wiped it away, leaving a stain on her slip she promptly forgot about, before leaning into his palm and pleading as best she could with her eyes. As his lips met hers, warmth spread from her chest across her body, weighing her down and chasing away the chill she'd lived in for too long. It would be hard, but eventually, they would be how they were meant to be.
They took the lift back down. He'd taken her hand to help her in and did not let it go, even when it made undoing the winch mechanism difficult. He held her still when she tried to shrink into her little room, not sure exactly where to go, realizing she still didn't quite fit. He took the vision and placed it on her bureau, next to the little animals, before taking her other hand. She watched as he struggled with whatever he wanted to say.
"Can I be a little selfish?" he finally asked, and she cocked her head, not understanding. He shrugged.
"I'm not...I'm not trying to tell you what to do, and if you still need your own space that's fine! I get it, it's...sometimes it's easier to be alone but...but with so much...today was...a lot. And the last time I slept decently was--was when you were next to me. Just--just sleeping! Is all. If you don't want to I understand just--"
Elena couldn't stop her smile, and pulled him along to the bed. He moved clumsily, trying to kick off his sandals as he walked, and she couldn't stop herself from giggling. She was already dressed for sleep, and made no move to lower her eyes as Bruno shed his ruana and shirt. The tips of his ears went red, and his awkward grin as he gripped his arm only solidified the weightless feeling in her chest. He brought the covers over them and his arms around her. He was warm, and his hands, awkward until she took his wrists and stilled him soundly at her middle, almost burned through the thin material of her slip, and the slow back and forth movement of his thumbs, likely unconscious, raised her pulse and a blush all down her chest. She closed the small gap at her back, unwilling to be avoided any longer and not caring for his discomfort. If he could be a little selfish, so could she, and she was tired of living less than half a life with her own husband. Let him struggle a bit, she concluded as she began to drift off, worn ragged and completely drained from the day and the last year and change equally. A little struggle would be good for him.
Bruno surprised even himself when he pulled her closer, hiding his face in the softness of her neck and pressing a long, slow kiss against her pulse, wishing her pleasant dreams before nodding off into his own.
Chapter 8
Summary:
Bruno and Elena struggle through the first months of her recovery and reconnect with each other in the process, Bruno quickly realizing that even though he can see it, he can't escape the future. They grow closer so swiftly Bruno grows to deeply regret his hesitance and lets himself be swept away in the excitement of having someone in his life that cares for him wholeheartedly, that he can care for in return, if he can earn back her trust. When he realizes how well Elena is recovering, the last part of the puzzle slides into place.
Notes:
Had to change the rating for this chapter.
Am not sorry.
EDIT: added a few lines to the start of the wedding dress scene for clarity and added tension.
Chapter Text
Bruno tried his best not to chew the end of his pencil as he made notes, his eyes beginning to swim and cross as letters danced across the pages of the ledger. Hebér had truly atrocious handwriting. Being lefthanded and dragging ink across the page didn't help, and missing a little finger helped even less, and Bruno wasn't surprised Elena had started to complain that maybe she needed glasses. He groaned in frustration and set his work aside, rubbing at his eyes.
"You don't have to do all this you know," Elena's voice sounded, next to his ear. He jumped, not having heard her come up beside him, to be greeted with a snort of laughter. "Tímido, hush and take your cafecito while it's still hot." He did as he was told, keeping the espresso well away from the old ledger as he took a sip, the caffeine slipping through his system and waking him up.
"I know, but I want to. If you're inheriting the place, least I can do is be useful."
Elena hummed and perched beside him, taking a long swallow of her own tinto, pulling a face. "Papá, did you use the brown sugar again? I told you I'd go buy more white if you're out."
"And have you faint in the town square again? I'd never hear the end of it." Hebér grumbled. "On the other hand, it would get your madre back home."
"She's still with Pilar?" Bruno asked, surprised. His suegro shrugged.
"Not the first time she's tried to be rid of me. She'll come back eventually. Not tired of the taste of crow yet, I suppose."
"Papá..." Elena wheedled, "You can't stay here by yourself. You've got a trip coming up soon, and Mamá's always gone with you to make sure you're alright."
"Querida, you've seen the vision, you know I don't go for a long while yet. Don't worry so much about me, hm? Worry about your own viejo."
Bruno rolled his eyes and ignored the glimmer in Hebér's. He was glad to finally be on more even footing, but he could certainly see where Elena got some of her slowly returning bluntness from. He let his mind drift as father and daughter bickered, his smile barely contained. It had been hard, the last three months. Elena still wasn't back to her former self, but he couldn't deny there had been leaps and bounds in progress. That Hebér no longer wanted to strangle him was more than enough proof that he hadn't fucked up permanently, but the guilt still settled on his shoulders, perching there like twin vultures ready to pluck at his eyes the second he fell back into old patterns.
It had started off slowly, and badly. Once Elena's disordered eating had come to light, the rest of the family had closed ranks and leapt into action. It had been well meaning, but stifling. He'd been brow-beaten and berated within an inch of his life for each and every measure of his stupidity. And he'd have borne the brunt of it without complaint if it hadn't been for Elena. She'd interrupted the takings-to-task more than once, and had quickly dissolved into tears each time. He would find her later, angrily finishing some chore or other on the opposite side of the house, and would have to spend the next hour calming her down.
"It's not all your fault! I'm the one that...that went stupid!"
"Because of me. And it wasn't stupid, just...you were scared and grasping at straws because I...Elena please don't start taking the blame for this. They have every right to be angry with me. Dios, the fact that you aren't angrier with me is a miracle."
She would sigh and drop whichever household task she'd picked up, and in the newfound confidence they'd carved out for themselves, huddle into his arms. It was easy to just stand and hold her, let her cry or ramble or simply be against him. After the vision, she'd somehow taken her anger and hurt and boxed it up. Things weren't perfect between them, but the anger he was sure she still would have had had been locked away. She would take it out on occasion, look at it and prod at the edges, asking him pointed questions that sliced through the moderate comfort he'd begun to cultivate, but he took that earned pain in stride.
She had a particular way of wording things that made it clear she was trying not to blame him, but still made him feel like an absolute heel. Not that he hadn't deserved it, but it did hurt to realize that he'd damaged her opinion of him more while they'd been married than he ever had simply existing on the periphery of her life as Bad Luck Bruno.
"Was it Silvia?" She wondered aloud one night early on as they read together. It was a little awkward, as he'd taken her hand across the side table and not let it go. She'd picked up fiction again he noticed, and he'd been so pleased with the realization that he was caught unaware by her casual tone.
"Was er...was what Silvia?"
"Who you were with, while we were...incompatible. Or someone else? I understand! I do, really...I just...I hope it wasn't one of the Rosario twins or the Chavez women. I'd prefer not to have to explain a disease to Julieta, later."
He choked on his tongue, mortified. He couldn't even bring himself to be upset at the accusation, since he'd spent months avoiding her like a fool and been attempting, however much his slyness at it had failed, to encourage her to find someone else, early on. He didn't miss who she'd asked about, a friendly but scandalous old flame and thin, ostensibly lovely but ultimately poison flowers that each had their own reputations as unrepentant shit-disturbers. He'd felt his face burning as he looked back at her, shaking his head.
"There...wasn't anyone."
"For a whole year? Bruno I'm young, not stupid."
"And I'm honest. Now, anyway," he shrunk under her surprisingly withering eyebrow, setting his book aside and scratching uncomfortably at his neck. "I am, y'know. I couldn't stand the thought of being cruel to you, th-that way. Mierda, I was trying to get you to see sense and stray for months."
"And you thought I would?"
"No," he sighed, defeated. He slunk from his chair to sit before her feet, awkward as he placed his head in her lap, taking her hand. He was rewarded by a half-dozen expressions at once and a rising blush. She looked away, but her other hand made its way into his hair, and he shivered at the contact. "No, of course I didn't. I thought, tried to convince myself but...But you've never been like that. And I was a fool for thinking I could drive you to it."
"But you've gone...you've been alone the whole time?"
"And before," he ceded, shrugging. "I sort of got used to it, after Silv. And...after Paola's novio broke my nose."
"I thought you said--"
"It was five years ago, and they're Pepa's friends--or they were. And I think we've established I'm an idiot. It lasted all of two months with Claudia and ended in broken bones thanks to those two vipers' nonsense. I...don't think of it fondly, if that's what you're worried about."
"Well, that's...I'm sorry your nose was broken." Elena said quietly, her blush deepening. "It's just...I thought...I mean...men have--have needs and..."
"And I have hands. I'm a bastard for the way I treated you, but I'm not that much of one. Besides, like I said, five years. I was used to it."
"And you weren't...lonely?"
"I can be lonely in a crowded room, Elena. It's not fatal, amor. Any man that acts like it is is an idiot."
She'd grown quiet then, humming in acknowledgement but not speaking. He'd been slowly soothed to sleep with his head in her lap, the gentle carding of his hair smoothing down the nerves her question had raised. He'd made her laugh when he awoke, hours later, and so stiff from his awkward position he'd had to limp bent-backed to the bed. Like that first night and every night since, he found some reason to ask her beside him. The comfort of her sharing his bed hadn't waned, and he was beginning to enjoy sensible amounts of sleep. He'd snuggled her against him, nose buried in her hair as he was rapidly becoming used to doing, and teased her.
"Don't worry about Claudia and Paola, amorcita. They're about as sweet as bull piss. And they stuff their bras."
It had the intended effect and set Elena off giggling. He grinned and held her too-slim form as she snickered, face buried in her pillow. It was strange still, holding her in his arms, but he was grateful for the strangeness. Every day, every hour or moment she gave him added another drop to the stream running through the canyon divide between them, slowly rising and building a way across. Not a healing, but a change, the cavernous scar birthing a riverbed in reminder of his grave mistake. They would survive, he knew, but the waters ahead would be troubled for a time no matter what they did. But still, it was something. To have Elena in his arms, was rapidly becoming everything.
He made a game of things, once he'd realized that Elena was trying, but that months of beating herself up over every bite had made her so averse to food she struggled. It was easier for him as well, to assure himself that she was eating. He did his best not to hover, though he made sure that she finished the mixture that Julieta made her each morning. It made him slightly jealous, silly as it was. It was always one of Julieta's sweet avenas, the herbs Julieta used disguised under cinnamon and honey and cocoa in a way that the mixture she made for his vision migraines never had been. He supposed that was the point. He just wanted the pain to stop, and would choke down horse piss if it meant it would keep his head from splitting open. They were trying to get weight back onto Elena, and making things taste vile wouldn't help anyone.
He spent more time at the bibliotheca now, as he'd missed doing when he'd been avoiding her. He didn't bring her comida every day, letting her have the same freedom she had before to chose, but he did at least make sure she ate something. Sofia was nowhere to be seen, and after days of absence, his curiosity had forced him to ask about his suegra. That she'd said nothing to Hebér, only grabbing some things and leaving in a huff, spoke volumes. Hebér was struggling, but was growing friendlier after reading him the riot act and nearly breaking his jaw.
The first time they'd come back, about a week after everything had come to light, Hebér had been waiting. Bruno hadn't even gotten a word out before he'd woken up on the floor. He wasn't sure if his ears were ringing from the punch or from the volume of the tongue lashing Elena was giving her father as she tried to rouse him. Hebér wore an expression somewhere between pride and shame.
"--mierda! What is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind! You could have killed him!"
"I should have hit him harder."
"Hijueputa! Papá, I forgave him! You have no right!"
"I have every right after the way he treated you!"
"Where was this when Mamá was the one? Cobarde sucio! What sort of man doesn't even give someone a chance to defend himself?" Hebér looked away, locking eyes with Bruno before Elena stood, still ranting, her fist raised. "Adding one more hurt to the pile doesn't do anything! Estupido viejo! ¡Pensé que eras mejor que esto! Pero no! The same as every other pendejo that thinks he owns me! Enough! Enough of this!"
"...amor..." Bruno tried to intervene before she said something she regretted. His jaw was full of glass, and he could barely open his mouth.
"Enough! Enough! Stop treating me like a child! I made my decision! I forgave him! That should be enough!"
"Lenita, I wasn't--"
"Don't you dare 'Lenita' me!" She shrieked. Bruno couldn't see her face, but he was certain it was magnificent. "Every time! Every time Mamá did something to me it was 'Lenita be calm' 'Lenita she's trying to show she cares,' well too damn bad! And you, sitting back and egging me on and laughing before I got in trouble!"
"I just wanted you to have some joy in your life."
"You should have stood up for me then! When she beat me after Rodrigo! When she didn't talk to me for six months over a photo of Tío Seb! Not now! Stop treating me like some little doll and actually respect my choices for once!"
"He deserved it for what he did," Hebér growled. Elena only scowled back at him.
"And I didn't even hit him for it! I wouldn't hit him! If I don't what gives you the right?"
"Amor..." Bruno hissed, jaw throbbing. Elena ignored him again. She'd gotten deathly quiet, her finger jabbing sharply into her father's chest.
"Touch him again and I'm done. I am done with this. You couldn't talk Mamá down and it almost ruined us. Forced us together too soon. We both suffered for it and we are done suffering. I didn't know any better, thought the vision meant everything would be alright." Bruno watched as she sagged, turning away and raising her eyes to the ceiling as she forced back tears. "How was I meant to know a marriage--a relationship needs work, takes work from both of us when the only example I've ever had was Mamá and you?"
"Elena--"
"You don't get to be angry with him now. That's my place, and I've forgiven him. Let it go. Let it go or I don't think I can even speak to you again, Papá." Bruno watched Hebér's face fall then, and Elena finally noticed he was conscious, kneeling by his side and helping him sit, fingers light as moths against what he was sure was a rapidly swelling black bruise. "Go to Julieta, get something for him. Then you go upstairs. I can't--I can't face you right now." Hebér's shoulders drooped and he silently did as asked. Elena helped Bruno up from the floor, eyes focused worriedly on his jaw as she led him to the chair he liked.
"I'm so sorry about this. He never should have--"
"You're his hija," Bruno managed, wincing. "I'm not sur-surprised."
"Bruno, if he'd gotten your temple he'd have killed you!"
"Didn't, though. M'alright. Are you? Cálmate, amor." He couldn't say more even if he'd wanted to, muscles in his jaw locking and twitching painfully, visibly too, if Elena's reaction was anything to go by. The door jingled and Elena sighed before going to take care of whoever had come in. He admired her as she slipped on the mask of a happy owner and served the Castillo twins and their workers a hearty round of coffees before helping Roberto Hernandez find a gift for his wife's cumpleaños. The spike of jealousy that raced up Bruno's spine at the sight of Elena's head bowed towards Roberto as he whispered something almost had him jumping out of his chair as he reawakened the pain in his jaw gritting his teeth. Elena simply nodded and sent the man on his way after quickly wrapping a big leatherbound copy of 'Amalia.'
'You can't start acting the jealous lover now, pendejo,' Bruno berated himself, trying to ignore the pain. Roberto Hernandez was a good man, devoted to his own wife, and one of the Pascuals' suppliers on top of it all. He moped in the chair until the door jingled again, knowing from the way Elena rushed over that it was her father returned with Julieta's food. He hadn't expected the bright red handprint he saw on Hebér's cheek as he passed by before making his way through the loft's pocket door to disappear.
Elena came to him, a small jar and spoon in her hand. He tried to take the bite of the dulce de leche, but his jaw had stiffened so much that opening his mouth wide enough to get it past his teeth was difficult. He wasn't entirely sure something wasn't broken the way it was throbbing, and Elena had read his mind.
"And we're sure Papá didn't break it?" she asked carefully as she prodded around the bruise. Her hands were cool to the touch, and he leaned into them in relief before he had an idea. It was silly, but it served a dual purpose. He eased Elena into his lap carefully, still surprised with how much of her was missing and how easily he could move her. He shook the spoonful back into its jar and instead spread a small dollop on her bottom lip, pulling her close. She gave him a confused look before catching on, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. He felt the magic begin to melt away his bruises, but the tingling arcs of connection from her lips to his overtook it, swelling in his chest. He pulled away when he could no longer taste the sweet, and reapplied it, to both lips this time, able now to open his mouth slightly.
He held her close as she kissed him. She was concentrating more on getting the food past his lips than on his lips, and as the bruises melted away further, he grinned against her. He put a spoonful on her tongue, watching as she blushed furiously, and gave her a pained grin. When she swallowed on instinct and he had to do it again, he smiled wider. A small bite for her, and he couldn't help stroking her bottom lip with his thumb, watching her blush darken further and her pupils begin to dilate. It wasn't the richness of caramel he savored on his tongue when she pushed it to him with her own. He forgot himself, his hand coming up to caress her hair, when a whoop sounded from the counter and Elena pulled away. Still flushed, she gave him the softest of smiles before shoving him back in the chair, which didn't have nearly the effect she thought it did.
"I think you're healed up now, descarado," she teased as she stroked his cheek. Still tender, he yanked her back by the wrist and swiped the last of the dulce de leche from her lips before letting her go, grinning. "I am now."
There was another whoop as she hopped down, and he could only laugh as she made her way back to the counter, clouting Armando Castillo over the head with a solid volume of Cervantes after flipping them all off.
"Callate, you. Maybe if you'd kissed Marta like that she wouldn't have taken so long to marry you."
Bruno, uncomfortably unable to leave the chair for a good while, had sat back and watched as Elena went on about her day. He selected La Amada Inmóvil to occupy himself as he used to, and quickly came to realize it was exactly the wrong book to read when trying to distract himself from thoughts of his wife. She laughed with the customers and brought him an espresso the way he liked it, flitting about like a hummingbird who'd lost her plumage. At least she'd gone back to wearing her hair loose to the left and without those damnable bandanas. It wasn't much, but it was something.
He was struck then by how busy she truly was, always in motion, a ledger open behind the counter, another at the circulation desk, constantly cycling from café to bibliotheca to libraria and back, an abused pencil stuck behind her ear. Maybe it was more noticeable because today was especially busy, people getting prepared for Navidad and leaving orders with her. Maybe it was because her parents weren't there to help, though he quickly dissuaded himself of that notion. Elena had ostensibly been running the shops on her own since they'd married. Guilt struck him then, realizing Hebér had been right, that Elena had been doing the work of three people. She still was, to an extent. It had been slow going at home, trying to convince her to slow down and rest. He realized over the days she worked hardest after an upset, and cleaning in particular seemed to be a way for her to escape whatever was bothering her. It made his chest ache to realize just how much she'd been doing around the house, running from her thoughts with labor.
It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out how he could help her. Over the weeks he tried many things, from cleaning Chacha's enclosure to taking over the laundry, but each task seemed as likely to upset her as free up her time. It got easier as time went on, easier to talk to her and assure her he had no complaints about the way she kept their living spaces, other than the fact that he didn't carry his share of the load.
