Chapter Sixteen
Istood with my hands on my hips, getting a little lost in the palette of blues and greens that painted the view before me.
When people thought of Spain, they thought of jammed beaches under the merciless summer sun. They thought of tables loaded with jars of sangría, pans stuffed with paella, and a payload of tapas. They most likely thought of some dark-haired dude serenading the evening with impossibly masterful fingers stringing a guitar too. And in a way, they were not completely wrong. One could find that in Spain. But it was only a small part of what represented my home country. One that sadly didn’t even cover ten percent of what it offered.
The small city where I had come from stood on the most northern coast of the peninsula, wedged between the often fierce and ivory Cantabrian Sea and a range of emerald mountains.
Contrary to general belief, the country wasn’t bathed in sun throughout the whole year either. Particularly not the northern regions. Nope. The north of Spain was known for granting its inhabitants the chance to experience all four seasons in the span of a few hours, any day of the year. Which made possible for the vegetation to grow wild and lush, engulfing pastures and hills and creating an image very few thought of when it came to Spain.
So, yeah, summer wasn’t all that great in the north. But surprisingly, today the sky was clear, and the breeze from the sea was gentle. It brought me back to a time when, in days like these, we would try to make the most of it, as if our life depended on it. From dawn till dusk. Isabel and me. Las hermanas Martín. The Martín sisters.
Taking a peek at the group of people who had gathered today for the Wedding Cup, a little part of me wondered what was going on inside of Aaron’s head. What had been his first impression of the place that had seen me grow up? Of my people?
Introductions had gone better than good. If Spaniards were known for something, it was their openness and hospitality. Nobody had seemed to bat an eyelash at my fake boyfriend. Not more than the awkwardness of having a guiri—what we called tourists—and therefore having to use their rusty English.
Only the youngest generation of both the bride and groom’s families, their partners, and some of our closest friends were here. Except for our barbaric and free-spirited cousin Lucas, who no one knew where he had disappeared to this time. And the best man—otherwise known as Daniel, my ex, my first and only relationship, or the man my family believed I had never gotten over. He had not arrived yet.
“Aquí está mi hermana favorita.” My sister’s voice reached me a heartbeat before I was tackled from behind.
“I’m your only sister, idiot. Of course I’m your favorite.” I wrapped my hands around her forearms, which were resting on my collarbone.
“Forget about technicalities. You are still my fave.”
Sticking my tongue out, I looked at her over my shoulder. If not for our heart-shaped faces, we wouldn’t look anything alike. Isabel had always been taller and leaner than me. Her eyes had little green speckles to the brown we shared—something I had always been envious of—and her hair was curlier and darker, just like Mamá’s. But the differences didn’t stop there. Where my sis was this puzzle piece that fit anywhere at the first try, I had always seemed to struggle with finding my place. Somehow, I always managed to be missing a little corner or have an extra edge that pushed me to keep trying somewhere I might fit better. That pushed me to keep looking for that place to call home. Because that was no longer Spain for me. But neither was New York as much as I had Rosie and a career I was proud of. It had always felt … a little lonely. Incomplete.
“Hello? Earth calling Lina,” she said, coming to my side and tugging at my arm. “What’s up with you today? Why are you hiding here?”
I had been doing that, hadn’t I? Even if only for a few minutes.
My big sister knew me far too well, so I made a note of being extra watchful around her with Aaron. If there was someone who would see through the deception, it would be Isabel.
“Not hiding.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I was just trying to have a moment of peace away from the bridezilla. I heard she almost ripped the groom’s head off because he’d bought the wrong shoes.”
I stepped away and turned, so I could face her.
“You heard that right.” My sister and bride-to-be brought a hand to her chest, feigning dismay. “I let him pick one thing, Lina. One. And he came home, all proud and happy, with a pair of shoes that made me question my taste in men, really.” She shook her head. “I was this close to uninviting him to my wedding.”
“Our wedding, you mean.” I laughed.
“Yeah. Didn’t I say that?” The corner of her lips tugged up with mischief. “Anyway, I think we still have about an hour or so until lunch break. Are you ready?”
A look passed between us.
“For my death? Always.”
“Come on, drama queen,” Isabel said, linking our arms and pulling me in the direction of the group. “Time to go back. Gabi sent me to fetch you. There’s a schedule, you know.”
I pouted.
“Oh, stop that. It’ll be fun.”
“It hasn’t been, and it won’t be,” I said, dragging my feet but following her because what choice did I have? “Gabi has turned into this cute but terrifying sports mogul, and everyone is scared of her.”
Isa snorted. “It’s not that bad. Plus, we might still win. We are only three points behind those stupid suckers.”
“Did you just call your fiancé a stupidsucker?”
“Fine, we are only three points behind Team Groom. Better?”
“Better. But”—I shot her a humorless glance over my shoulder—“they are still going to smash us like cockroaches.”
Shaking my head, I thought of how unathletic Team Bride was compared to our male counterpart. The points we had collected were lame pity points Gabi had given us to keep the team motivated. Well, everybody else on the team but me. Motivation had left me long ago. I was ready to call it a day and go stuff my mouth with food. My jet-lagged body had flipped the hungry switch, even before we started running around with this nonsense.
“You can blame yourself for that.” My sister’s pointer finger joined her accusation. “You brought Clark Kent’s doppelgänger to the party.”
“He does look like him, doesn’t he?”
Isabel nodded. “And by the way …” She paused, and before I could dodge it or be prepared for it, she tugged at my ponytail. A little too hard.
“Hey!” I grabbed my hair and moved out of the trajectory of other possible attacks. “What the hell was that for, bridezilla?!”