room.
Oh great. Now I’m alone with her.
Is this where she murders me?
“Now you,” she says in broken English.
At least she’s trying. And she’s giving me the knife.
I take it with a grateful smile. Then I take out a truffle and attempt to do what she just did.
I make a total mess. The truffle turns into mush.
I glance at her standing right beside me, shaking her head. She looks upset but also like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Can you?” I say, handing her back the knife. “?Otra vez?”
“Vale, vale,” she says.
Once again she moves her hands so quickly I can barely see what’s going on.
The knife comes back to me.
I’m about to cut into another truffle, to mimic her, but she says, “?Lo amas?”
I still, unsure of what she just said.
“?Qué?” I ask.
“Lo amas,” she repeats. She frowns, licks her lips. “Do you,” she pokes me in the arm, “love my son?”
My mouth drops and I blink at her. I place the knife down on the board.
“Do I love Alejo?” I repeat.
“Sí, sí,” she says, watching me intently.
“Sí,” I say, the smile spreading across my face like a tidal wave. “Sí, me encanta Alejo. Alejo…” I press my hand to my heart. “Mi corazón.”
She watches me for a moment. Then nods. “Okay.” Then she rattles something off in Spanish that I don’t understand even a little.
“Lo siento,” I tell her. “No entiendo. I don’t understand.”
“Do you want me to translate?” Alejo’s voice cuts between us.
I gasp and turn around to see him standing in the middle of the kitchen.
He’s grinning like a fool, a smile from ear to ear.
He had to have heard all of that, right? Right?
Oh god!
“She said,” he goes on, “she gives you her blessing.”
His mother nods and then starts talking again with lots of hand gestures.
Alejo happily translates. “She says that she doesn’t understand how this, us, came to be, but that it doesn’t matter. Not everyone will understand your journey. It’s not theirs to make sense of, it’s yours. In this case, it’s ours.”
I manage to give his mother another grateful look and try to nod my thanks, but my heart is pounding so loudly I’m almost dizzy.
She just gives me a dismissive wave and leaves the room, leaving us alone.
“Did you…” I start to say.
“Did I hear you tell my mother that you love me?”
I swallow thickly. “Yeah. That.”
“I did,” he says, taking a step toward me. “Was it true?”
I’m still scared to say it, even though I already said it to her, even though he already heard, but the longer I look into his eyes, the more I know where I stand and there is no fear anymore.
“Sí,” I tell him. “Te amo.”
He puts a hand at my waist, the other at my chin, eyes peering down at me with so much intensity that I think I might shatter. “Tell me again, in English.”
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Tell me again in Spanish.”
“Te amo.” I lick my lips, feeling like my heart might explode. “I love you Alejo, and I can’t…I can’t feel or think of anything else but that. I love you.”
He smiles at me, the kind of smile that leaves a mark on a person. It’s the smile of a man who has everything he’s ever wanted.
“Te adoro,” he says, pressing his lips against mine.
He adores me. Sweet, but not exactly what I wanted to hear in response.
His hand slips down over my ass. “Te necesito.”
He needs me. Okay, still…
Then both hands cup my face. “Mi corazón late por ti.”
I’m not sure of that one.
“My heart,” he murmurs, “it beats for you, Thalia. Now and always. I love you. Te amo. And this love burns like the sun.”
Then he kisses me.
Sealing our fate.
Behind us, applause erupts.
We break apart, breathing hard, happy, giddy, staring at Alejo’s family who have all gathered in the entrance to the kitchen with their wine.
“?Salud!” they all cheer, raising their glasses.
I don’t think I’ve been happier.
Alejo gives me spoons and forks for Christmas.
I stare at the box for a moment, not getting it. The rest of his family is leaning over, trying to make sense of the package I just unwrapped.
“Does this mean something in Spain?” I ask him, trying not to sound ungrateful but…
He laughs. “No, it means I stay true to my word. Remember your poorly stocked kitchen? I said I would get you new cutlery.”
“No knives, I hope,” Luis says. “Bad luck.”
“No knives,” Alejo assures.
“Well, thank you,” I tell him.
“I also got you this,” he says,