"But you're so tired after a vision. It's really no trouble, Bruno. It's not much more than what I did at home. At the loft, I mean."
It still rankled, that Casita wasn't home for her, but he knew that was his own fault, and the only cure for it would be more time. He'd been carrying a load of clothes in from the line, and he sat it aside to take her hands, flustering her as he kissed each knuckle. "Amor, I know. But you do too much. I live here too, and you deserve rest. More than I do, really. A vision every couple of days doesn't compare to you running around like you do."
"Still though--"
"No," he'd found himself asserting, "no still. Go have some fun. Go relax. I'm not going to wear myself out folding your bloomers."
She'd laughed at that, and taken his advice, though reluctantly. He found her two hours later propped up against a huge ceiba tree past the house, an open book on her lap and their sobrinas napping all around her as she dozed. He'd woken them all up for cena, only for Elena to sway on her feet. After that, he'd taken to carrying at least one naranja on his person along with his emergency stash of arepas, just to give her something when she forgot to eat. Julieta had told him to watch out for dizziness, since Elena had become somewhat anemic as well as her blood sugar being constantly too low while her body recovered. To make sure she always had something, he kept up the game from the bibliotheca, though he had to get creative with it to avoid burning her out.
Uchuvas and ciruelas were the easiest, soft and small. Moras and fraises and cereza would leave both of their lips stained red, but he couldn't be bothered to worry. He would tease her between meals, sneaking kisses everywhere he could reach but her lips, waiting for her to grow frustrated. When she held him still, he would place the fruit between his teeth and beckon her forward. She would giggle or blush or roll her eyes, but she'd eat the tiny offering. The one time he could guarantee he would see her relax was against him as she quietly demanded a real kiss in return for playing his silly games.
The constant contact brought them closer, and he reveled in it. Over the weeks, and later months, that Elena began her recovery, he learned so much more about her than he'd ever thought he could know about a person, and not once did he regret it. He found himself in a constant state of giddy self-deprecation, the truth of his foolishness shining above their bed in two separate frames. And it was almost truly their bed, now. Elena still dressed and made ready for bed in the little room Casita had made for her, but she'd begun also to move more into their shared space. He'd spent many nights reading and nodding off to the sound of a sewing machine or the swish of a paintbrush. Elena liked to sketch and paint when she found the time, and she was slowly growing to enjoy the time he helped her carve out for herself.
She'd finally stopped slavishly finding every chore to do in the house and taking it over, and had decided on helping Agustín with the mending and minor tailory jobs he'd taken, doing the tedious bits so he was free to spend longer on the complex repairs and embellishments. She hummed as she did it, the sewing machine's pedal a steady metronome as she introduced him to songs she'd heard in the city. He hadn't asked why she no longer went with her father on those trips. He could guess well enough, and the guilt ate at him. They were too raw, too inexperienced to risk a separation now, even one that was expected. And Bruno knew he was too anxious to go with her. Rather than let the wedge slip back between them, they'd silently agreed to leave that particular hurdle for the future.
It was an odd sort of experiment, learning his young wife and being learned in turn. Elena was inarguably better at it, having over a year of practice, but he was learning. She had a constant muttered monologue with herself whenever she did chores, keeping track of other things she needed to do. She had a nervous habit of bouncing her leg, and if she wasn't mobile enough during the day, he found himself with kicked shins in the night. She liked to arrange things in a chromatic order, little rainbows appearing in his wardrobe and slowly on his wall as she painted picture frames for her few photos or pictures the girls made her. While she didn't mind it ground up in her food, he had caught her more than once picking comina seeds off her tongue or out of her teeth to flick discretely to Chacha, who was a pig in feathers for all she ate, and he'd laughed himself stupid wondering if he'd get the chancla for asking if his wife had traded appetites with her pet. (He did, though only lightly on his rear. The bird was another story.) He teased her about her little habit until she caught him scraping cilantro off his tongue and had found it in his arepas for a straight week in retaliation.
Her nose crinkled when she laughed, which she was doing more often these days. She saved the cheese in her chocolate santeferos for last, and shared her plantains with his rats, though Paco still made her uneasy. She could whistle through the little gap in her front teeth and was embarrassed when he'd seen her at it, but he found it adorable. Her feet were always cold, even when trapped between his own. She could read for hours into the night if she sat on her own, but if they, like they'd begun to do some nights, curled up on one of the sofas in the main house with his arm around her, she'd be asleep in an hour, snoring gently against his side.
Félix and Pepa made her laugh more, and were more likely to drag her or both of them out of the house, but she seemed closer to Agustín and Julieta. Whether it was by necessity or proximity he didn't know, but the fact that she rarely left a conversation with them without a napping Luisa on her shoulder or Isa in her lap made him think it was just the natural progression of her coming out of her handmade shell. Pepa and Félix were balls of energy, and while Elena had once been the same, the last year had dulled her edges somewhat, and it would take time to shine them to their former glory.
Bruno fully admitted to himself he had no idea what he was doing. With Consuela, they'd been companionable and the same age, and often found themselves simply being together. It had been easy, but it had also, he felt free to admit now, been shallow. He'd had no fear of disappointing her because they'd never truly spoken about the future, the assumption they were headed down the same route as his sisters and their novios making everything a problem for a later date that never came. With Fernanda and the few girls after, there had been nothing but the fun and abandon of youth, whiling away the hours, though it had been those years he'd accidentally given himself a matchmaking reputation, every girl he'd eventually taken to bed asking for a vision after, in fear or curiosity, and ending up leaving with the face of her future husband in emerald. And Silvia...they'd known from the beginning there was nothing for them but an ending, and had simply enjoyed each other, saying whatever crap they wanted and making up ridiculous futures that he didn't need to see to know would never pass, dissipating in the tobacco and marijuana smoke that would spiral into the night sky as they had wound down from an evening of wild love.
With Elena, any knowledge he might have had flown straight out the window. He had already damaged so much that he found himself walking tightropes around the pillars of his stupidity. He knew that it would take years to repair the damage fully; before he wouldn't have to watch every word he said vigilantly to avoid hurting her further. She wasn't delicate by any means, but where he was concerned he had eroded her strength away and things could still bring her to tears so easily. He'd had to exercise a patience he hadn't known he had to deal with the damage he'd caused. She had completely lost faith in him, and he had to undo over a year's worth of damage while also trying to make her see the truth of how he felt.
Beyond that he missed the connection they'd shared before the whole sorry mess had started. Missed simply sitting at her shops and having easy conversations over new books, the lack of pressure giving him the ability to just exist around her and be comfortable. Slowly it was coming back, but it was a delicate balance. He wanted them to find where and how they fit together without causing Elena any more distress. He wanted to be able to take her places without suspicion marring her smile. He wanted to be able make her smile again. Slowly, he was beginning to see it.
If she curled into him in the mornings, it was a guarded, shy smile before she shuffled away. He knew she thought her blush was ugly, so he made it his mission to make her blush as often as he could, stroking the pink in her cheeks with his thumbs or kissing it redder if he had the time. He offered only a crooked grin in return, charmed by her lighthearted agitation. A wild curl had sprung permanently free of her controlled chignon, and he relished being able to make her tuck it shyly behind her ear.
It became less guarded if he came to the café. He stayed home after desayuno, to help his cuñados with the dishes as his sisters went out to help the town. Mamá said nothing about his shirking of duty, but he supposed she almost had too. Any hope of her son rectifying the mess he'd made of his marriage likely seemed to hinge on him being able to focus on and reconcile with his wife. And he did his best. It wasn't every day, afraid still to stifle her, but he'd let Elena get settled and going at the bibliotheca before showing up. He often didn't do more than bring her a snack and read at the counter or in the chair that had somehow become 'his,' but at least once a week he would sneak behind the counter while she was out and leave a covered mug of xocalatl waiting for her. If he felt particularly optimistic about things, a good luck charm or one of his sketches she found funny would be tucked under it. He liked to watch from the chair as she took the first sip, waiting and hiding behind his book as her face split into the fond little grin that dimpled her cheek and showed the gap in her front teeth. If she found him later and thanked him with a kiss to the cheek? Those were the days he felt the least like a failure.
Three months had slipped by, and while he couldn't say he'd fully succeeded in supporting his wife in all the ways she needed, he was at least making headway. That Elena now sought him out for affection, would come find him in the house in the evenings to snuggle beside him, proved that he hadn't failed entirely. Julieta watched them like a hawk, and under her critical eye he usually found some way to screw up, but for whatever reason Elena seemed to find it endearing. She'd even begun flirting with him again, thought much more shyly than before. Little glances across the room. Peeks at her bare neck now that she'd gone back to less high-necked blouses. Brushing too close when they found themselves doing something together.
He couldn't escape berating himself from a year before, about how this fiery, earnest woman could have been his all along if he'd just let go of his fear and stubbornness. And even in that, Elena surprised him. He supposed she had longer practice at it, noticing his moods and adjusting to them. She'd noticed the downturn even when he'd tried to hide it, and would pull him away, sometimes in the middle of a conversation. He'd let her lead him to some secluded corner of the house and simply hold him, her arms around his waist and ask him to tell her what was wrong. When he confessed, as he always did, no longer able to lie to her and never wanting to again, she would take his hands and move them, to her own waist or shoulders or to cup her face, and give him a smile that made him weak. Even in his weakness, he made sure, each time, to ask her permission before he lowered his head the fraction it took to meet her lips. That she always gave it was its own miracle, and he had vowed never to question it, to simply marvel in the depths of her heart and accept, for once, what was offered to him without suspicion.
They'd been run across like that so often that he'd almost perfected dodging things without seeing them, the family's solution of choice to public displays of affection lobbing the nearest pillow or rag at the back of his head. Elena would laugh and pull him closer when they landed, and the grumbling of whoever had passed was quickly forgotten about.
So he found himself sitting at the café again, determined after too long trying to figure out some way to help her, to take some of the burden of re-scribing her father's ledgers to something more legible. Elena had hemmed and delayed in bringing them from the downstairs so long Hebér had taken pity on him and done it himself, staying on hand at the counter to help when Bruno ran aground of something completely unreadable. It had struck a nerve with his wife; Elena had almost hovered over him the whole day, and he had enjoyed every second of it. When he sat the ledger down at the end of the day, a good twenty pages transcribed and his hand cramping, she'd beamed at him. When he'd told her that, once he was done with this one, he wanted to learn the categorization system they were using with the bibliotheca shelves, she'd almost knocked him off the stool in glee.
Hebér had laughed and made himself scarce, the shops empty. Bruno, his balance completely thrown off, stumbled to the floor, Elena landing soundly in his lap, rattling off excitedly and thanking him more than he'd ever needed to be for nothing more than what he should have been doing all along. The insistent contact and her wiggling as she kissed him had blood rushing to his groin, and Elena froze, blushing furiously when she realized. She tried to scoot away, but he held her still, smiling and stealing a kiss and pressing into her just slightly before he let her go, enjoying her fluster as he stood, leaning on the counter to avoid announcing his arousal any further.
"I'll, ah, see you at home, amor," he muttered as he scratched his neck, not watching as she made her way out the door. He took a walk around the town after adjusting himself, doing his best to calm his ardor before he made his way back to Casita. They hadn't progressed much beyond petting thanks to his insistence she get better first, but that insistence had been harder and harder to uphold as the weeks progressed, constant contact and affection and the quiet peace of learning each other with no pressure wearing away at his resolve, taking the dog in his brain by the collar and shaking it awake so fiercely he'd found himself in a state of constant half-arousal so persistent it rivaled his teens. He hadn't stopped laughing at himself in weeks. He hadn't stopped longing for Elena at all.
He didn't see her when she returned, caught up helping Agustín chopping wood. Or rather taking over since the man had somehow dislocated his shoulder. He'd rolled his eyes when he'd seen his cuñado debating with himself if he could finish the job one handed.
"I wouldn't, unless Juli's suddenly able to reattach limbs," he's snarked as he walked past, leaning on a tree.
"I don't even know what I did! It just...slipped?" Agustín grumbled, tossing the ax away and gripping his shoulder, his arm hanging limp at his side.
"Does it even hurt?" Bruno pried. Agustín rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Somehow, no. Which I think should worry me more than it does. At this point I'm convinced I'm cursed."
"Ah, come on now, that would be my job. You're just...irony incarnate. I'll finish this up."
"Gracias. Can you at least say I fell if Juli asks? I don't think 'it just happened' is going to fly unless I can prove it."
Bruno nodded, only half listening as he removed his ruana and hefted the ax, privately bemoaning his less than stellar upper body strength. He was going to regret the sore shoulders until cena, but at least he wouldn't have to limp Agustín into the cocina missing half a foot. Why the man insisted on chopping wood in his day clothes Bruno would never know.
He was overheated and had to peel out of his soaked shirt by the time he was done, and managed to steal a few minutes in the baño for a shower, washing the sweat off. He stood on the stool before, prodding tenderly at his stomach. What Pepa had started calling his tío gut was softer than it had been months before, the near permanent swell of his liver healing away under his eyes. He still wasn’t much to look at; scrawny, short, his shoulders never broad and rounded more from his habit of hunching. His face went without saying. But he couldn’t help grin to himself as he stepped under the spray. Elena saw something she liked at least. What, he had no clue, but he wasn’t going to question it any longer.
The persistent erection had made a reappearance, and he couldn’t even dredge up enough shame to feel guilty about it, his thoughts straying to the bedroom and wondering what Elena had found to occupy her time. He bit his lip, taking himself in hand and stroking slowly. He let his mind wonder, indulging in thoughts he’d been denying too long. He could still conjure up Elena from their wedding night, though the guilt had never fully dissipated. The little green negligee had hugged her body in all the right places, and he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her it made him truly see her. The generous swell of hip and breast and the soft curve of her belly teasing him and imprinting on his memory so strongly he still woke up hard to dreams of it. He changed the pace of his strokes, his grip, trying to imagine what her soft little hands would feel like. He let his thoughts spiral, images of her in every possible position taking over. How would her ass move if he took her from behind? How soft were her tits, and would he get to bury his face in them, or would she be shy about that little oddity? He stifled a moan at the though of her mouth around him. The anticipation of what she’d feel like straddling his cock tensed his spine, and he came in shuddering spurts, his vision going dim at the edges as he tried to balance himself against the wall, panting and watching the trails of his release swirl down the drain. Tension drained from his shoulders, but the fire she’d lit in his belly earlier failed to dissipate, and he had to force back the verdent press against the backs of his eyes, parts of their vision unseen sliding into place around him as time stopped swirling through his bones and locked itself into place.
He couldn’t salvage the sodden shirt, and found himself sneaking through the house to his room before his mother saw him half-dressed. He didn't feel like catching a boot on the fly when he had better things waiting for him upstairs.
He stopped before the hidden door to his living space, leaning into a hidden alcove to listen. Elena was singing quietly within, an old, slow love song popular in the village. Her alto made it melancholy, and he couldn't help but drift away, wondering what she was doing but not wanting to interrupt her. She hadn't sung often even before all this mess, and he suspected it was embarrassment over her voice. It was a rich sound, more churchbell than flute, but it suited her. He smiled as the song slowly trailed off, and he slunk in to see her doing some sewing on their bed.
"What are you working on?" he asked carefully, not wanting to startle her. She jumped but settled quickly. He realized his mistake when she looked up at him only to turn away, blushing furiously. Half dressed. He would have been embarrassed himself anytime before now, but between their fooling around in the bibliotheca and failing to work off his energy chopping wood, he couldn't dredge up any shame. The sleeping dog in his chest lifted its head, sniffing curiously around the edges of the situation, and Bruno couldn't help the surge of arousal that swept through him. He watched as Elena tucked her hair away, loose down her back and falling demurely around her face.
"It-it's...I've been letting things out again," she said shyly, gesturing back to a small pile of blouses. She showed him the scrap of fabric she'd been working on, the familiar satiny green instantly recognizable. His mouth watered, his earlier thoughts in the shower slamming into place. She'd added more black lace to it. "I cut too much out so I had to add lace to the sides, see? But I left enough extra room to--to...Bruno?"
He'd taken the sewing from her hand, thumb stroking across her careful stitches. "You're letting things out?" he asked carefully, his other hand resting on her thigh.
Elena burned where he touched her, realizing foolishly where exactly she was. Over the last few months his bed had become more than just another piece of furniture, but it had never felt as intimidating as it had that first night together, until now. Her stomach fluttered as she watched him, shirtless and smelling of the shower, the spicy soap he used, his eyes hooded, something dark and alluring in them she couldn't name but desperately wanted to. She set her pin cushion aside, stroking his arm as the air grew heavy.
"I've had to. I...I'll probably need a new wardrobe soon, my clothes are all--"
"You're getting better." It wasn't a question. She nodded, not knowing what else to say. Bruno settled her dilemma, plucking her sewing fully from her hands and setting it aside. His hand ran up her arm, warm and steady and pulling her too him. She had the briefest moment to take in the bright flare in his eyes before he crushed her to him. His lips slotted over hers desperately, his grip squeezing her tight. Her heart hammered in her chest as she squirmed before stilling, her skin flashing hot and cold and electric as she sank into him. Her mind was racing, spiraling in her skull so loudly she couldn't make out a single thought, only the feeling of his arms around her and the coarse hair on his chest under her palms, the trailing heat and thrill as his hand slid lower, gripping her hip and tugging her onto his lap, the low whine in her throat as their tongues slipped against each other, the molten gold pooling low in her belly.
She wrapped her legs around him, clinging to his neck as he traced kisses down her jaw, his stubble scratching bright tingling lines down her cheek. Her nerves were on fire, every little caress making her skin jump and erupt into gooseflesh. She gasped as his hands roamed, one rucking her skirt high and slipping under the loose knee of her bloomers, the other tugging the shirt from her waistband, heat blooming across her belly as his calloused palm stroked and pinched her skin, sliding and wrapping around her back. Her heart pitched as he laid her down, barely holding back a squeal as he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her stomach. He was bent double over her, holding her to him by one leg, and she could feel the heat and hardness of his insistent arousal pressing into her rear. She rolled her hips clumsily as he nipped at her skin, and he squeezed her, latching onto her side and sucking a mark into her fair skin as he paid her back, pressing into her harshly. She whimpered at the touch, and it only encouraged him. He ground into her, her clothes and his blocking them, trapping them, burning the friction into her core. She cried out as his hand replaced his hips, cupping her sex as he hummed in appreciation.
“We’re overdressed,” he murmured in her ear, and she hurried to tug at her shirt. It was awkward, trapped under him, and Bruno noticed. With a sound she could only call a growl he grabbed her hips again and rolled them over, chuckling as she yelped at the sudden motion. She caught herself on his chest, straddling him. She burned at the feel of him under her, furious at the layers of cloth separating them as the bulge of his erection pushed up against her, so strong she could feel his pulse even through the fabric. Or maybe it was hers, she didn’t know. She was burning, burning, burning, forgetting herself and tracing the scar on his chest first with her fingers and then boldly with her tongue, wanting to taste him.
The salt and sweat and soap of his skin opened a door somewhere in her mind, and she ground down on him, gritting their hips together in search of more friction, more movement, more. Even clothed, electricity was shooting through her every time they connected, every time the hard ridge of his cock drove up against her. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled him up to her mouth, twisting her hips over top of him as he thrust up, biting his lip, sucking his tongue, willing the magic of the house to disappear their clothes so she didn’t have to separate from him for a moment.
Something had come over Bruno, his grip deliciously harsh and his eyes blazing as he stared at her. It was intense, and she went up on her knees for relief, too much feeling at once making her dizzy. He chased her, grabbing her hips for leverage and rearing up into her with a primal, gutteral noise. It was almost painful, and Elena couldn’t tell if she wanted to get away from it or beg for more. She lost her balance, fell forward and had to hold on to the headboard. She heard tearing and felt a breeze--He’d torn open her underwear and was trying to yank his pants down and she felt a flush of arousal so strong she was sure he could smell her. He’d gotten his pants halfway down one hip, twisting as he tried to do three things at once and rose up. He managed to expose just how far down that little trail of hair went on his stomach when he went to switch sides, slipped, and howled in pain.
Elena sprang away as he rolled to his side and swore, his eyes guttering as he tried to find whatever was hurting him. She didn’t get a chance to even ask if he was alright when she saw it: her pincushion, set aside and forgotten in the moment and now solidly embedded by several needles in his right ass-cheek. She scuttled away, mortified and covering where he’d exposed her with her skirt.
“Ay por dios I’m so sorry! I’ll go get something! I’ll get Julieta and…”
Bruno chose that moment to burst out laughing, rolling onto his stomach and hooting like a monkey in a mango tree. She gawked at him before it slowly crept in how ridiculous they looked, trying to fuck each other through their clothes and too desperate after too long to make any sort of sense of things. The pincushion in his ass was literally the cherry on top, a little ceresa shaped wristlet stuck to him like an unrepentant boil. Elena flopped beside him on her back, cackling like a madwoman until her sides hurt and her stomach felt like she’d been riding Ladrillo for a week straight.
At some point his arms made their way around her as they laughed, idiots together and unable to stop until tears were rolling down their faces. She kissed him, and it was wet and crooked and perfect, and something gray and heavy filtered away from both of them as they came down, grinning and giggling like school-children they’d never been together. She leaned into his touch as he stroked her cheek, biting their lips to keep from breaking out laughing again.
“How are we so bad at this?” he teased, wincing as he shifted. “How am I? If it takes looking like an acupuncture dummy to get you in my bed I’ll do it but on the first go?”
“Could have been worse?” she shrugged, playing along, too giddy to think anything of his words “At least it was the back?”
“Aaand there it goes,” he grinned, rolling his eyes and staring generally downward. “Well I’ll remember that little image next time I have to hide my dick in public.”
“Wha--wait how often are you hiding…that?” Elena squeaked, taken aback. Bruno grinned at her, shrugging as he crooned. “How often do I wear my ruanas?”
Elena felt herself blushing, and turned away from his gaze. Where had this Bruno been? This dirty-minded, lascivious man who’d been willing to tear the clothes off of her to get to her? Her heart went bounding around her chest as she realized all the rumors from Silvia Gonzalves were likely true. She swallowed audibly, as Bruno rested his head on her stomach. She couldn’t see his face, but he’d wrapped his arms around her like she was a giant pillow and he’d been without sleep for days.
“Probably better we slow down,” he said, his tone contemplative, his thumbs making slow little circles where they rested, little pinpoints of heat that were sending tingles down her spine. “I…I don’t want to hurt you, and you’ve never really…well…”
“I have,” she corrected, hoping he wouldn’t back away from her again now. He shrugged, or hugged, whatever it was when someone who was wrapped around you like a sloth shifted their shoulders.
“Ahh, one teen boy once years ago doesn’t count for anything. Besides, at least it’s a funny story. Now…can we get the pincushion out of my rear end please? It’s really starting to smart.”
Elena giggled and nudged him to roll fully on his stomach while she got to work. She suspected Bruno was playing up how much it hurt when she removed a pin, but she got to keep her hand solidly on his ass and give it an appreciative squeeze as she moved so she wasn’t complaining. He flopped back dramatically when she was done, pulling her up to him to nuzzle at her neck.
“I thought you wanted to wait?” she asked. “Not that I mind but…” Bruno chuckled and held her closer, his hands roaming her back slowly.
“You deserve more than that for a real first time together. Dinner will be soon and I won’t have enough time to do everything I want to with you if we get carried away now, and I’m not letting you skip a meal, not even for this.”
“Aren’t you…I mean…Uncomfortable?” She nudged his hip with hers to emphasize the point, and he laughed.
“That’s what the ruana is for, amor. I’ll be fine.”
Dinner was an exercise in patience for the both of them. Bruno couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t giving himself away, the tips of his ears feeling like they were on fire, but he was enjoying watching his sisters and their husbands try to sus out what was going on. Elena was keeping her head down, her own blush glowing like a beacon, and she’d doused her food in pepper sauce to cover up the real reason. She was eating slower because of it, the pearl peppers never her favorite, and he’d placed his hand solidly high up on her thigh out of sight, rewarding her with a careful, sensuous stroke each time she managed a bite. He knew it was nerves mostly, but he’d been adamant about her not skipping the meal. It wouldn’t do for her to be getting better only to slip now.
“Hebér has told me you’ve begun helping out at the bibliotheca, Bruno,” his mother said, a curious lilt to her voice, “It’s good to see you and Elena working together after the…upset.” He squeezed Elena’s thigh a little tighter at that, rubbing his thumb in little circles until her muscles eased. His mother meant well, he knew, but worded things in such a way it was often hard to tell.
“It’s not much. Just transcribing the old ledgers. Hebér has…horrible handwriting.”
“If memory serves, you do as well.”
“Bruno’s been doing a lovely job, Alma,” Elena said quietly, still mostly hiding her face. “I’ve really appreciated it.”
“It’s about time,” Pepa snorted, jabbing her fork pointedly at him, though he ignored it. “He practically lived there anyway. Might as well put his ass to use doing something other than sanding that chair to suede.”
Bruno rolled his eyes, flicking a pea from the sancocho at her, but their mother seemed to have latched onto something.
“Will we be seeing you help Bruno with his visions, Elena? I know he likes being secretive about them, but--”
“She absolutely is not!” He cut in, glaring at his mother. “She already runs herself ragged at the shops and here helping Gus, even with slowing down. The last thing she needs is--”
“She is right here, Bruno. Maybe ask me rather than answer for me…again.” He flinched at the poison in her tone, knowing he’d misstepped before she’d finished speaking.
“Amor, I know you’d help me if you had time, but…but I…You remember the one with Ruiz. I don’t want to…I don’t want to expose you to that. Not at all, let alone on a regular basis.”
“Oh, so I’m just supposed to keep picking vision shards out of your scalp and carry on?” She’d dug her nails into his hand, and had started twisting. He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win the argument and that he was rapidly decreasing the chances of continuing where they’d left off.
“No. I’ll figure something out. I will, lo prometo. I just…if something were to happen to you…”
“I can defend myself,” she huffed, and he squeezed her, leaning into her shoulder, oblivious to the rest of the table.
“I know, amor. I know. I don’t want you to have to. Please. For my sake. If I…if I think it’s something…sensitive, you’ll be the first person I come to, but if I even think one of the men is going to get violent…Please.”
She worked her jaw, but nodded. The table was awkward for a few moments, before the girls escaped containment and their mothers went darting after them, Elena rising to help. He watched as Dolores and Isabela, who’d clearly planned this and dragged Luisa along for the ride, scampered in three directions at once. Luisa was the easiest caught, Julieta snaking an arm around her and hauling her up. Luisa squealed and kicked, but came back to the table giggling. Dolores had given Pepa the slip, and he suspected to his room if he’d heard the bang of the door correctly. Elena crowed as she caught Isabela, all coltish legs and long hair and twisting in the two armed grip she’d been trapped in. Elena had lifted her little blouse and was blowing raspberries on her stomach as peals of laughter bounced off the walls.
“Might want to check that calendar again, amigo,” Félix laughed. Bruno realized he must have had a dopey look on his face, scratching at his neck nervously as Elena handed their sobrina off to her abuela.
“I don’t know what all this is about a calendar, but if you want any energy to deal with your own children, I suggest you and Elena start trying soon.” Bruno flinched at his mother’s voice, feeling the red creeping up his neck.
“We’re…still working on…other things, Mamá. It’ll…it’s up to her.”
“Well,” Julieta broke in, handing Luisa off to Agustín, “If it’s still her heart you’re worried about, she’s almost back to normal.” He couldn’t speak, could feel himself staring, and Julieta rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing but a murmer, Bruno. In a few weeks it’ll be nothing at all. You aren’t going to kill her trying for a baby, Casanova.”
He groaned and hid his face in his hands, but only to hide his grin. He’d suspected as much when Julieta had given Elena the clear to ride her obnoxiously large horse again the week before, saying the exercise would do her good, but hadn’t been able to think of the right way to ask without coming across like a horny old goat. Elena, who’d been trying to find the buñuelos in the main cocina, came to sit beside him, only to squeak in surprise when he’d taken her face in his hands and kissed her fully in front of the rest of the family, only letting her go when Isabela’s “yuck!” rang across the table.
His mother didn’t have to look quite so pleased about it. It was doing terrible things to counteract the pointed little hand that had made it’s way up his thigh.
"I'll be up in a few minutes," Bruno smiled as he waved a dishrag at her. Elena was dithering at the door, trying to hide her blush, and he grinned, glad his cuñados hadn't noticed. He pulled her aside quickly, pressing her into an aclove just off the cocina and devoured her mouth, swallowing the squeak of surprise as he leaned into her, taking a selfish moment to enjoy the soft, pliant way she molded against him. He ground his hips against hers pointedly, thrilling when she didn’t shy away, but pulled him closer.
Her hands had just begun to fist in his ruana when he pulled away. She was flushed and he'd bitten her lip slightly in his haste, but as her tongue peeked and poked at the little red spot something told him she didn't mind. He brushed his lips against the shell of her ear, whispering.
"Wait for me upstairs,” he murmured quietly, the fantasy he’d entertained earlier coming to mind as he nipped her earlobe. “And wear your wedding dress." Her eyes bulged and she turned red to the roots of her hair and scampered away, giggling like a loon. He was lucky Félix and Agustín were loudly arguing over the last town futbol match and took no notice of when he slunk back between them. The rhythm of drying and handing off gave him time to settle down. He was thankful at least he'd thought to put his ruana back on, or he'd have been teased out of the room.
Bruno knocked before slowly opening the door. Elena turned as he entered, holding up the front of her dress. He marveled at her. She'd somehow had the time to apply the lightest of make-up and do her hair up in a crowning braid.
The scant mantilla looked different, and he realized as he approached that she'd added lace trim at some point in the past. The best part, the part that burned into his memory and pressed the madness and sorrow from the last months from his mind, was her smile.
She beamed at him before blushing and demurely turning away, wordlessly presenting him with the opened back of her dress and the smooth, freckled skin of her back. He drummed his fingers and wiped his palms against his chest before approaching, slow for fear of frightening her off, but Elena held steady. She tensed as he trailed his fingertips across her shoulders, easing as he gripped them and pulled her closer.
His mouth found the juncture of her neck, pressing warm, slow kisses against her pulse. Her breath fluttered and the delicate noise slammed down his nerves, the barred door holding back the dog in his brain suddenly open and every salacious thought he'd been trying to suppress came surging forward. He pushed them all back as he trailed the still too-prominent knots of her spine with his lips and found her pulse on the other side. He followed the open line of the dress down, starting at the small of her back and slipping silk covered button after torturous small silk covered button through it's button loop on the other side, his fingers ghosting over her skin, meticulous and steady. He'd denied himself the pleasure of peeling her out of it completely on their wedding night, and he wanted to savor the reenactment. He had enough flexibility of mind that if he tried hard enough, he'd be able to remember this in place of the year he'd spent breaking her heart.
He sucked a mark to her neck slowly, the action and the sound of her sighs soothing nerves electrified with arousal so strong his hands shook. He had to take things slow, now. If he lost control now he'd lose her, and the last thing he wanted was to frighten her away. That she hadn’t shoved him away after their mad tumble this afternoon was a minor miracle.
"I should have done this that first night. I should never have left you questioning." He murmured against her skin. His hands trailed down her arms to her waist and hips, and she stopped them there, twining her fingers with his. He pressed closer, back to front fully now, and her head rested on his shoulder, giving him even more access to her neck and jaw as he covered them in kisses. She sighed; a dewy, forlorn sound.
"No. No you shouldn't have." She whispered slowly, pulling his hands back up her body to play with her breasts. He obliged eagerly as she continued. "I was so angry, but it's still better we waited. Not how-ohh-not how we did but...but we...we know each other now."
"And that's better?" He murmured against her ear before biting it gently, savoring her squeal and laughing at the smack she gave his arm.
"Yes. Love came on its own, even when we tried to run away from it."
"You mean when I did." She turned in his arms and kissed him, a shy smirk in her voice.
"I'm trying to be generous, hush now, and get me out of this dress."
Her eagerness shouldn't have surprised him, but as he began unhooking the dress from her, inch by slow inch, he couldn't say it didn't excite him. His mouth watered as he took back her neck, chased away only a moment as she pinned something around it.He worked the long line of buttons, watching as a blush crept down her neck before spinning her around, pressing her against the doorframe. A glimmer of gold and red and green caught his eye.
The pendant necklace he'd bought her on their anniversary. He smirked. "I don't remember you wearing this at the wedding" he teased, delighting in the fierce red it raised in Elena's cheeks. She shrugged.
"I needed something new so..."
"You look beautiful with it on," he murmured, insinuating a knee between her legs and surrounding her. He felt her shiver as his stubble grazed her jaw, whispering in her ear, "You'll look even more beautiful when it's the only thing you're wearing." He smothered her gasp with a harsh kiss, pulling her too him so tightly he may as well have been trying to mold them together permanently, separate clays upon a potter's wheel melding together under skillful, patient hands. He spun her back around the instant they broke apart for air, going back down the line of little silk buttons slowly, ever so slowly.
He trailed kisses down her neck, warm and heavy, feeling the thud of her pulse and the breathiness of her sighs against him before moving on. He set about following the line of her spinal column down, greeting each new expanse of sun dappled skin with the same meticulous attention he'd paid to her neck, learning as he did just how far that pretty blush of hers went. He was painfully hard by the time he was done, the fine V of her back and the green slip of her underthings on full display to him again, and couldn't resist the urge to press against her. Nothing too lewd, afraid of putting her off so soon, but the need to let her know just how aroused she'd made him was overpowering.
Elena jumped in realization, but surprised him by pressing back, the tenting of his pants disappearing into the folds of her dress and the plush cushion of her ass beneath it. He trailed his hands down her arms, skimming the dress from her shoulders until it was loose. He pulled the top of it away, reveling in the fact she'd forgone her underthings in favor of that green negligee. He bit his lip, his cock straining towards her as he stifled a whine low in his throat. It was loose still, and he slipped his hands inside, grazing his fingertips gently across her stomach before bringing them up to cup her breasts, heavy and full in his palms.
Her heart was a trapped bird under his hand, her head falling back onto his shoulder as he carefully tweaked and tugged at her nipples, toying them into stiff peaks that he let drag across his palms as he jiggled her breasts, playing and feeling the weight of them drop before grabbing them up again, his mouth watering. Elena's lowing sigh against his ear sent a shiver down his spine, and before he knew it he'd whipped his hands out of her negligee and was shuffling the skirt of her dress down her hips. He knelt, Elena stilling where he held her, his hands slow as they crept from her knees to her barely covered ass. He trailed slow kisses up the backs of her thighs before his hands found their way under the green satin again and he squeezed, rucking up the fabric enough to plant a sound, solid kiss on each rounded swell. She giggled nervously.
"Did--did you really just kiss my ass?" He demonstrated again, nipping her lightly this time and grinning at her yelp.
"I should be kissing your feet for giving me another chance, but you seemed eager to get out of your clothes and I didn't want to stall." He stood and was nearly knocked flat as she wrapped herself around him, little hands feverish at his own shirt buttons and tugging him as she fumbled backwards. He shucked out of his top and grabbed her hand, both of them shuffling giddily to the bed, spinning and kissing as they dodged around each others feet. He felt drunk; the floating, warm sort of drunk he'd enjoyed sharing with people before life had beaten him down and he'd begun using alcohol as a crutch. His chest felt too tight, light leaking out from the breaks beaten across his skin.
They tumbled across the bed laughing and half wrestling and he found himself trapped between Elena's legs. His cock twitched excitedly, and he bit his cheek to distract himself. For all her blushing and boldness, she looked at sixes and sevens, her eyes darting across his face. He swore silently. He'd have to take the lead. He kissed the nearest expanse of skin, there between her breasts where the negligee dipped low before snuggling against them. He'd see them bare soon enough, and while he could tell they weren't quite back to the former glory that had had him drowning himself in cold showers the year before, his mouth still watered at the thought of burying his face in them, of the sounds she might make as he sucked on the tightening nipples that teased him under lace and satin. He ran his hand under the seam of it, his suspicions confirmed that it was two pieces. He resisted the urge to slip off the panties, instead looking up to her. She was practically glowing, her blush blooming all across her body, and his cock twitched again at the sight.
"Can I take this off?" She shuffled to sit up, giving him room to pull the silk off of her. He surprised himself. Rather than ripping it away like he'd wanted to he found his hands trailing softly up her waist, exposing the softness of her belly and her navel. He pressed kiss after kiss across her skin, his tongue dipping at her navel and his teeth nipping at the slight slack of her skin when she tried to pull away. He closed his eyes and tugged blindly, feeling when she shuffled fully out of the scrap of fabric and tossing it aside. He pulled away and was treated to the sight of the most luscious pair of tits he'd ever seen. Elena hid her face in embarrassment, and he had to pull her hands away so he could kiss her. Her breath quickened as he trailed down from her jaw to her neck, her collarbones traversed slowly as his hands kneaded her breasts and plucked slowly at her nipples.
He was afraid to go any faster, afraid she'd dissipate into the air and he'd find himself in a dream, the feeling of her sighing and squirming under him nothing more than a false memory. She gasped and bucked when he finally took one in his mouth, tonguing delicately around the peaked bud and savoring the slight salt taste of her skin. He cast her in green as he gazed up at her, relishing in the quiet panting she was trying to hide, her knuckle bitten between her teeth as she watched, mesmerized as he suckled at her. He paused and carefully pulled her abused hand away, kissing the knuckle.
"Don't be afraid. Make all the noise you want, amor. I'm not going to judge you for enjoying yourself." She whimpered, and something in that wobbling, vulnerable sound burned in his chest. He pressed her breasts together and took both nipples in his mouth at once, sucking down and worrying at the pert buds with his lips, ears pricking at her low keen.
He carefully slid a hand down her side, hooking the satin and lace of her negligee with his thumb, tugging as he murmured against her skin.
"...can I...?"
"...please..." It was quiet and pleading and some untanglable mix of fear and longing and he smirked against her skin. He was careful as he slipped them off, leaning up and following each inch of her legs as the fabric trailed over them. He purposefully avoided looking at her sex. This was about more than the end goal, more than just a roll in the sheets. He took a leg and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot, the bone of her ankle, the taut Achilles tendon, his fingers rubbing slow, meticulous circles up her calf as he went. Her other leg fell away as he moved, and he stroked along the lines of muscles buried under the softness of her skin, mourning privately the hardness beaten there not by the joy of her on horseback but of forcing herself into some mad bodily compliance she thought he'd wanted. He swore he'd make the pain up to her, somehow, someday.
He took in her sighs as he bent, leaving wet, warm kisses along the curve of her calf, the inside of her knee, and slowly, slowly up the softness of her inner thigh until he'd reached the apex. She wriggled and panted, her hands caught up in the sheets. He could smell her arousal, see the lips of her sex glistening with slick, but he forced himself to make sure, his head resting on her thigh.
"Please amor, let me--mmphf!" Instinct had taken over, and his nose was pressed harshly against her mound as her legs closed around his head. Her hands yanked at his hair almost painfully, and he felt himself rutting into the mattress as he hooked her knees, making enough room to lower his head the rest of the short distance. He groaned at the first pass of his tongue, the salt and musk sweetness going to his head.
Three passes and they were both gone. He lost himself in the sound of her cries as he devoured her, exploring every ridge and dip and crevice of her sex, laving and sucking at the tight bundle of her clit and relishing in her shouts and the guileless thrashing of her legs. Worrying and kissing her labia and savoring her sighs, thrusting his tongue into her as deeply as he could. Lapping against her and drawing out her throaty cries, arousal shooting through him, spears wrapped in fire each time she tugged at his hair. He held her open with his thumbs, smothering himself in her as he pumped his tongue inside, grinding his nose against her clit, ears pricking at each shuddering cry. She bucked against his face as he slipped a finger to replace his tongue, crooking towards himself to send her crying out again.
Slick ran down his chin and her thighs as he twisted and pressed, torturing her clit as he added a second finger. She clenched and pulsed around all he gave her, searching and pumping until he brushed against a spot that made her jerk and moan. He stroked the spot tenderly as he shifted, grinding kisses across her thighs and taking in her cries as she fell apart. Her legs clamped tight around him as she arched, her hands fell away from his hair, and she shuddered against his hand as a hoarse cry forced itself from her gritted teeth.
He waited until she’d come down a little before cuddling up beside her on the bed, surreptitiously wiping his face on his pillowcase and grinning like a fool. She curled into him, still panting, and he caught her mouth again, unable to stop himself. She shivered, her hand trailing down his chest. He lay back, enjoying her mouth and the gentle sensation of her hand on him when she trailed lower, almost ticklish, down his stomach. She traced the line of his bodyhair down before stilling right above his groin. He groaned, still in his pants and straining, but reluctant to go too fast and frighten her. Her comfort in this was his main goal.
Elena pulled away, watching Bruno’s face carefully as he followed her, his eyes glowing but subdued. It was doing funny things to her stomach, seeing his eyes like that, not the harsh glow of a vision or anger but the sign of obvious arousal. For her. She’d had made him feel this way. A thrill ran through her, making her bold, and she wanted to touch him, to see all of him. She wanted, at the very least, to try and reciprocate whatever magic it was he’d just done with his mouth. She gave the underside of his little belly a tender scratch, hoping he didn’t think her next request was odd, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.
Bruno had to ask her to repeat herself, not sure he’d heard her correctly. Elena turned red, but didn’t look away, still gently scratching right at the top of his pants.
“Can I…can I see it?”
“Can you…oh. Oh! Uh…sure, heh, I guess. They aren’t…uh…really that much to look at but…yeah. Hold on…” He floundered, flustered beyond reason as he raised up a little. It made sense, he supposed, if her only encounter before now had been in a coat closet, but of the many things he’d expected from tonight, his little wife asking to actually see his dick had not been one of them. He shuffled his pants down, turning his face away as he did, not wanting to see her expression and his face burning up besides. She gave a little gasp as his cock sprang free, and he dared a peak. Her eyes were huge, and he would have laughed if he hadn’t thought it would spoil the mood entirely. He wasn’t anything special, thicker than some but average at his best guess, but Elena’s eyes had honed in on him, and he threw his arm over his eyes and bit his lip. If it was to keep from laughing at the absurdity or to try and breathe through the sensations Elena’s breath drifting over his sensitive skin he wasn’t sure.
“Can…is it…Can I touch it?” she asked tentatively, and he almost chuckled in relief, grinning as she gasped again when he twitched at the thought. A whine escaped him as he sighed, not caring that he sounded pathetic. “Yes, please. Please touch me.”
It was halting at first, the delicate brush of fingertips tracing the shape of him, up and then down, moving his cock carefully one way then the other. If her hands hadn’t felt like heaven he would have felt like a scientific specimen. As it was his nerves were going berserk over the faintest sensations, his lungs burning as he started to pant, needing more oxygen to compensate for how little blood was left in the rest of him.
She laid her hand flat against him, making a strange little noise that had him peaking at her curiously, despite his embarrassment. He held back a snicker. She was comparing him against the length of her hand. And true, Elena had smallish hands, but he felt a cocky jolt of pride that she seemed impressed his something like six was longer. He closed his eye and hissed as she gave a couple exploratory strokes, her palm soft around him, just enough friction to drive him mad and grit his teeth. She stopped, her hand still wrapped around him, and kissed his side to get his attention, reaching for his hand. “Show me what you like, please? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Her guilelessness nearly broke him, but he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing her own around his cock and demonstrating, his fantasizing in the shower dissipating into the ether as reality swept over him, the softness of her skin and the delicacy she somehow managed even when matching his own grip dragging a moan out of him, his hand falling away to let her do as she pleased. She toyed with him, her thumb circling the head of his cock and spreading moisture around, the tip of another finger playing with the folds of his foreskin and sending lights dancing behind his eyes. He was going to embarrass them both if she kept this up, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
His shout of surprise echoed in the room a moment later as her warm, wet, welcoming mouth wrapped around him, sucking slowly at the head of his cock as her hand kept it’s careful rhythm up and down. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, her tongue shy and tracing around with no pressure behind it, the gentle slip of saliva and precum gliding him in and out almost as much as her slight movements. He didn’t care. His spine was on fire, his heart pounding in his ears. He was too big for his skin, lighting coursing through his body and focusing in on the scant few inches Elena was concentrating on, little bobs of her head sending colors flashing across his brain.
“Ele--Elena please, if you…if you keep that up I’ll---” he tried to warn her, but as soon as he spoke she’d shifted, taking half of him in her mouth and caressing his balls with her other hand and he’d burst, thrusting up as his orgasm ripped through him. He lay back in a daze for a moment before sensation slowly returned, including the velvet embrace of her lips still around him. Lust and shame and no small amount of embarrassment coursed down his spine when he heard a single wet swallow before Elena pulled away. He searched blindly for her, stroking her hair.
“You--you didn’t have to do that,” he murmured quietly. “Come here.” He pulled her up to him and tucked her into his side, kissing his salt from her lips and panting still. She grinned up at him.
“I know. I wanted to try it. Did…did you like it?”
He almost laughed, like his reaction hadn’t been evidence enough, but she looked sincere. He nuzzled her neck, nipping her jaw and growling.
“If I’d have thought I deserved even a tenth of what you just did a year ago, I wouldn’t have let you leave this bed.” His hand snaked its way down to her sex again, teasing at her slit and searching until she gasped. He had to stop her hand from doing the same.
“Give me a few minutes, amor. Men take longer to recover.” She made a sad little noise of displeasure, but he turned to her, swallowing it up in a kiss and pulling her flush against him after he’d kicked his pants away. He touched every inch of her as they twined languorously against each other, taking note of all the places that made her gasp or sigh or shy away from him. The little twin indents above her ass made her wiggle if he stroked them. The little fold of flesh that formed at her side when she bent was ticklish, and she tried to squirm away, but he held her close, enjoying the soft play of her skin there. Her breasts were sensitive and her nipples would spring to attention at the barest touch. He had her nearly sobbing and grinding against his leg in frustration by simply tweaking them between thumb and forefinger, testing her patience like the quality of silk until she swatted him away. She tried to hide her belly still, curving away from him. That wouldn’t do.
He rolled them over until he could slither down her front, hands gripping her hips and pressing her just so down on the mattress as he rested his head on her stomach, murmuring against her.
“Don’t pull away from me, amor. Please. I can’t stand it. I love you. I love all of you. There isn’t an inch of you that I don’t want for myself. Not even this. Especially not this.”
She whimpered as he began, slowly showering the sinful softness of her belly with kisses, tracing the incipient little stretchmarks by her hips, squeezing her faint love handles and looking forward to the day they returned in full. He gripped her hips tightly.
“You’re soft and strong and stable all at once, mi amor. One day soon you’ll be back to yourself and hold me down with these. You’ll keep me in the real world and not lost in the future. You already keep me hypnotized every time you walk in front of me. Soon enough I won’t be able to control myself.”
He grinned as she whined at his words and his kisses, and stroked his thumbs across the span of her belly, pressing in slightly between her mound and her navel. He branded the skin around her navel with a spangle of lovebites before nipping his teeth where his thumbs sat, his hands roaming just below, stroking the crease of her inner thighs.
“One day, you’ll grow our children here, and I can’t imagine a safer, more lovely home for them.” He licked his lips, nuzzling the space he’d bitten and revealing a bit more than he’d meant to. “It’s been a battle to keep my hands off you for so long. When that day comes, I don’t think I’ll ever leave you alone. I’ll have to keep you here, hidden away, care for you like some secret princess in a tower...”
She gave a breathy laugh and ran her hands through her hair.
“Well, you’ve--you’ve got the tower part already,” she managed. He met her eyes, dark and lustful, with something deeper burning in them, and he crawled back up her torso, pausing to add a few more lovebites to the landscape he was painting on her skin. They both hissed on contact as his cock pressed against her, awake and hot and throbbing.
Elena couldn’t hold back the sob that slipped past her lips as she felt him, and she watched as Bruno’s face shifted, worry knitting his brow. He swallowed and pulled away, brushing her hair back as his eyes flickered over her face.
“Elena we--we don’t have to, i-if you aren’t ready. We can wait still if--mph!”
She pulled him to her, arms around his neck and kissing him fiercely, trying to imprint her desire across his skin. She was on fire, burning from her scalp to the tips of her toes, her whole body singing in anticipation. She squeezed his hips with her knees and tried to pull him close her, a whine deep in her chest as he slowly, slowly eased, lowering back to where she could feel him, just there, brushing against her core and slicking himself against the lips of her sex. He squeezed her hip as his hand trailed down, as if to ask her once more if she was sure, and she wavered for a split second, unsure if the lovely organ she’d studied earlier with hands and lips would fit, much more than she’d remembered from the disappointing mistake of her first time, but swiftly dismissed it, pushing his hand the rest of the way. He hadn’t seemed worried, and he wasn’t the type of man that liked that sort of pain.
Her nerves went wild as he trailed his thumb through her lower lips, gathering moisture and teasing her clit, and she jerked against him. The long, slow drag of something softer and broader nudging its way through the same path had her shivering, anticipation and desire a storm under her skin, pulled tight from prolonged teasing. Slowly, slowly he pressed inside her, guiding himself in, his mouth hot at the junction of her neck and shoulder, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Her chest swelled and burst and dissolved into the ether, her body spangling away in a spiral through the mist as she adjusted to the stretching at her entrance. She could feel his thumb rubbing slow circles around her clit as he stilled, realizing she had her nails dug into his shoulders, shaking slightly with effort.
“Are you--” he ground out, holding himself away and trying not to pant.
“I’m alright. I’m alright, Bruno. Please. Please…” She pleaded against his neck. The tension melted from his shoulders, and he began to move, rocking his hips into her, a sweet, slow intrusion that left her gasping, clinging to him as he went until he bottomed out, their hips flush against each other. He panted against her ear, his arms wrapping around her, cleaving to her as if he was afraid she’d vanish if he let her go. He was babbling, panting nonsense and love to seep into her hair as he moved, his pace slow and torturous. His coarse thatch of pubic hair ground against her at the apex of each thrust, each withdrawal stroking that frilled spot he’d woken up inside her and making lights zip behind her eyelids.
She lifted her hips and gasped at the change in angle, growing bold and hooking her ankles around his waist. She cried out and fell back as he hit something deeper inside of her, a hint of pain blooming into a shockwave of lightening that coursed up her spine, fireworks bursting across her skin.
She clung to him, biting her lip and stifling the cries trying to break through. She was floating, her mind somehow blank and flooding with thoughts at the same time. He was hers. He was hers. He had finally, finally accepted this, accepted her. Accepted them. No one could tear them apart now. Not her mother, not his, not the church, not anyone. She fought against him as he brought her hands up over her head, holding her still in one of his, his other lifting her hip as he drove into her, his pace speeding as he panted.
He let her go and she clung to him, skin to skin as much as she could feel, wanting him so close she could forget where she ended and he began and just feel. She was his. She was his. His love, his wife. His. The black band of fear that had been cinching her heart to ashes disintegrated to dust and was whisked away as she let the sensation take her over, sweeping and crushing and transforming her to light and vapor and sound as she cried out, shaking as she narrowed to a single point before falling, vaguely aware of Bruno following her down, his teeth in her shoulder and his hand between them, grinding her nerves to raw energy as he pulsed.
She was squashed briefly under him as he collapsed, before rolling away and pulling her with him, her hand over his flyaway pulse as he caught his breath. She could feel the sticky slip of his release on her thighs and rubbed her legs together, enjoying the slickness and the warm, slightly bruised feeling deeper inside her as she shifted. ‘His,’ she thought possessively, snuggling closer and throwing a leg over him, feeling her own stickiness on his now soft cock. ‘Mine.’
“I love you,” Bruno said quietly, brushing her hair from her eyes. His hands drifted over her back, tendrils of a breeze she couldn’t track joining to cool them as they settled, leaden and sluggish as the night closed in, the only light the warm flicker of the ring of lantern oil far over their heads, bathing them in an orange glow. She couldn’t find the energy to startle when he stroked her cheek, catching her off guard.
“I love you,” he murmured again, so low she barely heard him. His eyes were soft in the shadows as he traced her features. She was overcome with a sudden shyness under the intensity of his gaze, but he held her still, his lips against hers sweet and undemanding and speaking words in their fragility that he couldn’t bring himself to say. She could feel his regret in the tremble of his hands, his repentance in the way he held her close. His hope in the way he gripped the back of her head, fingers twining in her hair and keeping her close.
“I love you,” he whispered one last time as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to his chest, his heartbeat tripping under his ribs and betraying his nerves. She stroked his scar tenderly, pressing her lips to it before butting her forehead against his collarbone, clinging to him, hoping he could feel her desperate devotion in the way she tried to meld to him.
“I love you, too,” she whispered against his skin, hoping he could hear the hidden ‘I forgive you,’ in her voice. “I love you, Bruno. Te amo, te amo, te amo siempre.”
She wasn’t sure when she drifted into sleep, the rosy, golden haze around them making time nebulous. The last thought that filtered through the sated mists and the feeling of Bruno’s arms around her, his breath evened out in his own sleep, was ‘Home.’
Chapter 9
Summary:
After Bruno's nerves and overthinking spark a morning-after argument and a much needed understanding, Bruno and Elena are swept away into a long overdue honeymoon, and spend the time granted to them by Casita accordingly.
Alma and Hebér plot for the happiness of their children in the meantime.
Notes:
So, this has taken A While.
Between fielding 2 preschool changes with my son, my grnadmonther's eye surgery, recovery, and surprise vision loss, and selling a house, not to mention various spicy scenes not being safe to type up at my job (lol) this, along with Medianoche and Among the Emeralds, have taken forever to update. Hopefully I'm able to get the other two busted out here shortly, bear with me, y'all!
Chapter Text
Bruno woke up to a warm bed and an insistent erection that had memories of the night before flooding in. Elena had curled away from him in the night, burrowing into the blankets like a sandbird. She snored. He'd known for a while now she did but for whatever reason he found her snuffling funny now. Maybe it was because he knew she was naked under the sheets, and between her position and her snuffling she looked like a little armadillo hiding in its armor. He chuckled at the image and cuddled up against her back, pulling her close.
She was so soft and warm, and he couldn't resist the urge to grind gently against her, his cock settled nicely into the cleft of her ass. Elena hummed contentedly but didn't wake. She shifted closer and he took the opportunity to nudge a little further between her thighs, his hand slipping around to seek out her slit. Elena trembled and whimpered in her sleep, and he snatched his hand away. He felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if he was taking too much advantage. He caught a glimpse of her face and por dios she looked so young in sleep. His stomach twisted. What was he thinking? Of course he was. She wasn't even awake to say yes or no. He groaned and turned away, disgusted with himself. Just because she was his wife didn't mean he got to do whatever he wanted. She was probably sore and tired, and he had no business bothering her. Trepidation washed down his back. What if he'd been wrong? What if he'd been wrong the whole time and she hadn't recovered enough, or she hadn't wanted him, or she'd changed her mind? She had every right to after the last year. He'd put her through hell. He'd put her through hell and she'd put on a brave face and told him she was fine and he'd believed her and gone and touched her like he'd sworn he wouldn't and now she was trapped, trapped with him and this and--
"Amor, are you alright? You're breathing so hard." He turned to her in shame, afraid of what he'd see, but the only thing showing on her face was a dreamy, mild concern as she patted his cheek, tracing his ear and jaw lightly. He pulled away.
"I'm sorry. I...you're...you've got to be...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...shouldn't have..."
"Shouldn't have what, Bruno? You haven't done anything?"
"I was...this morning...you were so soft and I..."
She snorted, giving him a sleepy, puzzled look. "You cuddled up to me with a hard-on, Bruno. It's not even the first time. After last night, I...sort of expected that to happen."
"But I was about to...not the first time?"
Elena settled in close to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and not letting him shift away any further.
"I've been sleeping next to you for months and I wake up before you do, I've felt it before. Bruno I don't understand, why are you upset? Did I...did I do something wrong?"
He realized his foolishness as she shrunk into herself, hint of fear in her eyes. Of course she'd lay blame on herself instead of him being a dog.
"No, Elena, of course not--"
"Then why are you acting so...strange? What did I do wrong? I can do it right, whatever it is! Whatever you like, just don't...don't turn me away again, please..."
Bruno grimaced before pulling her close. Why was every stupid thing that came out of his mouth so perfectly designed to hurt her?
"...I...Elena I...I'm sorry. I've got no right to...to bother you like that just because you're my wife. You weren't even awake. I shouldn't have acted like that."
"Acted like what? Bruno I don't understand."
"Like a dirty old man!" It came out louder than he meant it too, and he realized immediately he'd made a mistake. Elena stiffened, her curiosity melting into fury. She pushed out of his arms with a shout and was marching through the room, grabbing a satchel and throwing things into it between yanking her clothes on, ranting at him nonstop. Her skin was flushed and her eyes fiery, and if he hadn't felt like such a heel he'd have been on fire himself to go to her.
"All this! You do all this to me and you still act like I'm a child! You send me to sleep saying you love me and then wake up scared I'll run away from your dick like you're some violodor past the mountains?"
"Elena please that's not what I meant I just..."
"You don't get to do this! You don't get to put me through hell and then fuck my brains out just to throw me away the next morning because you got cold fucking feet!"
"Amor, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you! I was afraid I'd upset you with what I'd don--"
"You didn't do anything! Jesucristo Bruno get out of your stupid fat head! You really think I'm so stupid I'd get mad over morning wood?"
"...I...no..."
"I'm angry you think I'd be angry!" She shouted, glaring at him like he was the stupidest man on earth. Maybe he was. "Por el amor de Dios I am your wife! Do you want to be married to me or not!"
"Of course I do!" He shouted, panic slipping in and unable to stop himself. He had to explain. Had to make her see he wasn't some awful bastard that would take advantage of her. He couldn't stop his mouth as it ran away from him. "That doesn't give me the right to grope you like some creep first thing in the morning or hump you like a dog! What sort of man does that? You were asleep! You're probably hurting and I was just going to hurt you more and not even...before I stopped I--"
"You aren't some creep! You're my husband, you idiot! Did you ever think, just once while you were busy convincing yourself that you're some sort of bastard that maybe I want you to touch me? That I'm a big girl, and maybe I like knowing I actually turn on my own husband?"
Bruno froze as she spun around, stalking across the room to her dresser like an angry panther, realizing he'd let the same stupid spiral of doubt come between them again.
"And for your information, no, I'm not 'hurting.' I'd have been thrilled! And now you ruined it! Casita. Where. Is. My. Door!" She yelled, banging on the wall where it used to be.
The dresser skidded between her and the spot before shoving her back into his arms, two thin pieces of trim coming down to smack them both upside the head.
They stood there panting and glaring at each other for a long moment before Elena burst out laughing, clinging to him as he desperately tried to figure out what was going on. She'd just been shouting at him, deservedly so, and packing a bag to go God knew where. Now she was cackling like a madwoman and holding onto him like a life line. And her little door was gone. He froze.
The door Casita had made for her on their regrettable wedding night, the room that had tormented him as a testament to his failure, that she'd all but abandoned once he'd finally come to his senses and started treating her like he should have been all along, was nowhere to be seen. He glanced around the room, catching glimpses of her things in places they absolutely had not been the night before, and his heart beat a giddy tattoo in his chest.
"Amor, I am so sorry. You've married an idiot."
"You can say that again," Elena giggled, looking away. "But you did too. I shouldn't have blown up like that. No better than Mamá, shouting at you for just...being cautious."
"Being stupid, you mean. Even the house trusts our marriage better than I seem to."
"I...what?"
"Your door." He grinned. "It got rid of that damned door. No more separation. We're...just us now. You're my wife, no doubts or anything. Casita couldn't be much more clear about it." Elena hid her tears, burying her face in his chest before laughing again, looking down. Bruno realized his mistake; spitfire arguments and heartfelt confessions were likely best not delivered in the nude.
"Well don't laugh at it, or I'm not responsible for it disappearing," he snorted. Elena smiled, tugging at his hand. He realized where she was headed and followed behind without protest, giving himself over to his fate when she turned and pushed him gently onto the bed.
She pondered him for a long moment before pushing down her skirt. In her haste to dress she'd foregone her underthings. He wasn't sure what he thought about that other than none of said thoughts were decent. He rose up to help her out of her blouse, his face at the perfect level to nuzzle her breasts as he stroked the soft undersides of her arms, trapped for a moment before falling to his shoulders. He could sense where her mind was going, but she'd hesitated. He caressed her side slowly, pulling when he reached her knee, egging her on to straddle him clumsily, his thoughts scattering as his cock began to swell.
"Let me look at you, querida," he murmured as he shuffled back, pulling her with him. It was awkward, but he was rewarded with the sight of her breasts bouncing as she scooted along on her knees, giggling as she followed him. He traced patterns across her skin, playing connect-the-dots with her freckles and telling her what shapes he'd found as he did, his touch guiding her just so, her naked sex warm and teasing as she shifted over him, not quite touching but arousing all the same.
Elena bent to kiss him and he accepted gladly, hands running up and down her sides. She balanced on his chest and gave an experimental wiggle of her hips, barely a grind. He pressed his fingers into her slick folds, earning a gasp as he teased her.
"Help me," she breathed, following the sensation, her skin ablaze from her hair to the tips of her breasts. "Please. Show me what to do."
His head hit the bed as he groaned, a confusing tangle of lust and guilt in his gut as he agreed. He felt every inch the dirty old man as he dragged the head of his cock through the plump lips of her sex, the angle off, taunting her even as the lingering guilt chipped away at him. But she was so beautiful there, raised above him with a mix of arousal and curiosity softening her expression as she watched him that he couldn't help but do as she asked.
"Lift up, amor," he muttered, pulling at her hips until she complied, pliant under his hands. He lined himself up with her entrance, head barely slipping. He watched her shudder, her pupils going wide at the first touch.
"...Bruno..." she whined, arching, her voice going straight to his cock. 'Dios she's beautiful like this,' he thought, eyes raking across her form to take her in, perched over his lap, her breath fluttering as she waited for his instruction. He smirked at the thought, his ramblings from the night before coming true before his eyes, trapped under her strong thighs and wanting.
"Follow my hands, amor. Just at first. When your comfortable, well...have your way with me."
She might have laughed if he hadn't been pressing her down, impaling her slowly as his free hand played with the pert little bundle of nerves peaking out from her lower lips. His head fell back when she sat flush against him, her inner muscles clenching in a delicate dance that promised a future of wild nights and sated mornings once she'd brought them fully under her control. He guided her carefully, the barest change of direction of his hand leading her. It seemed almost instinctual, the way she moved, the slight rotation she added to each gyration with no prompting from him, the barest rise and fall to add friction. He was briefly thrown back into nights long past where he'd heard muffled sobs from that damnable and now blessedly disappeared door. He'd thought they were pained, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd been wrong about his intense little wife, always so full of surprises.
He let his hand fall away to watch as she continued rocking over him, his concentration failing as he got lost in the heat of her, but he brought a hand to her cheek, vying for attention.
"Someone's been practicing," he teased, plucking at her bitten lip. She jerked away, her eyes wild, misunderstanding.
'Mierda,' he swore, wondering if he'd ever be able to say the right things to her. He put his hands up defensively, slowly grinding his hips into hers, near imperceptible, hoping she'd take no offense.
"I didn't mean anything, just...you're--uhh...you move so--so well I..."
The strange emotion drained from her face and she began laughing, gasping and jerking as the contractions of her middle squeezed her tight around him before laughing again. He groaned and held onto her hips for dear life as she began riding him in earnest, her pelvis rising and falling and grinding down on him at a brutal pace, her breathy laughter never stopping.
The weight of molten stone raced across his skin, his whole body searing as he gazed up at her, lust and adoration and confusion swirling in his stomach and feeding the flames in every corner of his body. Sunlight from high overhead filtered over her, glistening on the fine sheen of sweat she's acquired, drawing his crossed eyes unfocused all along her body. She was red and gold in the light, blushing and panting and unhindered as she made the best use of him.
She shifted then, her hands leaving his chest to grasp for his thighs, the whole long line of her torso flung back as she sped up, each downstroke dragging a cry out of her, called up to the empty ceiling. A moan broke through, loud and long and echoing through his rooms, but Bruno couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed, lost in the sight and sound and feel of the wonderful woman above him, reveling in her as she sought her own pleasure and dragged him closer to his, Caribdis in an unending sea.
He shuddered as Elena's panting grew harsher, the twisting of her hips fiercer, her flesh clutching and clasping his erratically. He twisted to find her clit between them and lured it to him with hooking fingers, tugging deftly and rearing his hips into hers frantically as she wound tight and screamed.
He fell with her, his consciousness narrowed to a single point of aching pleasure that burst behind his eyes, floating, zipping light racing around his skull as every nerve went cold and hot at once.
His senses sifted back, and he was aware of Elena resting on his chest, somehow still giggling.
"Amor," he whined as her laughter squeezed him, "would you please tell me what's so funny?"
"Mmm, and why should I?" She asked, her face impish as his eyes refocused. He pinched her cheek.
"So I can bring it up the next time, you wild thing. I can't feel my toes!"
She sputtered and hid her face in his chest. He twined a curl lazily, content to not move from this spot until absolutely necessary.
"It's embarrassing!" She groaned, and he squeezed her. "You just heard me yell like a gelded horse. I think you'll survive."
She grumbled, and bit his nipple, muttering around it "'ou ca't laff."
He made a cross-his-heart motion and nudged her, and she shook her head.
"You...you said I'd practiced...but...but I really did..."
He arched an eyebrow as she peeped up at him, waiting for the rest, and she growled in frustration.
"Well, for whatever reason you didn't get tired of waiting for me, so. What household item do I get to be jealous of?"
"Bruno you bastard," she snorted, pinching his side. He returned it in kind, his hands digging into her waist and tickling, crowing at her shriek and taunting her.
"Should I ban you from sweeping? Or did you sneak a tamper home from the café? What was satisfying my wife while I was an idiot?"
She squealed and tried to twist away, but he wrapped his legs and arms around her, holding tight. She struggled, limbs slipping out like eels only to be caught again, though her surprising flexibility had the dog in his brain going in a thousand directions at once. Finally she grumbled something into his chest that sounded suspiciously like "hairbrush" and he unwound from her, grinning like a fool for reasons even he wasn't sure of.
"Ah, well. That's perfectly understandable then. Lovely, strong silver thing like that? No one could resist its charm--Yeowwch!"
Elena grinned up at him, sending his thoughts scattering again at the sight of her laving his bitten nipple in apology, the pink flash of her tongue driving him straight to sin.
"I'm kidding! Kidding. Don't be embarrassed, amor. It just makes you human."
"I thought about you," she mumbled, tucking her head under his chin, and he froze at the wobble in her voice, but she went on and he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"I...I was lonely and I just...it made it easier. To imagine you were really...with me, you know? It was so stupid. I'd steal your shirts so I could smell your cologne and I'd hope that...that maybe you'd get...used to me."
He held her tighter as she hiccoughed. He hadn't meant to upset her, only to drag up more of his horrible treatment of her.
"I don't deserve you," he murmured carefully. "I don't know what you saw in that drunk, stupid old man. So scared of the future he ran away from it. But I'm here now, and I can't imagine waking up without you beside me or the scent of you left behind. Don't be sad, please? I only meant to tease you a little."
She nodded but stayed silent, playing aimlessly with his chesthair and snuggling in even closer. He felt the heat of tears drip across his skin, but said nothing, rubbing her shoulder and hoping one day he could earn her forgiveness. He tilted her jaw up, offering a kiss in apology and humming gratefully when she accepted it. They shifted across the bed, a slow, easy dance of lips and gentle caresses meant to comfort more than inflame, though if she kept wiggling her leg just so it could easily turn to something else. There was still a hesitancy to her touch, an undercurrent of doubt that he wasn't sure how to dispel other than showering her with more affection, trying to make up for a year of lost opportunity.
He did so, holding her face and kissing every part of it, her cheeks, her nose, the delicate skin of her eyelids. Her swollen, sweet lips down to her chin and the line of her jaw. She sighed as he memorized the strength of her pulse with his mouth alone, trailing from collarbone to jaw and back again, leaving no inch of flesh untouched.
"Bruno..." Elena said carefully, her hand pressed against his chest as he nipped her ear. He stopped his teasing, startled to see tears in her eyes."Amor, what's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I--I'm sorry. I just...I need a minute. It's...this has all been wonderful but it's so much at once and I--"
He pulled away, squeezing her shoulders, rubbing soothing little circles into her skin. "It's alright, amor. If you need me to back away I will. I don't want you to do anything you don't feel ready for, oye?"
"But we're...we're together now, really together! I don't want to chase you away! I--I'm just being silly. Please, come back."
Bruno peered at her, regretting the fear he saw there, knowing it was his fault, that his own insecurities had carved mirror images of themselves into his wife through his negligence. He brushed her hair from her face.
"Elena, I'm not going anywhere. Lo prometo, mi amor. I know you don't have much reason to believe me but...but I'm not. This morning was me panicking because I'm an idiot, please don't take that into account. I meant what I said, every word I said last night."
"I know. I know that I just...Bruno it's so much. I--we spent a year as strangers and I...I thought I knew enough but now there's this and you and the risk and I just--what am I--I don't know if I'm--I thought I was ready but what if I'm not? What if I never am?"
He wasn't sure quite what she was afraid of, simply that she was, but he pulled her close and held her tight regardless. He let her cry it out against his chest as he held her, patting her hair and hoping he was providing some comfort even when he was clearly the source of her distress. He found himself rambling, not sure if anything he brought up was the right thing but needing to say it, to get it out into the open before another misunderstanding could spring up between them.
"I don't expect you to suddenly be with me every second of the day, Elena. You still have your own life. I'm your husband, not your owner. If there's ever a time you don't want it, or are just tired or whatever, tell me. I'm not going to keep you locked away all day for my own amusement."
"I--I know, Bruno," she murmured, still tearful. He couldn't help but to continue.
"You don't have to change any because of this either, you know. It's just...this is how we should have been, before I screwed everything up and made you doubt yourself. I don't know what I'd do if I saw you covering yourself back up like I can't stand the sight of you. Whatever you can't take in or let out or don't want, throw it all in the rag pile and I'll buy you a new wardrobe from scratch. Whatever color and fabric you want. Whatever you want. I just...please amor, don't go back to how things were at their worst. I couldn't forgive myself if I made you so miserable."
"Bruno I'm not I just--" Elena's voice quivered, and they stared at each other for a long moment. "It's not that. Not you, really. I...I still need to...ease into things I guess but it's...dammit Bruno, I'm scared." That startled him. He wasn't quite sure what she could be frightened of outside of him running off at the mouth again, but after this morning he wasn't going to let it go to chance.
"Tell me why, please? I can't change things if I don't know what to change."
"We've...we've already risked it twice. What if it...what if it takes? Bruno I want to know you first. I want to know us. Who we are together without...without..."
Her meaning fell into place and he slapped himself mentally. Of course she was scared of the possibility of a pregnancy. He'd denied long enough that Elena made it very easy to forget her real age, but occasionally something shone through. Between her mother and her cousin and just how vulnerable their new relationship was, part of him couldn't help but agree. They were too raw, too new to risk creating another little person to add to the equation just yet. He held her closer.
"I'll be more careful," he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair. "We can slow down and I can watch myself from now on. If you don't want to eat the things Juli makes for this I'll see if she can make something for me."
"You...you aren't upset?" Elena whispered, tucking herself ever tighter into his embrace. He chuckled, unable to stop himself.
"Upset? At what? That my little wife wants longer to have her way with me? And wants to take her time doing it? If anything I'm flattered."
"I--That isn't--I meant--Bruno you ass!" Elena squealed, giggling madly and breaking away, buffeting him with a pillow. He caught it and used it to press her back down into the bed, kissing her fiercely.
"Keep it up, querida, and I'll find myself breaking promises. It doesn't do to tease old men like this."
"Ugh, you're not old! Stop that!" Elena huffed, pushing him away. "Thank you, though. For understanding. It's...I know it's not what most men want to hear."
"Meh, most men are idiots, yours truly included," Bruno shrugged.
"You are not!" Elena protested, but he gestured broadly at the bed.
"Amor, we've been married for over a year and fucked all of twice. The fault in that being entirely mine. 'Idiot' is me being generous."
"You're being too hard on yourself. We would have come around eventually."
"Elena, you starved yourself for months, damaged your heart because I made you think I didn't want you. I'm not sure what else besides a complete bastardo I could be in that situation. The fact that you're forgiving me is...I'm pretty sure I could get you sainted for this."
"Stop that," Elena sighed, swatting his chest.
"Why are you forgiving me? I mean...I'm not complaining but you have every reason not to." It had bothered him all these months, the capacity of her heart. He knew she loved him, but some things were unforgivable, and his treatment of her was included in that. Elena sighed.
"I wanted a happier marriage than I grew up watching my parents have, Bruno. Once I saw that vision I knew I could have that with you. Even if it took a lot of work."
"Oh it definitely did that," he smirked. She swatted him again.
"Anyway--I love you. That...that makes it easier."
He smiled, stroking her cheek. "I want you to be happy, Elena. I want to be able to make you happy. I've done a terrible job of treating you right and I...I have to make up for that. I...You saw a disaster of a man and came in to build him back up, and all I did was tear you down in return."
"Bruno..."
"I'm...I'm not good at this, amor. I've never had someone...care about me as deeply as you do and it...it scares me. That I'm responsible for your heart. It's...a heavy cross to bear and I don't want to fail you again. I'm not so proud I can't admit I'll need your help. We've gotten so much closer but I'm so afraid I'll foul things up again and I--"
"Hush, viejo," Elena tutted, pressing a finger to his lips before replacing it with her own. "We're going to make mistakes and argue. We're only human. I...know I'm not the most reasonable sometimes. Let's make a deal, hm?"
"A deal? What sort of deal?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, snorting when she poked him. The air was too thick, and he had to lighten the burden.
"Not like that. We do our best. We try not to blow up at each other when one of us puts a foot in our mouths. Maybe...make some sort of...I dunno, signal or something to say that we can...pause things on, ask for a better explanation?"
"A signal? Like what?"
"Like your eyes, but...a word, or something. They go off with emotions, right?"
"Yes..."
"Like that then. Something odd we wouldn't normally say. We can figure it out later."
Bruno mulled it over as they lay there, cuddling in silence as the dust motes floated above them. It wasn't a bad idea.
"Let's not worry about it too much just now," he hummed, twining one of her curls around his fingers and tickling her nose with it, relishing her smile and laughing as she clicked her teeth at him. "Aguerrida. It's getting late. We should probably go down to breakfast."
"Nnngh, nooo, I don't wanna get up," Elena whined, grumbling as he pinched at her side before dragging herself from the bed. He made no secret of watching her searching for clean clothes, finding them magically in her dresser and blowing a raspberry at the thing when it rattled, laughing at her. He dressed slowly, languid to his very bones and already tired for the day. 'No more emotional upsets before breakfast' he groused privately. Elena made it to the door before he did.
"Bruno? Can...can you come here please?" Elena called out. She sounded worried. He left his ruana on the bed and went to her, poking his head over her shoulder.
He was greeted by blinding sunlight and the smell of salt. He yelped and blinked vigorously, rubbing his eyes and squinting back out into the space that was supposed to be his room. The vaulted canyon was gone, the sweeping striated stone pillars nowhere to be seen. In it's place were balmy breezes and unfamiliar palms and the bright blue expanse of what could only be the sea. He picked his jaw up from the floor and turned to Elena, who looked just as confused as he did. She was twirling her wedding band and biting her lower lip, hope and uncertainty in equal measures in her eyes. Realization slid into place, and he set a hand to the wall of his room, whispering a quiet 'thank you' to Casita, his heart swelling and overcome. Tenderly he plucked Elena's lip from her teeth and pulled her into a kiss. She pulled away, looking for answers, and he laughed as he held her close, looking over her shoulder out into the shaded landscape and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves.
"Looks like the house decided to give us a honeymoon," he murmured, kissing her neck. "Let's not question it."
"But how are we at the beach? The nearest one's over three hundred kilómetros away!"
"Magic house, querida. It sent Pepa and Félix to the beach and Juli and Gus to...the redwood forest up in Norteamérica? I think? Don't think about it too much, it'll just give you a migraine. Speaking from experience."
"Well I hope the house at least gave us some crema de zinc or you've married a lobster."
Bruno snorted. Her fair skin could survive the Colombian sun in the mountains but the beach turned her colors. "Come on, let's go find out"
They kicked off their shoes and made their way over the soft sand, taking in the salt air and the gentle sound of waves lapping hand in hand. The sun was bright overhead, but the air itself was cooler than he'd expected, the comfortable warmth that was hot enough to swim during the day and warm the sands, but spoke of chilly nights spent near outdoor fires. There were seabirds in the air, and Bruno spotted lizards scuttling up the trees. He'd never thought about what exactly the house did, tried not to think about how it worked. Like everything in life, there had to be some rules, but he'd be damned if he could find them. He'd read stories enough for the concept to make sense, magical doors to other parts of the world, or to other worlds entirely. If he could pull the future out of time and superimpose it onto slabs of emerald, who was he to say the house couldn't do something like this? His sisters had been fairly tight-lipped about their own honeymoons, but given the hedonistic stupor that rolled over him every time he glanced over at Elena, he couldn't blame them.
They didn't make it far before they heard voices. Panicking, Bruno yanked Elena back into the treeline and covered her mouth, his heart in his throat. He didn't know much about how the Miracle worked, if anything at all, but he'd never known it creating entire people. They watched as another couple in modern bathing clothes passed them. Elena sank back against Bruno, eyes following them as they began to speak again. Their voices were hard to decipher. Elena struggled against Bruno's hand.
"They're speaking Portuguese! Bruno, where are we?"
He scanned the area more carefully, regretting not pestering Julieta and Pepa more. Neither of them had mentioned people, and he'd been content to imagine the house just imitating the locales they'd visited. With this though, maybe they had been transported. His head hurt trying to wrap around it. 'Don't question it. The house wouldn't have brought us somewhere unsafe,' he told himself, swallowing. In the distance, he saw a small cliff wrapping out into a peninsula into the ocean, dark green trees slashed with a bright white cliff face. He stared at it long enough to burn it into his eyes before the image righted itself. He recognized that cliff, had seen it in one of the geography books at the bibliotheca. Between it and the sea he'd always thought if he left the Encanto he'd go here, if only to see this.
"We're in Brasil!" he said brightly, squeezing her hand. "Ponta Negra! I...I can't believe the house brought us here."
"Brought us...?" Elena asked. He shrugged.
"I...don't think the Miracle can make whole people? If there're people then...maybe it's like...those old fairy tales where people fall into el mundo de hadas but we're just...in the real world still?"
He watched as Elena struggled, eyes darting before crossing herself and nodding soundly. She grinned up at him.
"Well...if Casita did it then it's got to be okay, right?"
"I think so. Juli and Pepa both made it back from theirs alright. Eh, tu se…maybe a little sunburned."
"Should we go explore?"
He looked around, unable to figure out what direction they'd come from. There was no evidence of the door that had led them here. He tossed a handful of salt over his shoulder before leading Elena out of the trees, looking back in the direction they'd come and seeing only the sprawl of the town of Natal. He had to trust that the house would provide.
They walked down the beach in silence, taking in the scene around them. Buildings further up past the shore, taller and newer-styled than anything in the Encanto. Some of them were clearly hotels or resorts for wealthy tourists. There were a strand of smaller bungalows, little rooms on stilts open to the air, rattan screens stacked to one side clearly the only measure of privacy. Bruno was at a loss. He hadn't grabbed his wallet nor Elena her purse. Why would they have, when they were only going to breakfast? All they had were the clothes on their backs. Between that and the eyes of total strangers, the difference in the air and his eternal nerves he was on edge. Elena squeezed his hand, leaning closer to him, reassuring him with her presence that they would, however unlikely his anxiety was making it seem, be fine.
They were standing before the last of the little huts, both lost in thought when a man called out.
"Señor! Señora! Espere, por favor!"
They turned as one to see a stout older man jogging towards them. He wore a white linen suit and a panama hat, his gray hair betraying his age though his thick mustache was still coal black. They paused, and Elena could feel the tension bunching in Bruno's muscles as they let the man catch up.
"Trust Casita," she whispered, alarmed at the faint limn of green that had slipped across his eyes. He nodded, but stood taller as the man neared them.
"Señor...Madrigal...desculpe--lo siento. Jerônimo was supposed to--to meet you at your car, but we missed you. Our apologies. Your bags arrived ahead of you. If you'll come with me." He had a slightly glazed look to his eyes. Not the glassy redness of a drunk, Bruno's first suspicion at a man shouting on the beach, but almost drugged. How he knew their name was a mystery, and whatever bags he spoke of meant nothing to them, but they felt compelled to at least hear the strange man out. He turned then, leaving them to exchange a confused glance before shrugging, following behind, wariness not wholly abandoned as they followed the strange man. He spoke in accented Spanish, occasional words unfamiliar or so changed they took a moment to acclimate.
"...often we get a profesor from Universidad de Antioquia out here. They tend to stay closer to home. Come come, everything is set up for you, the letter explained everything. I see you wasted no time once they lifted the ban, though! She's a lovely girl! Too lovely to let wither away in dusty old halls. Better to have her out in the sunlight with the niños, eh, eh?"
Bruno squeezed Elena's hand before she could rear up, but the thunderous look on her face remained.
"He thinks I'm your student! He thinks you married a student!" She hissed at him, affronted.
"But I didn't. I don't know what this is, amor. Please. I wouldn't take it personally."
"Bruno he's calling you a--a--"
"An older man married to a young woman. Let him assume. It keeps us out of trouble."
"I still don't like it."
"I know, but...I'm a little out of my depth here. We have to see where this goes."
Elena grumbled but ceded the point, and they continued on. The man nattered the whole slow walk. He went by Marquez, but he insisted they call him Gabo, and he knew all about the surrounding beachfront. The resorts and high-rises were cramped and airless and occupied by silly Europeos or Americanos that couldn't tell a lulo from a limón. "Oh they rent the cabañas too, but a lot of them give up. They like their walls too much," he assured them. The smaller hoteles and the surrounding houses were the real part of the town. He was very proud of Ponta Negra, and they let him ramble, occasionally making note of something he said about a restaurant or local curiosity, but the underlying unease stuck to their skin along with the sheen of sweat they'd acquired.
"Ah, here we are," Gabo boomed, gesturing to a large, colorful cabaña in a secluded alcove right beside the cliff face. It was a merry splash of coral and peach and blue against the white sand and dark greens of the coconut trees and their underbrush. The palm thatched roof had fronds swaying gently in the breeze, it's profile marred only by the dark slashes of two cables, and there was a small wooden boat with paddles tethered to the lower portion, along with canvas chairs tied to the underside of the floor above, well over their heads.
"Ah, this one is a unique little getaway. Come high tide? You can step right into the water and swim around the cliffs from you stairs," Gabo boasted. "Or go paddling, if that's more your speed. That's dawn and just after sunset at the moment. Very isolated, but I suppose that's why you chose it, eh Señor? Some privacy for you and the Señora.
Bruno nodded and followed the man up the stairs. The inside was light and airy, a single large room. Two hammock chairs hung down in one corner, black suitcases he'd never seen sitting neatly under them, and a small shelf held a handful of novels in both Spanish and Portuguese, with a little rail for clothes hangers below it. There was a lamp mounted to the wall, but he couldn't tell if it was electric or oil. The bed was massive, circular and covered in raw linen covers and blue and gold pillows, diaphanous mosquito netting cascading down over it from the ceiling like a veil. It took up a third of the room. A telephone was tucked into the back corner, and a wide bladed fan on a motor was slowly turning at the top of the ceiling, squeaking slightly. There were two minuscule nightstands, one taken up with a bucket and a bottle of wine, the other a large basket full of fruit and sweets with a small radio hiding behind it.
Gabo stood a moment, watching as they took it in before launching into the rest of what sounded like a very practiced spiel. "The bathhouse is up the hill, about thirty feet back. Apologies, but the cabañas can't have an attached facility. The number for assistance is attached to the phone, but if you need anything that's not an emergency, please call during low tide periods. Please enjoy your stay!"
He was gone just as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving them to stare at each other wondering what on earth had just happened.
"I...I guess this is us for the next couple of weeks," Bruno shrugged, nonplussed. Elena said nothing, but went about investigating, testing the fabric of the mosquito netting and the rope of the hammocks, knocking on the wall. She picked up the phone and listened for a moment before setting it back on it's cradle. She dug the two suitcases out and popped the latches, shaking out the clothing. None of it was anything they'd seen before, more modern outfits than they wore at home, but everything looked as if it would fit. Bruno watched as she quickly hung things up, laughing when she tossed him a wallet, better than his, and stocked somehow with a generous amount of Brasilian reís. Elena puzzled over a small velvet bag, only to open it and find a dozen tiny bottles, all sealed in wax. Beneath lay a packet of hard candies that smelled strongly of licorice.
"What are these?" she wondered, handing him one. He studied it for a moment before smiling. "Juli's. The candies are for...what you were worried about earlier." His ears burned as he took one, crunching it between his teeth--Julieta usually gave the women a syrup. He chuckled at Elena's blush before continuing.
"The vials...I watched her make those things for you in the morning. She always added a vial like this. It must be...it must be for your heart, so you can keep up your healing." A strange whimper escaped her then, and she buried her face in his chest.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never should have been so stupid."
"Hey, shhshh, no. Elena don't apologize for needing help. Please? Julieta said herself in a few weeks you'd be healed up."
"But it just slows us down! I don't want to have to be so careful all the time!"
"What...do you mean?"
"You've been so careful with me...like I'll break. I'm not made of glass!"
He didn't mean to laugh, but it slipped out and earned him a solid pinch to the gut for his troubles. "What's so funny?" Elena pouted, staring him down.
"Amor, I wasn't careful with you because I thought you'd break. You're too strong for that, even if you don't know it yet. I wanted to go slow, draw it out. It can be good fast, but you're worth taking my time with." He pulled her to him then, resting his chin on her shoulder, content to forget about the outside world for a moment. He turned and nipped at her ear, "But if you'd rather not--" he hummed, twisting and flinging her onto the bed, bouncing as he landed next to her, stretching to toss the vials into the wine bucket.
Elena squealed as he wrapped around her, smothered a moment later as he proceeded to kiss her so stupid she forgot whatever it had been she'd worried about. She wiggled against him, laughing at the giddy thought that she should thank Consuela Rivera or Silvia Gonsalvez or whoever it was that had taught him to kiss like this. He'd just gotten his big warm hands under her shirt when her stomach growled loud enough they both startled, snickering.
"I suppose I did promise you breakfast," Bruno sighed, rolling away and spreading out on the bed, shooing her up. "Go, put on some city clothes. We'll go foraging in the wilderness."
Elena squeezed his thigh before standing, rewarded with a flustered groan as he flapped his hands at her, chasing her off. She dressed quickly, the clothes they'd been granted by whatever magic had gotten them here light and flowy. She caught Bruno staring at her, spinning on command at his smirk and twisting finger before whooping as he yanked her back onto the bed.
"What happened to breakfast?" she whined, her stomach growling again, but Bruno only smirked. He pulled a mango from behind him, nodding back to the forgotten fruit basket. He'd cut a good piece off with his pocketknife, and slowly pressed it to her lips.
She ate his offering, trying to ignore the way he traced her lips as the air grew heated around them, and he whispered his answer. "Not until I've had mine," grabbing her knees and unbalancing her, disappearing under her skirt. She squealed as hands grasped at her, her underwear whisked away to be replaced with the harsh rasp of stubble and the hot slide of his tongue. She fell back against the mattress, boneless and squirming as Bruno lapped at her, obscene wet sounds echoing from under the rise of her skirt, bobbing with each dip and press of him against her.
She writhed as he worked, his tongue swirling around her clit before dipping back down to her entrance, flickering there before heading back. Heat prickled over her skin as sweat began to bead, trickling down her knee to be lapped up by that eager mouth only for it to turn back and ravage her sex once again. She moaned as his hands spread her legs suddenly. Her legs burned with the stretch of tendons, her cunt throbbing. Bruno twisted to kiss and suck at her lower lips, fingers sneaking in to join and press inside of her, branding delight into her belly with each slow spreading thrust. Bands of copper and gold and light wrapped around her chest and wrung the air from her as she cried out, her legs clamping together around the only thing tethering her to the ground. She jerked as Bruno laughed against her, shuffling out of her skirts and wiping his mouth, wearing a smug grin.
"Now I'm hungry and exhausted," Elena laughed as Bruno helped her up, rescuing the forgotten mango from rolling off the bed at the last minute. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and moved to slice the rest of it, finding a saucer and handing it back to her in sections along with the stars of a carambola. Elena rolled her eyes, flipping onto her stomach to watch as he went to change, nibbling the fruit and trying to ignore the fluttering in her belly. He moved differently; lighter, unencumbered. A weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders, and he stood a little straighter than she was used to seeing him. Maybe it was just being away from the town and anyone who had an unkind opinion of him, or that being in such a beautiful location could relax anyone. It looked good on him, whatever was causing it. Her face grew hot as she hoped that maybe part of it was because of her.
The light raw linen didn't look too different from his usual wear, and it suited him, better fitting and highlighting the dusky tan of his skin. The panama hat and horse-bit loafers transformed him further, no longer the man using his ruana to blend into the background, but someone who didn't mind being seen. It reminded Elena of what he'd worn to their wedding, and she blushed further. It made it easier to forget all the pain they'd gone through the last year, easier to imagine that they had married after a period of happy courting rather than rushed to the alter because of her mother's panic. Elena shook the thought away. It wasn't a lie to say that's exactly what had happened, and if she chose to remember things out of order.
When Bruno paused to grab the magically summoned wallet, removing a good deal of the money and hiding it in a handy gap in the wall, she waited. When he took one of the little vials and tucked it into his shirt pocket, she pushed down the urge to be hurt. He was being practical, and cared enough to remember what she'd forgotten, wanting her to heal completely from the damage their anger and fear had caused. Bruno turned, holding his hand out to her with that crooked, shy smile she'd learned to love, and she made a choice then, taking his offered hand. She could put the past and the hurt aside, if it meant a chance at happiness.
She followed him out into the town, keeping close. Unfamiliar territory set them both on edge, but while Elena was somewhat used to the bustle of a city, she knew Bruno was not. He stood straighter and tucked her into his arm, the uneasy hunch fading as he walked, and she shivered at the hungry look he gave her. Confidence changed his face, bringing out that almost stern, stoic expression he wore before summoning his visions. It reminded her that no matter how silly or awkward he could appear, he was powerful in a way she could barely understand. She watched from the corner of her eye as he quietly slipped into a new character, less a persona for him to wear and more a glimpse at who he might have been if the weight of the Encanto's myriad futures hadn't weighed down on his mind and his heart for the better part of thirty years.
They fumbled across the streets, Bruno startling her by having a limited but usable understanding of Portuguese, though some of the locals laughed at his pronunciations. She realized she shouldn't have been surprised. The bibliotheca had a small section of yet to be translated novels in Portugués, Francés e Inglés, with their respective bilingual dictionaries nearby, but they were older books, hold overs from Cristobal and Pablo's days of running the place. She'd never thought about Bruno reading any of them, but had seen him with Baltasar e Blimunda and Os Maias more than once. Watching his stutter go from a sign of discomfort to the easy self deprecation of a well meaning tourist out of his depth was doing funny things to her stomach, and she couldn't keep the smile from her face.
"What's that look for?" Bruno chuckled as they sat finally. He'd found a patio café that smelled heavenly, and had pulled out her chair for her. She blushed, caught out, before her eyes stung and she had to look away.
"Oh, amor, no, I was only teasing," Bruno soothed, scooting to sit beside her, but she waved him away with a watery laugh.
"Stop worrying you silly man, I'm happy!" she sighed, taking his hand and holding it close. "I never thought we'd be like this. But here we are."
"Here we are," he agreed, looking lost for what else to do. He plucked off his hat and used it to shield their faces from the street as he stole a kiss.
They spent the long hours after their meal leisurely strolling through the city of Natal. The bright sunlight and the brim of his hat made it look like an odd reflection to anyone else, but his eyes retained a faint glow. When she asked about it, the answer surprised her.
"Keeping an eye out, er, so to speak. Avoiding trouble. Casita can bring us here, but she can't control the whole city."
"I thought it was hard on you, doing it like this?"
"I'm only looking a few minutes ahead, amor. Barely more than just observing. I'll be alright."
"The minute you start to feel tired we're going back. I don't want you straining yourself too far."
"Aren't I the one that's supposed to worry about your health?" he teased, but she elbowed him in the side.
"No. We take care of each other. I even think I see a nosebleed and you're in for it."
He held his hands up in defense. "Alright, salvajita, alright. I'll go easy. We'll head back now, hm? The beach must be beautiful at mid-day."
It hadn't been the beach he'd had in mind, she realized, as he pulled her back to the cabaña. The moment he’d clicked the lock on the flimsy screen he pulled her against him, his hands warm at her middle, tugging her blouse from her skirt, his mouth slow and hot at her neck. She giggled at the tickle of his stubble, letting him pull her along as he tripped out of his shoes, the radio they’d left on still playing a slow Spanish guitar.
“What are we doing?” She whispered as he began sliding buttons from her skirt as they swayed to the tune playing.
“Putting your mind at ease,” he murmured, letting her skirt fall before working up the buttons on her blouse, his voice dropping low. “Resting my eyes away from the dangers of the city.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she sighed, her hands coming up to cover herself as he let her blouse fall. He gently eased them away and spun her around, yanking her against him as their feet twined across the floorboards, trailing kisses down her neck and pleading.
“Don’t cover up. Not ever again. Please, amor. Don’t hide away from me.”
“I’m sorry, Bruno. I’m trying not to. I just…seeing myself differently…it’s hard…”
He pressed against her then, sucking a mark to her neck as she squirmed against him, his arousal evident against her hip. “Mmm, something certainly is. I’m going to spend however long we have here convincing you your beautiful if it kills me.”
He lead her in a heated dance of lips and hands, removing her underthings without a care until she yelped, tripping back into one of the woven hammock chairs, her legs scooped up and wrapped around his hips as he stared down at her, his eyes blazing over a smirk that made it clear he had her right where he'd wanted her. Her stomach swooped, her mind racing. She still wasn’t sure how to take Bruno’s intense interest. It made her chest hurt, so much affection showered on her at once she found herself flustered and frightened and wanting more all at once. Every nerve was pulled taut in anticipation as his hands rested against her, warm but insistent.
“Do you trust me, amor?” She couldn’t answer, her throat dry at the brush of his clothed erection against her. Her body went hot and cold at once, still tender from both their morning romps and the night before. She shivered at how close he was, the heat of him enveloping her senses. He stood still, waiting for her answer, his thumbs stroking slow, careful circles into her ankles. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded. She couldn’t fully muster the courage to take the lead entirely yet, and Bruno had a lifetime of experience more than her. She bit her lip as he smiled and put his plans into action.
He took one foot and carefully twined it up into the neck of the hammock, the ropes soft and comfortable against her skin. He kissed her calf and the soft inlet of her knee, massaging slow and sensuous against tensed muscles before repeating the process with her other leg. She whined and covered her burning face as she hung with her sex open to the air, ropes digging into her bottom. Bruno leaned into her, pulling her hands away and twining them up over her head, giving her a disarming grin as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“You keep hiding away. I want to look at all of you. Please let me.”
Elena nodded dumbly as her whole body flushed. There was a fumbling, and she felt the fibrous strands of one of the chair's tassels positioned over her, pressing just so into the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Shame and arousal slipped up her spine as the fibers stuck to her drenched flesh. Bruno stifled a groan above her, running his knuckles down through the gathering slick. The silken, blunt head of Bruno’s cock parted her lips before he slid inside, settling over her and smothering her gasps as he ground into her, the tassel he’d situated grinding into her clit as he bottomed out. Her head dropped back, suspended as the weaving around her feet and hands tightened. She squinted up through the haze of lust and understood the game in a flash. Bruno’s hands guiding the swinging seat to and fro with her anchored to him, weightless and floating and drunk on the dizzying spiral. His eyes never left her, casting her in green as they raked over her form.
He was in no hurry, letting the swing do most of the work as she wriggled, immobilized, clenching and trying to increase the friction that was tearing her apart, each slick slide of him inside of her pressing deep and sparking lights behind her eyes as she panted. It was easier than keeping the sound inside, bubbling and bursting from her chest.
She struggled against his impromptu bonds, writhing and bucking her hips, trying to lift herself up, trying to wrap her legs around him, trying anything to take back some control. Her chest was tight, her breathing pinched and squeezing as her breasts were jostled with each easy thrust. The knotted tassel he’d placed between them scored her nerves raw each time they came together. Her legs were quaking, held in one position too long, tendons pulled tight and pins and needles sparking along her skin as blood pooled to her center. The ropes and his linen pants were dragging across her skin, scratching gentle waves of stimulation into her nerves in time with his thrusts. The only thing searing into her skin more than his actions were his words.
“Ay, tímida bella, what you do to me,” he crooned, leaning down to dust kisses across her chest, nipping where he found thicker spangles of freckles. “So shy, for no reason. You were made to be looked at, to be appreciated.” She cried out as he feasted on her chest, showering one breast with attention before glutting himself on the other, his teeth caressing red lines of elation into her skin with each sway of the swing. “Anyone that made you think different is blind. Mi pintura clasica. Una obre de arte.” He was rambling and it was going straight to her head before diffusing under her skin, leaving her warm and wanting and above all feeling cherished like she'd never dared hoped he'd feel for her.
He nipped at the soft flesh of her side, painted a spangle of love bites across her, his lips leaving evidence of their passing everywhere they found her, his teeth leaving sparks zipping under her skin. Her head was spinning, blood rushing as she let it hang off the edge of the seat, even the swaying of her hair sending her nerves tingling. Bruno leaned into her, his thrusts coming harder as the angle changed, his mouth hot and needy at under her ear as he licked and sucked at the tender skin and whispered praise into her ear. She cried out as he spoke, wanting to believe him, wanting what he said to be true, wanting more than anything to have the knowledge sift into her heart and solidify there, building her up and raising her above the spines and needles of a lifetime of doubts.
He murmured something about Ruben’s Angélica as his hand replaced that distracting tassel and the softer pads of his fingers stroked at her clit. She shrieked at his touch, every nerve firing in a pulsing fractal of sensation, her head spinning one way and the room the other as her heart tripped around in her chest, almost painful. She fell apart unable to move, her limbs shaking where they were tethered, pulled taut and straining with a delicate, salacious burn. Something warm splashed across her belly and she craned her neck to see Bruno hanging limply from his grip at the neck of the hammock, his arms shaking with effort as he shuddered through the last throes of his own finish, his spunk dotting across her stomach in an impressive arc.
Bruno blushed as his eyes cleared of the hazy green fog, his eyes focusing and catching her watching him. He reached across her and freed her hands. In a daze he trailed a thumb through the mess he’d made on her skin. On impulse she snatched his hand and licked it away, watching as his his mouth went slack and his eyes went huge and flickered.
“I--uh--heh, sorry, querida. I…did promise to be more careful.” She said nothing, only reaching up and looping her arms around his neck. He huffed and slipped her feet from the remaining ropes and rubbed feeling back into them, none too careful of his fingers and where they might have glanced. She squirmed against him and he disarmed her questioning eyebrow with a shy smile.
Bruno gathered her up in his arms and hefted her the few feet to the bed, stumbling at the last second and dropping them both unceremoniously onto the mattress.
"You won't be able to do that much longer," she murmured as he pulled her close. He grinned and jiggled her hip, squeezing appreciatively.
"Eh, don't underestimate me that much, querida. I'm scrawny but I'll manage. Just gives me the incentive to keep up with you more."
"You're so odd," she grinned, squirming as he trailed his fingers up her side, ticklish and tentative despite all they'd just done. He didn't seem to mind the observation.
"True enough. Good for me you like oddities, then."
She nodded sleepily and let him bundle her up in one of the light blankets. The bed dipped against his weight and then again a moment later, the radio clicking off. She wiggled, resting her head on his lap, nodding in and out of sleep as he ran his hands through her curls, the only sound his metered breathing and the turning of pages. She was lulled swiftly into dreams.
He pulled her out to the beach as the sun sank low in the sky, dyeing the ocean a wine-dark burgundy and the beaches vermillion. The tide was coming in, but they had another good hour or so before their little section of beach disappeared completely and the ocean swept up under the cabaña. Elena was momentarily scandalized by the tight, fitted bathing costume, but with the look Bruno gave her as she made her way down the steps she'd quickly abandoned her unease. She didn't want him to think she'd adopted her mother's haughty sensibilities when even she couldn't stand them, and she was slowly beginning to accept that he seemed to enjoy her curves.
The sand was still warm under her feet as they strolled along the waterline, and she couldn't help but dig them in, giggling as little sand creatures wriggled away and tickled her toes. She drifted from Bruno's elbow and wound her way down the beach, her chest light and her head quiet, the eternal running monologue of doubts and worries silenced by the waves and rinsed out of her skull by the crisp salt sea air. She spun barefoot in eddies and dipped her toes in tide pools, prodding at crabs and anemones carefully before moving on, the hem of her wrap skirt damp and sticking to her calves as she spun to the strains of distant music that made it down to the beach. Something dark and glinting caught her eye in the sand, and she crouched to look closer. The point of a seashell, dark in the dimming light. She pulled it free and smiled as she cleaned it in the tide. A spiral of deep brown and muted green.
She stood to see Bruno giving her an indulgent smile, and she turned away, feeling silly. She'd just romped down the beach like a child, no excuse but still being young and curious and she went to drop the shell, angry at herself. Bruno held her still and pressed something heavy into her hand.
"Trade you?" he grinned as she looked down. A large conch shell spiraling with rich brown and amber swirls and bumps sat in her palm. She gazed at him, confused, and he chuckled awkwardly.
"It uh...sorta reminds me of your eyes. Thought you'd like it." There was something tender in his voice. It washed over her then, gentle as the waves lapping at her ankles. He didn't care. He truly didn't care that she'd just played around the beach, acting childish when that had always been his main objection between them. All he had done was follow her lead, the cuffs of his pants just as stained as her skirts, his hands dusted with dried sand. No judgement, just a crooked smile. Pleased to see her happy. His eyes were soft as she leaned into him, thanking him and pressing the spiral shell she'd found into his hand. "I didn't realize," she whispered as she pulled him back towards the cabaña. They'd moved further inland up the beach as they'd wandered, and she could just make out the tide lapping it's way up their stairs, halfway covered in the dying red light of the sun. "This matches your eyes too."
He grinned and pulled her along, sinking into the water once it lapped past their waists. He guided her off her feet to float with the gentle waves, drifting closer to the cabaña with lazy kicks, not caring that their clothes were soaked. He paused to set the seashells on the small ledge of the flooring, bobbing up to reach before pulling her under, the dying sunlight and the rising moon glinting off the water their only light. It was eerie underneith the flooring, the waves echoing strangely as they tiptoed, water up to their shoulders and warm sand sifting at their feet. She was lighter in the water, and the pylons the cabaña stood on were smoothed from years of sea and sand. She smiled darted under the water, her eyes closed against the sting, splashing away just far enough Bruno lost her and couldn't tell what she was doing.
She giggled at the wet slap her clothes made as she tossed them up onto the floor, and went back to her mermaid's games. She felt playful and impish and her body was full of mischief and fire. She had to burn it away somehow, and her instincts were crying out. Bruno was laughing, calling after her, and she found him more by luck and sound than any scant sight the moonlight granted her. It took more effort than she thought it would, the water soothing the burning of her cheeks as she unfastened his pants and freed his cock. He startled and swayed away before letting her do as she pleased, her hand coming up to caress him slowly. She popped up for air before shuffling back down his torso. She was careful, keeping out as much sea water as she could as she slowly took him in her mouth, the chill of the water and the heat of him playing across her lips as his fingers twined in her hair. She hummed around him as his cock stiffened, her lungs beginning to burn before he pulled her up and off of him by the armpits.
"Apasionada sirena, what do you do?" Bruno murmured as he drew her up. She said nothing, wrapping her arms around his neck to kiss him and her legs around his waist to draw him closer. He understood, holding her up and wading them backwards until her back hit one of the pylons.
“You,” she squeaked, her boldness rapidly fleeing, “I-if you want…”
He didn’t answer, burying his face in her neck and hitching her up higher. She wiggled against him, so close they may as well have been one person, his body hair tickling at her thighs and the length of his cock rising up and nestled against her folds, a point of heat in the silken chill of the lapping water. “I do want,” he pleaded against her skin. She pulled him closer, squeezing his waist tight with her knees and taking his earlobe in her teeth. He needed no further encouragement, slipping inside of her with a rough thrust, the seawater dissolving the evidence of her arousal almost as soon as it became known.
She burned, crying out and clinging to Bruno’s shoulders as he guided her, his grip fierce on her thighs as he pushed and pulled her up an down one him, using the water and the pylon to hold her up, groaning against her neck. “I won’t last long, amor. You’ve stolen my strength away.”
“Please…” Elena pleaded, not knowing what she was pleading for but the thought burning in her chest to hold him close, to cleave to him and meld them together so strong it made her dizzy. “Please. Stay with me. Stay Bruno, please. Please!” He crushed her to him, impossibly close and rutting into hers, forcing out a cry each time they connected fully.
“I’m here, amor. I’m not--not going anywhere.”
She grasped at him, hands yanking his hair, pulling his head back, the glow of his eyes and light reflected on the water giving her enough to see. His pupils are blown and his face haggard, tired and eager at once. He studied her face, never stopping, lighting and stoking a fire that fevered her body even in the chill of the ocean, the apex of her thighs on fire, lightning laying itself down in an even, invisible coat under her skin. Their teeth clacked from the force of the kiss, and she bit his bottom lip.
It spurred him on into a brutal pace, her back rubbing raw against the pylon and her core on fire as he panted against her neck, his hips snapping against hers, water splashing around them as she clung to his shoulders, crying out as her nails dug in. He grunted at the pain and showered her jaw and neck with harsh, rasping kisses before his teeth sank into the juncture where neck and shoulder met. She screamed, pain and pleasure, heat and cold and the shocks under her skin all swirling in her belly, whiting the edges of her vision as she fell apart around him, her whole body shaking as he followed her down.
Elena shivered against him as her breathing stilled. With an awkward shuffle, Bruno rescued his pants and gathered her up, letting the water take some of her weight as he carried her out from under the cabaña into the gentle surf. She curled against him, letting the gentle rocking of his steps lull her into an languorous sloth that made her bones heavy and her consciousness drift. There was the faintest twinge of guilt at his slight groan up the stairs, but the softness of the bedsheets a moment later soothed it away. A cold cloth dispelled the sting his teeth had left.
“Heh, sorry about this, amor. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s…it’s okay,” Elena blushed, unable to meet his eyes, her cheeks burning as he slowly dabbed her skin free of saltwater, his one hand staying over where he’d bitten her. “I…I think I liked it. Isn’t that strange?”
“Doesn’t have to be,” he murmured. “People like all sorts of things.”
She nodded, knowing he was right, knowing less clearly what some of those things might be from the floral-covered novels that her mother hated her reading. But she hadn’t lived at home for over a year. Had a new home now. Something caught light and burned bright in her mind, possibilities and images flooding in. She tried to reach out to Bruno, ministering to her salt-soaked skin and humming tunelessly. There were little crescent moons cut into his shoulder, she could see them in the lamplight, running her hand over them carefully.
“I got you too. I didn’t mean to…”
“Funny about that,” Bruno grinned, pulling her hand away and kissing her fingertips, “I know I liked it. Feisty little esposa.” He kissed her palm and the bend of her wrist before creeping away. He pressed a kiss to her lips a moment later, his tongue swiping in and tasting of maracuya syrup, a warm tingle at her shoulder revealing his goal. He gave her a cheeky grin and shuffled the mosquito netting around the bed before folding her into his arms, tucking her away against the dark. He was still cold from the ocean and somehow a furnace, and Elena drifted off into a warm, dozy sleep to the sound of his breathing and the gentle lapping of the waves.
Over the days they spent hours exploring the town and reading indolently in the bed or on the beach, feeding each other tidbits of food from their fingers. The novels provided, whether by Casita or the resort, they didn’t know, were of a decidedly indecent variety, and they made good use of them. It was a tantalizing way to escape into literature, and Elena had already snuck her favorite volume into the suitcase full of women’s clothes, fully prepared to take a page from her parrot’s book and commit a little petty theft. Bruno had found it adorable when he’d caught her, and said nothing, though she lost track of another volume in the interim.
Natal was beautiful, and while they didn’t venture too far into the city, they did make an effort to speak with the locals and at least find interesting local places to eat. The baskets of fruit that got replenished every three days were nice, but neither of them could survive from lulos alone.
Bruno had cast aside his shyness and taken to dancing with her every time they heard music. When she'd asked him why, he'd given her that sad smile that she was quickly learning to love.
"I didn't dance with you enough at our wedding, and I plan on taking every chance I can to make up for that."
"You don't have to, Bruno. I know you don't like drawing attention to yourself."
"Ah, but there's your mistake," he'd grinned, pulling her close as they swayed to the bolero playing outside one of the clubs further from the beach. "There's not a soul that even sees me when you're in my arms, Elena. Everyone's trying to figure out how I got so lucky and if they can steal a dance from you. Why you're dancing so close with a man too old for you."
She'd stuck her tongue out at him, laughing as he stole a kiss, looking off to the side. A group of young men were watching them curiously. Elena blushed and hid her face.
"They certainly aren't looking to dance with me, hermosita."
"Bruno...
"You are beautiful. I don't want you to doubt it. Not ever again. If I have to show you off to every man in Brasil and Colombia both to convince you I'll do it."
"Please don't," she breathed, melting into his side, hiding away. "I don't want anyone else looking at me. Not like that. Not like you do."
"Well," he'd grinned, pulling her away as the music faded, "I think I can manage that."
She didn’t know where he’d been hiding the charming man he was showing her, but she suspected it was, like so many other facets of his personality, a part of him that she alone was privileged to see. She tried not to let her anger at the town bubble up when she thought about it. So much of him, so much good, he hid away. She still laughed at the salt in his pockets and the held breath through doorways, but those were just as much a part of him as the freckles that were rapidly darkening across his nose. She didn’t know where he hid this part of himself, but she was resolved not to lose it once they made it back to the comfort of Casita.
They spent their time in a heady stupor of lovemaking at any hour they found themselves away from prying eyes, and slowly learning the lost aspects of each other any time they weren't twined together like silk and amber. Being away from the Encanto and the expectations of both of their families had opened up the closed-off parts of their minds, those private places where one hid away when they could only handle themselves for company.
Bruno was protective of her. She'd known to an extent, but the ferocity and depth of his feelings took her by surprise. The low-grade glow never left his eyes when they were out in town. He forded the nosebleeds and her own worried agitation with grace, telling her on no uncertain terms he wasn't going to stop looking a few minutes into the future, drain or not.
"I already almost lost you once, Elena. I'm not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it. Be angry all you want. I'm not a big man like your papá or your primos. Not a fighter. This is the only way I know to keep you safe, amor. Please let me. A nosebleed and a migraine or two isn't any price at all for your safety."
"You're ridiculous," she'd grumbled, and proceeded to set up meal service for the next two days and refused to let him leave. She'd finally relented when the air in the cabaña turned to mud and they'd had to wring out the sheets. They'd limped into the ocean at nightfall and bathed each other in the cool sea, and forgotten their troubles for another few blissful hours.
He spent one indolent day in bed of his own volition, content to sip at the coffee she'd found a way to smuggle in from the main hotele and listen to her read to him, 'resting his eyes' and feeding her slivers of fruit and quindims from the local market. He made sure to let her know the coffee was nowhere near the quality she made back home, flustering her more when he went on about it.
"I can't blame your padres getting suspicious, looking back," he'd grinned, "I was there so often, and only when you were at the café. Between you and me well...your Pá's coffee can get up and march on its own, and Pepa's was just as bad. I might have gotten a little spoiled."
"Papá didn't think anything about you being there, Bruno. Well, the good luck charms got funny looks but...he knew his coffee was terrible. And that the whole place got more business when I started working there."
"'Course it did," Bruno laughed. He sounded surprised that she found it odd. "And that's when the stone masons and the field workers started coming in more too, wasn't it?"
"Yes? Why?"
Bruno snorted, giving her a dubious eyebrow before sighing, holding her tight and groaning into her neck. "I swear if we have any daughters your tía and mamá aren't allowed near them until they're twenty." His hands wormed their way around her middle, squeezing and pulling her fully into his lap.
"Pretty young thing manning the counter, with a smart mouth and a smarter head? It drew the wrong sort of attention too, but...honestly I'm surprised you didn't have a husband lined up long before me."
"Pfft, what, the Castillo twins and the De Sotos? No. They were just friendly." She snorted at the idea her own husband was flirting with her, acting jealous and silly while they sat cuddled up in their underthings on their honeymoon. He nipped at her ear.
"You are the only woman I've seen that can make a De Soto blush. Izan and Enzo fought about you, you know."
"They never!"
"They did! You'd just broken Julio's nose, and they went running their mouths, wondering if you were a hellcat anywhere else. Enzo said it was too far, talking like that. Izan thought you'd like it, wanted to ask you."
"They did not!" she pouted, elbowing him playfully. "Nobody looked at me like that, Bruno. Outside the creeps."
"There was a long line of men wanting to dance with you at our wedding that said otherwise, querida." Bruno huffed, pinching her side gently. "They were probably scared of your padre but...men were looking. The ones smart enough to see you, anyway. You and my sisters aren't the only ones that know I'm an idiot for that first year."
Elena had twisted to look at him, still not quite believing, but he'd taken the opportunity to pull her into a kiss and nothing was said for a long time afterwards.
“We’ll be going back soon,” she hummed as he held her, flipping a page.
“True. I’ll miss it here. It’s…quiet.”
“I miss the girls,” Elena admitted. Bruno made a growling sort of sound deep in his chest, uncomfortable and shifting against her. He’d done that lately, taking more notice when she mentioned their sobrinas. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been so frightened of the idea once they’d first started, the old fear of knowing her family history taking over her desire for their own family. He’d been so accommodating, so ready to wait beside her until she was ready that she’d fallen a little more in love with him right then, and the tell-tale crunch of one of those foul little cough-drops each morning did funny things to her stomach that she was too embarrassed to admit. She wasn’t quite ready, but his actions alone had made the idea much easier to face.
She lay against him, listening as he read to her. She loved his voice when he read aloud. It dropped just slightly, a whispered undertone that highlighted his natural tenor. She knew he didn't like his voice especially well, didn't care for singing though she'd caught him at it once or twice when he watched the girls. She thought it was silly. Félix and Agustín were both tenors as well as far as she could tell. But she'd heard more than one foul rumor about Bruno questioning his masculinity, both before and after she'd married him. It was such a silly, shallow thing, to judge a man as lesser because he wasn't a fighter by nature, because his position in town led him to less of a physical life. She snuggled closer, wrapping one hand around his thigh possessively. Bruno hummed, startled.
“What are you up to, querida?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged, pressing a kiss to the nearest expanse of skin. “I like holding you.” She was rewarded with his ears pinking and that shy, boyish grin. He bent to kiss her, lips pressing to her forehead tenderly as he traced down her nose. He’d taken to doing that over the days as her freckles darkened and new ones appeared. She’d been shy about it at first, but he’d made a habit of peeling her clothes off of her at the end of the day and lavishing her skin with attention. Crema y canela, he’d begun to whisper when she’d shied away, going so far as to request those very things in one of their replacement fruit baskets and treating her as his own personal desert. Elena blushed at the memory, piquing Bruno’s interest.
“And what has you turning red as a pitaya, amor?” he asked, pinching her cheek until she sqiurmed away snickering.
“Nothing! Just…lost in thought.”
“Hmm. Any more lost in thought and I’d have lost my boxers.”
Elena squealed and smacked his leg as he tossed the book aside and tackled her, wrestling her across the covers, his fingers digging into her sides and tickling savagely, stealing kisses and quoting the poetry he’d been reading as he went
“‘Yo que prefiero a la insigne palidez encarecida, De todas las perlas árabes, la rosa recién abierta,’” he murmured as his lips caressed her neck. She shouldered him away, blowing a raspberry into his ear and giggling as he yelped. She lept onto him, paying him back with sharp fingers and nipping teeth that he welcomed with a smile and more murmured adoration across her skin. “’Es que ella pasa con su boca triste, Y el gran misterio de sus ojos de ámbar.’” He managed somehow to tangle her in the sheets so tightly she couldn’t escape, his hands and mouth finding better things than poetry to occupy themselves with.
Let stupid men talk. She knew the truth.
At the two week mark, after finding a calendar and a local paper because they had absolutely lost track of the days, they had gone looking for the door. Suntanned and sated and antsy to return, they'd scoured the beach and the cliff face for hours before giving up. Bruno had only laughed when he'd tripped over a basket set just in the door of the cabaña. Another parcel of vials and those foul little licorice drops that put Elena's mind at ease.
"Casita must really like you," he grinned as he showed her. "Juli and Pepa are gonna kill me."
"We...we aren't going home yet?"
"Looks like no," he groaned, stretching out on the bed and letting his joints pop. He knew Elena was getting a little stir crazy, and even he'd been itching to do more than just fuck his life away--though only just. His head was quiet out here. It was peaceful even with the constant jabber of tourist. He knew it would be harder to return to the Encanto when the time came, but part of him wanted to think this was the house's apology to both of them, helping him apologize to her, to earn her trust and root it deeper under her skin.
"I thought you said two weeks," Elena mumbled, and he looked up. Her lip was wobbling, and he moved to pull her close.
"Amor, I'm sorry. I don't have any control over it, I was just going off what I know. What's wrong?"
"It's stupid, don't worry."
"You know I will. Please tell me. Homesick?"
Elena nodded, silent tears coursing down her face, and he tucked her under his chin. "It won't be for much longer, I don't think. We'll be home before you know it, and I'll lose you to the whole house."
"What? No you won't!"
"Juli and Pepa are going to interrogate you," he teased, nuzzling her until she snorted. "And I don't care if they're little, our sobrinas aren't going to let you leave the house for a week once you're back."
"Still..." Elena mused, "Papá can't be having an easy time of things at the café, and if Mamá hasn't come back yet..."
"I'm sure the shops will be fine, amor. And if they're having a hard time, we'll figure it out together."
"Bruno my mother isn't even speaking to you."
"And that's her own fault. She shouldn’t have treated you like she did. Not after we married but especially not before!”
“I know,” Elena groaned, flopping back on the bed. “I know, but she’s…Bruno she’s still my mother, what am I supposed to do?”
Bruno fell beside her, covering his head. “Amor, I’m the exact wrong person to ask that--have you met my mother?”
“Trade you?”
“I’m--not sure that’s gonna work. Sounds like something out of a Shakespeare play.”
“Hush you!” she laughed, swatting him before he rolled her into an embrace, trapping her in the covers.
“We’ll get it sorted when we get home, Elena. Please don’t worry. Let’s just…let’s just enjoy the extra time here, hm?” He leaned over and grabbed one of the books from the nightstand, a smarmy grin taking over. “Now, about that thing on page seventy-three…”
Elena squealed and tried to flail away, but her ankle was trapped exactly where she wanted it.
*****
Félix pinched the bridge of his nose and waved the Pascuals in. They'd been asking after Elena for a week, and Bruno's door showed no sign of growing it's doorknob back anytime soon. He'd just have to show them.
"Hebér, Sofia!" Alma called from the landing, putting aside the rag she'd been dusting Pedro's portrait with. "To what do we owe this visit?" Félix rolled his eyes and twitched his lips in the direction of Bruno's door behind them, catching Alma's tiny nod before leaving her to it. He'd long since run out of patience for his newest in-laws.
"Alma, I'm as happy as anyone that Elena and Bruno have finally come to their senses about this, but she's been away for a week," Sofia grumbled. "It's been long enough. Hebér can't be expected to run the place alone and take proper precautions with his tuberculosis. I've been having to field the café the whole time." Alma directed them down the hall, praying for patience.
"If you'd have come to us sooner we could have arranged for someone to come help you, Sofia, you know that. As it is, it wouldn't have been Elena."
"What do you mean? Surely she can't be so wrapped up in things here she can't at least let us know she's alright."
"About that," Alma grinned, gesturing to the glowing outline of her son's door, absorbed into the stucco of the house with no way to open it, just as his sisters' doors had shown when they'd married. "Casita has granted them a long overdue honeymoon. My girls each got two weeks. I don't think there will be any difference for Elena and Bruno. Though she will be glad to see you've reconciled when she returns."
"She's...our daughter is just...trapped in the walls?"
"Of course not. The house has sent her and Bruno somewhere. The Miracle does this as a gift to new members of the household. It took longer than I'd have liked." Alma gave Sofia a pointed glare, satisfied when she managed to dredge up a bit of shame. "It seems that, after their initial...difficulties, Elena finally feels at home here. Let them have that time to themselves."
"Sofia, we need the help. It doesn't have to be Elena. It shouldn't be anyway. Let her have some time," Hebér said. He followed Alma to the cocina, taking the seat offered. He caught sight of the painted Madrigal family tree. He wasn't sure if it was painted by a member of the family or if the house's magic did it. He smiled at the images of the children, Elena's new sobrinas tiny against the backdrop of green. In the center, between Bruno's sisters and their husbands, under Alma's own small portrait, was Elena's. Hands resting demurely in front, she faded into the background in her dull brown clothes. It had been painted during the bad months, he realized, and he hoped it would be changed. Surely the thing had to be updated yearly with the children growing so fast. Sofia and Alma sat, Agustín and Félix joining them with a pitcher of guarapo.
"Now then," Alma began, "I know Elena is a workhorse at those shops--that girl's work ethic is almost obsessive, truth be told, and I can't imagine it's easy for either of you to keep up, even together."
"My hands are almost useless," Sofia admitted, hiding them away. Hebér gave her a sympathetic look. While the twins had been an easy pregnancy until their loss, carrying Elena had been devastating to Sofia's bones. She'd lost seven back teeth between the weakening and the sickness, and her hands had been attacked by inflammation that hadn't gone away once their daughter had entered the world. He'd watched as she'd gone from creating masterpieces in cloth to weeping with her hands in the sink, full of ice or full of near boiling water, even Julieta's remedies only keeping the pain at bay. She'd lost the fine motor skills for sewing years before, and was beginning to have trouble with simpler actions. She could still dress and care for herself, but needed his help to prepare meals now. That had started shortly after Elena had married, and he suspected the slow loss of her independence was fueling some of the anger that lived under her skin like a live hornet's nest. He wished he'd been able to do more for her over the years, but had been subject to the whims of her pride.
Alma took Sofia's hands in sympathy, mournful as she studied the knots and gnarls that had transformed his wife's hands.
"You've let them go so long without treatment, 'Fia. Julieta could have slowed this. I know there's some fear there but--"
"Alma, please. Don't open old wounds. What's done is done. We only came to check on Elena."
Hebér shrugged when Alma turned her eyes to him, feeling useless. He'd never understood Sofia's stubbornness about using the Madrigal children's gifts. Alma sighed and accepted the ledger Agustín handed her. Hebér had forgotten she'd requested a copy of the current census to help with issues in town. He grinned pridefully as he spotted Elena's neat handwriting.
"I can't spare Agustín or Félix at the moment," Alma murmured, glancing at the door that was absorbed into the walls. "There's too much to do here, especially with Elena and Bruno's timing. But it looks like a couple of the Sanchez girls are still looking for work. They're all sensible, and Pilar knows their abuela. If they don't work out, Olivia Chavez is freshly married and also looking for work. Rico too, but he's...not suited for the bibliotheca, I'm afraid. Oh, and Félix's prima Carlota is taking a break from the school, now that her mother's passed. It might be the pace she needs right now."
Sofia took the paper Alma had written names down on and rose. "Come along, Hebér."
"Actually, Sofia, I need to speak with him."
"About what?" It came out waspish and suspicious, and Hebér winced as Alma's glare returned. The older woman's eyes hardened.
"The fact that he broke my son's jaw and never faced any form of retribution for it to start. I'll send him home when I'm through."
Sofia's eyes went wide, and Hebér shrunk against the chair. He'd dreaded this ever since he'd laid Bruno out with that stupid punch. After Elena had threatened to abandon him entirely and brought him back to reality, he'd been trying to make amends as best he could, but hadn't had the urge or the time to come to Alma. He'd take his lumps.
"Go on home, princesa. I'll be alright. I trust whoever you pick."
Sofia gave him a nod and bustled out of the cocina. Alma sighed heavily and accepted the flask that had been rolled to her by the house, pouring a healthy tot of rum into his guarapo.
"Doña Alma, please. I should have apologized for my actions against your son. I'd--"
"It's alright, Hebér," Alma cut him off, shuddering down a sip of her own drink. "I don't like it but I more than understand after the danger Elena put herself through right under his nose. Y Dios sabe the boy needed someone to knock some sense into him...though perhaps not quite so much. That's not what I needed to speak to you about."
"Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure then?" He breathed a sigh of relief. There were scant few women he found more intimidating than his wife, and Alma Madrigal was one of them.
"In who's name is Café de Libros?" She asked, catching him off guard.
"Ahh...That would be mine and Sofia's. And the bank's I suppose. There's...a few loans we're still tangled up in."
"That's what I was afraid of," Alma sighed. "Hebér, Bruno has raised some...concerns. He told me about the issue with the loans. After Señora Iguaran came to Casita it was unavoidable."
"Bruno...has helped us, yes. He was furious about the situation when he found out, but it's mostly resolved now."
"Resolved or not, it doesn't put him or me at ease about the future of the shops. I know you donate a lot of your time and money to the merchant's fund, and to the town. But you still shouldn't be having such a hard time. Tell me. Is this something to do with Sofia? I'm not accusing, Hebér, but I remember her from when we were younger, and she's always had...unusual tastes, let's say. Tastes that aren't very compatible with a quiet life in the Encanto."
He looked away, unable to meet her eye. He knew Sofia was terrible with money, had always struggled to provide for her and Elena. Had had to watch Elena take over the ledgers and odd jobs beside to make up for the hemorrhage of money. Shame washed over him. His own mother had been similar, but she'd at least been able to curtail her habits, learn new ones to make sure he and Horado were well cared for on their father's laborer salary. He shook his head at the memory of his brother, lost on the road. He said nothing.
"Hebér, I don't mean to take your means to support Sofia away, but Elena is my nuera now. Things have already been hard on her, and I would like for the rest of her years with us to be as peaceful as I can make them. I'm under the impression she's set to inherit the place?"
"That's right," he murmured, trying to understand Alma's game. "There was...when they first got married, there was a short time she wanted it to go to her primo, but Julio doesn't have the mind for it. Mariano is too young, even if we die in a decade. So it's hers. It always has been."
"Then why not make it permanent? The shops and the loft, put them in her name. I'll work out the cost and the fees with Señora Iguaran. That old skinflint owes me more than enough favors to sweep a few bad loans under the rug."
"You want me to...pass ownership to Elena now?"
"I think it would put her mind at ease. And yours and Sofia's. The two of you would be taken care of and comfortable, and Elena wouldn't have to worry about who's hands the shops might end up in should you pass younger than expected."
"Sofia wouldn't stand for it," he sighed. "She hates the place, but she's still proud of it. She wouldn't leave."
"Hebér," Alma laughed, leveling a severe look at him. "Sofia doesn't have to know. You hid that vision from her for three years. Surely you can hide a simple property deed for longer. I was under the impression she never went into the archives."
"...That's true..." He thought for a moment. Short of the deception, there really was no reason not to put the place in Elena's name. She was the inheritor, and with her married into the Madrigal family, she'd never have any problem maintaining it. Félix and Agustín both had small side businesses that they were only partially involved in, but they were still in business after all these years.
"And you're sure it would put Elena at ease?" he asked. Alma leaned forward, an inscrutable look on her face.
"I believe it would, yes. Not that I don't have my own motivations, but her comfort is the main reason I'm asking."
"And...those motivations?"
"The girl carries around Luisa like she's her own. If she makes her way out to the city before she and Bruno conceive themselves I'm not wholly convinced she wouldn't bring back a pack of foundlings. There's no issue with that, truly, but it's clear to anyone with eyes she wants children of her own. I know Sofia and Pilar's history. Olivia's. There's no reason to believe Elena won't have similar issues. But you and me and everyone with sense knows it's easier the less stress there is on a woman. I've had quite enough of seeing her heart breaking."
Hebér gave her a befuddled look before bursting out into a laugh that threw him coughing for far too long. When he'd regained his breath he shook his head, still chuckling.
"Always meddling, Alma. But I can't say I disagree with it this time. I'd rather see a grandchild or two before this bloody cough takes me. It'll be done." He reached across the table to take her hand, surprised by the strength of her grip and the steel in her eye. No wonder Bruno had taken so long to come around to Elena. His instincts must have been screaming at him, a rat caught in a hawk's sights. The same resolute strength had taken root in his daughter years before when she'd taken on car of her abuelos and her schooling and the shops all in one year. The same steely determination to press on. He hoped he lived long enough to see her go toe to toe with her suegra at least once. Heaven help them all if someone crossed them both.
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